by Dave Dickie
Stegar decided the figure in front was not an enemy, and was most likely someone in need of their help. Focused as he was on the developing situation, old habits and memories surfaced again. If there was someone in need, he would help them. He should order a gap in the shield wall for the runner, he thought. Curse it, where was Kaitlin? The forward scouts should have reported this earlier. They should have known this elf was coming. He scanned the ridge for his familiar friend before remembering that there was no Kaitlin, no forward observers, and no shield wall. They had been betrayed, and disbanded, and it was his fault. Now he was with this hastily assembled cadre of misfits, and it was what he deserved for the mistakes he had made.
As the wolves thundered into view, he picked out what he thought was the alpha. Sighting carefully down his heavy crossbow, he exhaled and held his breath as he let the bolt fly. It launched forward with the pent energy of a good minute of hard cranking and was joined in air by companion missiles from the others in the group. They were not a unit, but it was clear that he did not need to give these people instructions on how to use their weapons. The only ones not firing were spell casters, the great Sa Kajok warrior, who was pacing back and forth, his blade swirling in hypnotic arcs of expectation, and the tiny woman named Corbel with the gray hair that should never have been on the mission in first place, holding nothing but a broom and looking calmer than seemed reasonable. Streaking ahead of the bolt was the first of a stream of Ibsi shafts fanning like an arc of death on the wind. Following the shafts with not quite as much range but the same profusion was a hail of lead balls from Grim’s sling. Behind him as well he could feel the itching crawl of magic’s discharge as it stood the hairs up on his neck, but he did not concern himself with that.
It seemed the others were treating the runner as a non-hostile as well, since all of the missiles flew to the left or right of him. As the first of the arrows impacted the wall of heaving fur and wolf flesh it was clear that they would do damage, but weren’t enough to stop the charge by themselves.
The bolt from Stegar’s crossbow embedded itself so deeply into the leader wolf’s shoulder that it caused its leg to buckle and the creature to crash into the ground. Another wolf took an arrow to the eye, dropping it instantly, while the rest of them emerged from the volley peppered and bloody. After the first shot Stegar knew he could not reload in time, so he placed his crossbow behind him, drew his sword and set his buckler against the charge. Standing at the ready, Stegar took a moment to glance around at his companions. Padan looked nervous, seemingly unused to staring death in the face, but still in action, frantically mumbling and fiddling with objects in his clothes. The Ibsi tribesman was unleashing arrows with a frightening precision. Near him was the shadowy figure with bright piercing eyes. This Grimalkin felt familiar, another ghost from Stegar's prior life, though he was not sure how. Behind them he could see Daesal, speaking in a low voice and weaving her hands in intricate patterns. The cloaked woman was cool where Padan was frantic, but as she cast some kind of offensive spell that sent a bolt of crimson light into one of the wolves, she was also watching the approaching runner with an evaluating gaze. Stegar would trust Daesal to deal with him so he would not have to watch his back.
As he turned back, the majority of the wolves launched themselves across the final meters at the party. Though they were intent on the elf, who was clearly their quarry, they would not reach him before they impacted with the group. The wave of fur and muscle still advanced but then the incarnation of the magic he had been subliminally aware of from behind him released in a wave he felt as it flew past him. He did not know whose spell it was, but suddenly lances of stone shot from the ground where the fey runner had just stepped, impaling some of the wolves and causing others to veer savagely around the spikes, decimated their numbers.
Reduced to almost half their original number, the wolves rushed on undaunted. Gyeong, having reached a feverish climax in his dance, hastened the moment of their impact by launching himself forward, his blade whistling in deadly arcs, anxious to be the first to meet the wolves. The alpha wolf, not dead from Stegar's bolt, scrabbled back to his feet and started gathering speed again with an intensity of purpose that did not seem animal in nature. As the elf passed between those in the front line, shields came to the ready and a shout welled up from inside Stegar, not of anger but of martial abandon.
The wolves descended upon the group, a churning wave of fur, fangs, and frothing saliva. With angry snarls they leapt the last few yards to attack the group. Stegar saw Ajax, strong but not trained in weapons, go down as one of the wolves hit his shield head on, and there was a cry and a spray of blood. Matching the wolves’ wild looks, Gyeong launched himself into their midst. Mid-air he collided with one, barely having enough mass to force the wolf backward. They rolled in the dirt, the animal's maw snapping at Gyeong's neck in an attempt to rip it open. Laughing, Gyeong lifted up his blade and thrust it deep into the wolf's side. Its yellow eyes met its killer's with an unnatural hatred before they faded into death.
Stegar took the brunt of a wolf on his buckler, enough of a blow to force him back a step, but the wolf was dazed and Stegar cut it down with his sword, a sweeping blow that knocked it sideways and opened its side from neck to tail. The wolf tried once to rise, then collapsed, blood matting the grey fur in a flood of crimson.
Stegar looked to see if anyone needed help. Gyeong had turned to another wolf, but a thunk sounded out, and the furred body crumpled. Padan had crushed its skull with a war hammer that he hadn’t been holding when the combat started. The wolves were all down. So was Ajax, down and never getting up again, his throat torn out during the short battle.
Head swiveling from side to side, Gyeong’s face turned into a mask of fury. He stomped the short distance over to Padan, ignoring the pooling blood from the wolves and Ajax. He raised his blade, stopping it just a few inches from the man's neck. "If you were not an ignorant sawnom, you would not live for daring to steal the kill of a Sa Kajok. You show dishonor taking a man's battle from him." He glared into Padan's eyes to ensure his message was clear, and then moved off, the blood splattering more as he stomped through it again.
Chapter Five
Padan was confused. Things were definitely wrong, but they weren’t wrong in the right way, and not just because of the threatening antics of the chest-thumping Stangri Gyeong, who he'd hired because the man was good with a sword and he wanted someone in the party that looked physically intimidating. That, and if Gyeong did not return, it would not cause a ripple in Bythe. Side note, Padan said to himself, no more crazy Stangri in future scouting parties. And what was a Sa Kajok anyway?
No, the problem was the elf in the middle of the group, leaning over and gasping for air. Padan knew this expedition was a ruse, expected to be captured and possibly tortured to force him to violate his vows to Hasamelis. No matter how Padan looked at it, the current situation didn’t add up. How could an elf being chased by wolves somehow convince him to knowingly or unknowingly betray the order and his god? Perhaps the concept was to generate some kind of false intimacy by saving the elf's life? But whoever was planning this could have done the same thing by setting up an ambush in a back alley in Bythe and letting Padan rescue someone. Why drag him out here to the ass end of nowhere?
The elf certainly didn’t look like he was acting. He was bleeding from numerous gashes and looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion. He wore the black cloth the elves favored when they were in the field. That and the gem-encrusted belt, and the thin elven boots that they wore even when in armor. The material of their clothing looked like leather, but was supple as silk and could turn a blade like chainmail. It was as good as durilia from the temple for general wear, but durilia did not stop blades. That something had torn through the elve’s clothes was worrisome, and Padan doubted the elf would wound himself even superficially as a ploy. But he could at least take some precautions.
He focused and dipped into the underground hum that was alwa
ys part of him, a connection to Hasamelis that had been the center of his life since he joined the order more than three decades ago. In the beginning, when he was young, it had been hard to find, and once found, hard to keep. Now it was as natural as breathing, and he found the current he was looking for quickly, an aspect of Hasamelis that made falsehoods from others reverberate in the mind. Padan couldn’t see the nimbus that surrounded him, but he knew it was there from the reactions of the people around him.
This was one of the few aspects of Hasamelis that had a visible sign. It was a tricky aspect to deal with, since truth was mutable for most people, and what they believed could sway like grass in the wind… and sometimes, what they thought they believed was not what they believed when things came down to it. With sufficient training you could still escape detection from the spell, hiding your falsehood behind a well crafted veneer. It was harder if you knew the spell was being used, since it tended to make people more introspective about their answers. But if you were well-trained, you could beat even that, and in those cases it would be better if people didn’t know the spell had been cast. But, for better or worse, the ability advertised itself when a priest took on the aspect of truth telling. Padan was betting that the elf, even if trained, which seemed unlikely, was too worn out to use such tricks.
“Well met,” said the elf, forcing words out between gasps for breath. “You have saved my life, and I owe you a great deal, but I must ask for more, and there is no time to explain. I am named Beldaer. These wolves are the hounds of something worse, something that has been closing steadily for a day. It will be here soon, and it has servants with it more capable than these.” Here, the elf waved at the wolves corpses. “Not that it needs them. I have something that must be delivered to my superiors, either directly or through one of the diplomatic consuls in Kethem.” The elf pulled a small glass or quartz sphere out of a pocket. It glowed with a muted internal light from some hidden, magical energy source. “If you can get it to them, my entire race will owe you a huge debt, one that I swear will be paid.”
Padan, during his travels, had been to Lentella Holden, the small island off the coast of the Evael Forest, and the only place under elvish rule that humans were allowed to land, other than salsenahain, the elve’s devoted human servants. It was a magical place, in the figurative and literal sense. The graceful architecture of the elvish buildings and ships had been foreign to Padan, so unlike the blocky human holds, merchant ships and warships, and all the more beautiful because of it. And magic had been so prevalent that people that had never been there would not believe his stories.
For example, Kethem Holds had huge cold rooms to store perishables, with Elementalist runes that were refreshed every six months or so, and that at a fairly high cost. Those, and heat runes which had replaced coal-heated stoves in the more well-to-do Holds. In Lentella Holden, an elf had shown him a small box that kept everything inside it at a consistent 40 degrees… and had implied it was common for individuals to own such devices. One day, when it rained, Padan had been outside, and every elf he saw walked unhurriedly with the rain sluicing off an invisible barrier above their heads, a weather shield that would have needed a Storm Bull priest to cast in Kethem, at an expense that made it untenable for any other than highborn Holders.
But the elves themselves he had not cared for. They were a polite people, but cold, formal, and haughty. And the few salsenahain he had met were worse, brushing off even the most cordial query, only interested in serving their elvish masters. Human dogs on a leash so short it left no freedom of movement at all. Not one of those elves walking in the rain had offered to extend their shield or cast whatever spell it was on him, with rain dripping off his wide hat. Add to that the general air of a secretive people, feeling superior because of information they would not share… well, that went against the grain for any Hasamelis Priest. But, while they might not be cordial, the elves had power. Having them in your debt could be a very, very good thing, and the truth-telling aspect of Hasamelis he was using was indicating that the elf was completely earnest.
Yet… he was here because someone wanted something from the order, something the order surely did not want to give.
It seemed inconceivable that elves had lured him out here to get him to teleport them into a temple that wouldn’t be that hard to walk into. He thought for a moment about teleporting himself with the glowing sphere, but if this elf wasn’t what brought him to this place, if it was just coincidence, he still had a date with death in that cave that he intended to keep. Too many ifs, ands, and buts. He had to play this one down the middle. Having made up his mind, Padan said, “I can teleport one of my group to the Hasamelis temple in Bythe safely. They can deliver it for you.” Any of them would do, and they would have little chance to walk off with it. He would be on the Nitheia communication ring about two seconds after the teleport to let the temple know whoever popped onto the teleport pad had something valuable in their possession that the order was responsible for.
The elf looked doubtful for a moment, but then nodded with a grim look. “If you do that, I will run on ahead and try to keep Veskavar away from you and the group. Without the wolves, he will not know how to track you, may not even know you exist.”
Padan looked around at the dead and dying dire wolves. “I think it will be obvious you did not do this by yourself. Better that we stick together. This Veskavar cannot be that powerful.” The elf looked like he was going to say something but then stopped and nodded, although Padan had the feeling it was more to end the conversation than a sign of agreement. Padan turned to his ragtag group, now a ragtag group that had done a fine accounting of themselves in their first pitched battle, even with the loss of Ajax. “Who wants to return to Bythe? And I want to remind everyone that this is at the behest of the Order of Hasamelis the Traveler. You are all under contract to the temple.”
Corel raised her hand. “I'll do it. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m going to help much in a fight. I will take it, and I will give it to the elvish ambassador with the understanding it is from your order, or to the head of the order at the temple in Bythe so they can deliver it.” The fight with the wolves had born out her lack of combat skills; she’d armed herself with a broom in an attempt to keep them off her. The truthtelling aspect of Hasamelis indicated sincerity.
It would have to do.
“The deacon of the temple is Jedia Burse. Tell him I sent you,” Padan told Corel, then waved at the elf to indicate he should give the crystal ball to Corel. Beldaer handed it to her and the woman took it gingerly in her hands.
Which is when the Ibisi scout, Nhi Nyjha, spoke up. “I would not trust this one. Elves… they mean humans no good. And this one…” and he spat at Beldaer … “brought enemies down on us. We should leave him.” The elf stared at the Ibisi, and there was no warmth in that gaze.
Padan frowned and said angrily, “We leave no one to die as prey for animals. No one.” The Ibisi might have continued to argue, but Padan held up a hand to stop him. “No one,” he said again, and the Ibisi settled back, an expression of distaste on his face.
Then Nhi Nyjha called out in fear. Everyone turned to look in the direction the wolves had arrived from. Even those without the sharpest eyes could see the black spots that faded in and out of existence, visible only long enough to give the sense of a large, catlike beast with too many legs. That, and the man floating above them, too far away to see clearly but dressed in rich red robes and cape, gold glinting from symbolic armor, floating in the sky above them, guiding them toward the group. Dressed like the Lanotalis Emperor back before the fall and the Interregnum.
Nhi Nyjha gasped. “Shadow beasts. They are unbeatable in the open.” He turned to the elf and added, “What have you brought down upon us?”
Beldaer shook his head. “I will run, they will follow. It is your only chance.”
Padan was unsure of where the trap was, out here with the man floating toward them or in the cave as he’d originally expected. But one
way or the other, it was springing shut. He hadn’t had time to use the Nitheia communication ring to let Jedia and the rest of the priests in the temple at Bythe know that he and his group were about to enter the cave, and there was no time now. It didn’t matter, anyway. Everything they needed to know, they would know. His hand closed on his belt buckle and he said the phrase he’d been taught. Then he felt … something. Nitheia ju-ju from Ipdohr, not his god, and it felt a little foreign, a little strange, but it was welcome because it let him know the artifact was working. Somewhere in the Hasamelis temple in Bythe, there was a crystal, and that crystal would store an auditory and visual recordings as well as other, subtler indications of everything that happened in the next few hours. Jedia had sworn that nothing could block it, that no matter what precautions these people, or things, took, the truth would be revealed. And despite his most sincere attempt not to, he let his tongue prod the tooth, the one that kept him from eating on the right side of his mouth. A simple solution to how to keep his knowledge out of their enemy’s hands, nothing magical about it: just cyanide in a glass insert that would break and release if he clenched his jaw hard enough.
He grabbed Beldaer by the arm. “No. Retreat to the cave.” If this man and his shadow beasts were the ones that had lured him out here, they would follow. If not, he would meet his fate soon enough anyway.
Beldaer held him back and pointed at Corel, still politely waiting with the sphere in her hand. “Please,” said Beldaer, as forcefully as he could. Padan frowned but closed his eyes and reached toward Corel. With a pop, she disappeared, and Beldaer suddenly looked like he was about to pass out, like something had released a horrible knot of fear that had kept him going without rest, food or water. Oddly enough, the Ibisi steadied the elf, perhaps out of a sense of self-preservation, because the shadow beasts were closing fast. “Thank you,” said Beldaer, “and now I suggest we run. As the Ibisi said, these beasts truly are unbeatable in the open.”