by Joseph Lallo
"Well, she broke that vow," Leo said.
"She couldn't have known I survived the massacre. And my uncle told me she was dead . . . I should have known he would lie about that. He hated the Alliance Army with a passion by then. He would rather die than have me live in her care. Now she is the closest thing I have to family, and I may have killed her," Myranda said, a tear running down her cheek.
"Dwelling on it only makes it worse. You shouldn't sleep with those thoughts in your head. You won't enjoy your dreams. Are you up to any more healing?" he asked.
"I . . . perhaps," she said.
"My shoulder is not particularly pleased with the way I have been treating it," he said, trying to distract her from the subject.
"Remove the sling," she said.
He did so with great difficulty. The injury had swollen considerably. It reminded her of her own affliction, but in this case the problem was within. She pulled a few tatters of cloth aside to see how far the swelling had spread. It was severe, no doubt aggravated by the battle. As she surveyed the swelling, she noticed something odd on the left side of his chest. It was distorted, smudged with blood and charred, but there was no question. There, against the cream-colored chest, was the all too familiar curve and point.
"What . . . what is this?" she asked.
"What? Ouch! I can't see," he said.
"Here, on your chest. There is a mark," she said.
"Oh, that. That has been there since I was a child. I suppose it's a birthmark," he said.
"Look. Here! On my hand. I have the same mark! Remember the burn from the sword?" she said, holding out her hand.
He took her hand and looked over it.
"What in the world?" he said, sitting forward and taking real interest.
"It was all over the sword," she said. "I showed you. Don't you remember?"
"I remember how much it weighed, how well it was balanced, but I couldn't care less about how it looked. That is the least important thing to me," he said.
"What does it mean?" she asked.
"How should I know?" he said, perplexed.
"I got the mark from the dead soldier's sword, so that explains that, but what are you and a fallen swordsman doing sharing a mark?" she wondered.
"I haven't a clue," he said, bewildered.
"Well, maybe he was a relative. Maybe he had the same mark, or knew you in some way," she offered.
"I honestly cannot think of a single other person who has even seen my mark since I left the orphanage," he said.
"Then perhaps it was one of them," she said.
"Perhaps, but I cannot see how anything I did might have left an impression on one of the other orphans. Certainly not an impression big enough to have one of my blemishes adorn a sword that must have cost a fortune to make," he said. "Unless it isn't a blemish. The caretakers branded me with a pair of marks, this could just be a third that I didn't remember. If that is so, then the others could have had it as well."
"Do you suppose that one of your fellow orphans might have been proud enough of his orphanage to advertise it on his equipment?" Myranda asked.
"I have heard of stranger things. Well, with your godmother and our matching marks, this has been a very revealing night," Leo said.
"Indeed, the hand of fate has--" she began, but the smoke of the torch was burning at her already tortured lungs. She launched into a long, painful fit of coughing.
"That doesn't sound good at all. I thought you looked a bit off," he said, concerned.
"It is nothing," she managed. "It happens every year."
"Well, do you know how to cure it?" he asked.
"Of course," she said.
"Then what are you waiting for?" he wondered.
"Well, I haven't the strength to care for my cough and your shoulder. I will tend to myself tomorrow," she explained.
"Nonsense. I won't hear of it! You say whatever words you need to make yourself well and worry about me another day," he demanded.
"But the pain must be terrible," Myranda said.
"Please. I have had a dozen more serious injuries a dozen times each, and all I've had to heal them was time. A night more won't kill me," he said. She began to object again, but he cut her off. "You saved my life. I wanted to give mine for yours just a few hours ago, but you denied me. The least you can do is stay healthy long enough for me to repay my debt."
Myranda sighed, stifling another cough. Reluctantly she spoke the variant of the spell of healing sleep that would do its work upon the caster.
As the spell of healing took effect, Myranda's surroundings retreated and a soothing darkness poured over her and into her mind. A moment later a light flickered before her. She briefly thought that she had reawakened, but soon the truth became clear. The cold, thatched ground was not that of the cave, and the white, wavering light was not that of the torch. She had slipped into a dream. The light seemed to come from no source at all, merely a ball of brilliance floating before her. It formed a circle on the ground and a tight sphere of visibility. She strained her eyes desperately into the darkness. Slowly, a figure formed, somehow a still-darker silhouette against the pitch of her surroundings.
"So I have found you," came a voice from the form. It seemed to be her own voice. Hearing it whispered from the unseen lips of another was profoundly disorienting.
"Who are you?" Myranda asked.
"We need you," came the answer.
"Need me for what? I don't understand," she said.
"Do not resist me. I come to guide you, and in turn you may guide me," the voice said.
"How?" Myranda asked as the cold wind began to gust more forcefully.
"You are strong, and the path you follow is closed to me. You are nearly out of my reach. You must choose. Take my hand and the way will be made clear," the voice whispered.
The figure's hand seemed to reach out. Myranda reached for it, but something inside of her resisted. She turned to the light and grasped at it, as though it were a lantern. It remained, but a part of the eerie light trailed along with her hand. She moved her glowing fist to the figure, but it recoiled.
"Reject it. Light is sorrow. To tremble in the light is to be extinguished with it. The brightest candle burns only briefly. Darkness remains eternally. Accept the darkness and endure," the voice demanded, somewhat twisted.
The cold became intense and the darkness pressed in about her. The light fought valiantly, but the walls of oppressive blackness moved closer and closer. This was wrong. She backed toward the light, but it was withering. In a matter of moments, it was no more. The earth beneath her seemed to drop away, and she was afloat in an abyss of darkness. It felt as though the blackness itself was tearing at her.
In a last effort to fight against that which consumed her, Myranda held up her arms defensively. When she opened her hand, a burning ember of light was revealed. As the remnant of the light she had scooped up smoldered in her palm, she could barely make out the form bearing down on her. With a scream, the terrified girl lashed out with the illuminated hand. Her fingers raked the featureless face and a second, piercing, spine-tingling mockery of her cry mingled with the original.
She felt hands clasp her about the shoulders and shake her as the light rushed back. Myranda screamed again, the second scream joined by a third and fourth as her voice echoed off of the cave walls. The light was from the torch, and the hands shaking her were those of Leo. The dream was over.
#
"Easy, now. Come back to me," Leo said, steadying the terrified girl as the nightmare slowly lost its grip.
Myranda caught her breath.
"I warned about those dreams," he said.
"It was awful. I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep," Myranda said.
"I should hope not. You have been asleep for ages," he said. "I think your dragon was beginning to get worried."
Myn was already on her lap, sniffing and licking at her face.
"
How long have I been asleep?" she asked.
"Well, it is difficult to tell without the sun or stars to go by, but these torches usually last about a half a day, and I had to light a new one after I awoke about an hour ago," he said.
"It only felt like a few moments," she said. "That is a very potent spell."
"So it would seem. Well, we had best move on. You will be pleased to hear that I can hear our friends scratching about on the other side of the wall. You must have missed a few," he said.
"Are we in any danger?" she asked, getting to her feet, free of stiffness and pain for the first time in weeks.
"Not yet. I would say that it will be at least a day before they can even find their way back to the wrong turn they must have taken, and then another few hours to reach us. So unless you decide to sing your lullaby twice more, we should have no trouble staying ahead. However, if you have any words that can relieve me of this little malady without a lengthy nap, I would appreciate it," he said, indicating his shoulder.
"Of course," she said.
After a clutch at her locket and a few choice words, the injury was healed and the swelling eliminated.
"Ah. Remarkable. You do fine work!" Leo commended, as he gathered up the unlit torches. Now that he was healthy, he could carry them all. The spent torch was stripped of the charred rags and used as a walking stick as the trio marched on.
"If there was something wrong with your legs, you should have told me," she said.
"There is nothing you can do. They are healed already. Not quite the way they ought to have. A handful of fighters I've known had the same problem. Nothing they could do either, healers or no," he said in a disarmingly cheerful tone.
"How terrible," she said.
"Shed no tears for me, my dear. Where we are headed, no ailment will endure," he said.
"That sounds familiar," she said, the flowery prose stirring her memory.
"A play, One Final March, spoken right before our hero heads to a battle he cannot hope to win bearing a wound he cannot hope to survive," Leo said.
"That does not speak very well of our destination," she said.
"Don't worry. Some of my fondest memories are in the land that lies ahead of us. But enough about that. It must be seen to be believed. Frankly, if you don't mind, I would dearly love to hear what your life has been like since our last meeting," he said.
"At the usual rate, though. I'll trade you my story for yours," she said.
"Naturally," he said.
As they made their way along the slick, uneven path, Myranda spoke of the events of the last few months. She told the tale of her capture in the church, and her clash with the mysterious creatures in the field, and her escape with the aid of the Undermine. Leo nodded, chiming in at times with insightful comments. He really seemed to care what happened to her, a quality that she found wholly absent in society at large.
By the time Myn's appearance and the time spent under Wolloff's training had been described, she felt as though she was talking to her oldest friend. In a way, she was.
"Good heavens," he said. "That is quite a tale. You lead an eventful life."
"It hasn't always been that way," she said. "But enough about me. You have a story of your own to tell."
"So I do. Fair is fair. Let me see," he began. "I saw you off and headed into Melorn. The hunting was a bit thin, but adequate. Before a week had passed, I decided to find my next tournament, so I nosed around a bit further north. Things were quiet, but eventually I caught word of a small submission tourney nearby. It was informal, a handful of Alliance veterans and soldiers on leave trying to see just who was best at the art of battle. Admittedly an outsider, they were reluctant to allow me entry, particularly with my unwillingness to meet face to face. Luck would have it that one of the soldiers was called back to duty, and I filled the vacancy. One of the organizers caught sight of me. He pulled me aside as I was placing a bet on myself.
"I was in my fighting gear, so he couldn't tell what I was, but he told me that he had seen me fight before, and that he knew I could win this easily. I thanked him for the compliment. He went on to explain that one of the other combatants, a big fellow, was something of local hero. He'd been a part of more winning battles than any other soldier in years and had even earned his way into this 'Elite' squad. In all likelihood, I would be facing him in the final round. Even more likely was my victory. He dangled a sack of silver under my nose and mentioned that a spirited victory would be a tremendous boost to the morale of the people.
"I stood to earn a good deal more by taking the fall than collecting on my own bet, so I agreed. It wasn't the first time. The fighting started and the first few rounds were laughable. There was an old man who wanted to see if he still had what it took. He didn't. Then was a green newcomer who was fresh from his first tour and somehow hadn't seen a battle yet. He went down fairly easily. Finally I found myself face to face with this Elite character.
"I won't lie, he was a formidable fellow. A mountain of a man. He outclassed me in size and strength by a fair amount. Slow, though. If I wanted to, I could land a half-dozen blows in the time it took him to miss one. That and he was, if you can believe it, too well-trained. It was as though I was fighting a textbook. I've read the manual they use to teach these men, so his technique couldn't have been more obvious. I found myself ten moves ahead of him, watching him play into every attack. I would let him get in a glancing blow here or there to keep it interesting, but before long, he started to tire, so I knew it was time to act.
"I dropped a shoulder into a shot that went low and fell to the ground. That, coupled with the serious-looking blows I'd seemingly suffered, should have been more than enough to convince the crowd. He stood over me and I made ready to submit, but there was something wrong. He raised his sword up in what was clear to be a kill blow. I reacted instinctively with a counter. Unfortunately, a warrior that size fully committed to a swing is not easily stopped, even if he wishes it. As a result a sword point to the chest meant as a warning became a blade through the heart."
"In the midst of a rather severe outburst of unbridled hatred, I managed to make good my escape. The mob was easy enough to lose, but time would show the fallen Elite's brothers in arms were another matter. They took time out of their busy schedule of hunting down an assassin or some such and turned their sights to me. I think I was able to stay ahead of them for a few weeks before they cornered me. Learning of my race did little to cool their tempers.
"I . . . Well, I learned what sort of treatment the highest criminals of the nation can expect. It is not pleasant. All the while they grilled me as to whether I was sent, or who I worked for. They tried and tried to find something more in the fellow's death than a simple accident. When they became bored of my repeated assurance of the truth, they left me to rot. I managed to escape and, well, that is that."
Myranda shook her head in disbelief.
"It sounds so awful," she said. "Did they torture you?"
"I prefer not to think back to that particular period of my life," he said.
"I understand. Leo, I know that I don't have anything else I can tell you in return, but do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?" she asked.
"Go right ahead," he said.
"Myn knows you. I am sure of it. The way she rushed to you in the forest that day. She'd run like that before, and all I found was a few pools of blood and the grave markers of Elites. That was long before the Elites came looking for me. That, coupled with the way she is so comfortable around you and the way she listens to you . . . I can get her to light a fire or stop when she is doing something wrong. You gave her very specific directions back there. We would not have escaped those soldiers if she hadn't kept out of sight and hunted down the backup soldiers to scare away their horses," Myranda said.
"Ah, yes. Well, the fact of the matter is, prior to my capture, I did meet this fine young lady. I tried to lose the pursuers in the mountains, so I cut across, event
ually finding myself somewhere in the northern end of Ravenwood. I thought I smelled you on the wind, but I dismissed it. Then Myn and I stumbled upon the same hunting ground. There was a bit of tension at first, but we were getting along soon enough.
"I have a way with animals, as I said. She was a fine hunter already, but I helped her to hone her craft, as it were. I could smell you all over her, which puzzled me. At first I thought she might have killed you. Luckily, I was wrong. Once or twice, I caught sight of that wizard's tower you were staying in. By then, I had grown quite certain that you were alive and well inside," he explained.
"Why didn't you come in and visit?" she scolded.
"I was less than optimistic as to the quality of hospitality I might receive from the master of the house. Not to mention, I was afraid I might involve you in my troubles with the Elites. Fat lot of good that did," he said.
"Then why didn't you at least tell me about it with the rest of the recollection?" Myranda asked.
"I was afraid you would scold me for not visiting you," he answered with a grin.
"You know me like a book," Myranda said with a shake of her head.
Leo quickened his pace, and the group moved on.
Chapter 18
The path had twisted and turned, branching constantly into a honey comb of different passages. Leo expertly led the way. As they progressed, Myranda noticed that the three things that had surprised her about the cave were becoming more and more prevalent. First, it was getting warmer. She found herself carrying her robe under her arm to avoid being smothered by it. Second, water was becoming more and more abundant. It now dripped and streamed from the roof in an echoing cacophony, gathering in pools and making the floor perilously slick. Finally, the faint glitter of the walls increased with each passing step. There were tiny flecks of some kind of crystal embedded all around, catching the light and bending it into a breathtaking array of colors.
As the trio progressed, the torch burned down. When another one had to be lit, the weariness of the constant walking and climbing was taking its toll. After half a day without stopping to rest, Myn was as energetic as ever, and Leo showed no signs of slowing. Myranda, alas, was not so fortunate.