—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
Chapter Sixty
« ^ »
Thunder rumbled and rain pounded. Powerful gusts hurled the water in stinging sheets and dark clouds raced across the sky. Lightning flashed. Bannor’s horse bucked, forcing him to drag on the reins and keep the skittish thickmane under control as he led it up the incline. He kept his gaze fixed on the six armored warriors marching ahead. Among them, Irodee’s towering form stood out as she slogged up the muddy hillside. Though he couldn’t see her, Wren and her horse trudged somewhere within that group.
Beside him, Sarai struggled against the strong winds, poor footing and touchy horse. He took hold of her horse’s lead strap, and helped her drag the balky animal ahead. Her glowing eyes fixed on his, and he felt a ‘thank you’ pressure on his wrist.
Laramis strode next to the Queen and Janai. Even in the downpour, Bannor recognized a new vibrancy in the way the man moved. With Irodee back, his whole demeanor had brightened.
The wind’s bite lessened as they entered a stand of trees encircling the hilltop. Boughs groaned in the wind and leaves rattled. They followed a winding path edged with gray stone markers. Patches of colorful flowers lay matted to the ground by the force of the storm.
Ahead, the trail ended in a stepped stone building—the Kirika, the entrance to the Elven burial chambers. As the group reached the steps descending within, they bunched up. Bannor saw that despite Irodee’s assurances, none were eager to enter—especially alone.
He and Sarai reached the hem of hard ground that surrounded the low stone structure a few steps behind Laramis, the Queen and Janai. The rest of Irodee’s warriors crowded in behind them.
Lightning flashes illuminated columns of red-veined malachite that ran the length of the building. Carvings of griffins, pegasai, dragons, rocs, and other legendary flying creatures chased each other around the thick stone flashing that jutted out from the flat roof. Thoughts of entering this place made Bannor shiver.
With the help of one of her men, Irodee levered the metal doors open with a loud creaking. To Bannor, the shadows in the kirika looked ready to spill out and crawl up the steps like something alive.
Sarai gripped his arm. His stomach felt tight as he forced himself to take a few steps forward. By their hesitation, it was obvious that the Queen and Janai felt uncomfortable with entering the kirika, too.
Lightning licked across the sky. Thunder rattled the stones. Bannor’s heart skipped. Several of Irodee’s armored warriors flinched. Sarai clutched his arm so hard it hurt.
Irodee bent in the doorway. Something cracked repeatedly against metal. Flashes lit the steps. Then, light flared and the end of a torch caught fire. The Myrmigyne rose and lit sconces on either wall. The flickering orange light dispelled the surreal darkness lingering in the entry. Irodee led the way lighting more sconces as she went. Wren followed close on the woman’s heels. Mumbling what sounded like a prayer, Laramis hurried in next.
Four of Irodee’s warriors took the leads of their horses, and led them around the building out of sight. He and Sarai approached the Queen and Janai who stood at the entrance steps. Two warriors stood by holding Meliandri’s limp form upright. The stricken elf healer stared into the sky, skin waxy and jaw slack. Occasionally, droplets of rain made her blink.
Kalindinai met Bannor’s gaze. Her soaked hair and riding garments clung to her like a wrinkled skin. Her expression looked tight, the lines of her face pulled down with fatigue.
Sarai put an arm around her mother, and she and Janai led the Queen down the steps. Bannor and the two warriors carrying Meliandri followed.
The interior of the Kirika felt warm and dry, but not confining and oppressive as Bannor feared. Every footstep and creak of armor resounded off the sanded stone walls.
Inside, the Kirika’s builders had divided the space into four sections. Low partitions separated a small shrine to the Elven god Carellion, a grief circle, a viewing area and the slanted runway that ended in the doors to the burial chamber proper.
Irodee spoke in clipped Elven pointing here and there, apparently assigning tasks. The prompt way her orders were followed left no question in Bannor’s mind that she was the unquestioned leader of this band. One group stood in the viewing area and helped each other remove their armor. Others stacked wood and worked at starting a fire in the fireplace in the wall by the grief circle. The rest used blankets and materials stored in the shrine to make sleeping arrangements.
Bannor looked back as the entrance doors boomed shut, and heavy bolts clanked into place. The last of fighters stood near the doors stripping off their armor.
Laramis and Wren helped Irodee remove her armor. The three of them shared another hug. The elves and half-elves watched Laramis and Irodee with round eyes.
Kalindinai watched the activity with obvious interest. Janai and Sarai helped her draw off the soaked leather cloak. Bannor helped the two men lay Meliandri in the shrine. As he arranged the woman on a mat, he felt a pang of pity. She had seemed such a vibrant person when he met her. Now, she might as well be doll of rags and string.
Shaking himself, he went to help Sarai take off her drenched clothing. “This isn’t as bad as I imagined,” he said to her.
“No,” she agreed. “But, I’d hate to get trapped in here.”
Bannor looked around. “These walls are thick.”
“Please,” Janai said in a shaky voice. “Don’t talk like that. Kirikas make me nervous enough.”
The Queen put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She glanced around. “No one likes to be reminded of death.”
Laramis turned with his arm still around Irodee’s waist. His eyes flashed and a glow pulsed in the middle of his chest. When he spoke, his voice echoed. “Let there be no talk of death!” He clapped Wren on the shoulder and made a fist. “We are a force once again. Take heart!” His words rolled through the room like thunder. The sound gripped Bannor like a vice. Everyone in the stood as though riveted. “It is Hecate who should be afraid,” he continued. “We shall defeat her avatars and banish them forever.” He held his arms outspread. “Veeg gist del thon! Victory over the dark!”
Irodee raised her fist. “Veeg!”
Wren raised her hands as well.
A loud crack of metal on stone resounded through the chamber. The Queen raised her black rod, scanning the assemblage. “Ja ecadra. My people. Veeg!”
One of the burliest warriors stepped to Irodee’s side and pumped his fist.
Sarai and Janai added their voices.
Around the room, others joined the chant. The mingled voices echoed in the chamber, sounding like hundreds of voices rather than the score actually here.
Bannor’s heart pounded as he felt the energy of the gathering surge through him. Laramis was right, without faith they would never defeat the avatars. Thousands of lives depended on his actions. If he surrendered, those who had died would all perish in vain. He glanced at Meliandri, and felt a surge of anger and repugnance rush through him. The avatars and their minions must be defeated, to prevent deaths like Meliandri’s and others.
He mustered his courage and raised his voice with the others.
“Veeg!” The word vibrated the walls and the spirits sleeping in the catacombs below seemed to join in.
“Veeg!”
“Veeg..!”
***
Bannor slept the soundest he had in weeks. In a single blaze of clarity, the whole group came together as a unit.
He opened his eyes. A glance around showed no one had yet stirred. Bannor lay with his arm around Sarai enjoying her warmth. Wan embers popped in the fireplace that glimmering and crumbling. All around him, he heard snores and heavy breathing. Vision still blurry from sleep, he recalled how Laramis had led the soldiers in a cheer.
He glanced across the grief ring to where Irodee lay wrapped around her husband like blanket. Even asleep, the man maintained a measure of dignity, his face composed and serene.
&nbs
p; Last night’s scene had happened so fast. The abrupt way it occurred, and the incongruence of the experience, made Bannor uneasy. He remembered sensing that the paladin was manipulating the gathering. Veeg, victory—he used word the like a spell that energized battle weary men and women, including the Queen and himself. It troubled him at how easily he’d been captured by that fanatical verve—almost out of control.
He rolled his head back and studied the star-scape mural on the ceiling. Why, when they most needed unity, did he abruptly mistrust the man? Last night, he let Laramis convince him their group would overcome all obstacles. It felt marvelous.
Laramis’ rally call brought new life to Irodee’s troop. With the Queen and her daughters there to show support, those warriors would march into Hades itself.
Bannor pushed away his misgivings. How could he defeat the avatars if he couldn’t trust his friends?
Frustrated, he disentangled himself from Sarai and rose. He sat on the hearth and tossed more branches into the embers. The rumble and hiss of the storm echoed down the chimney flue.
He was like that storm, powerful yet at the same time impotent. To the unwary, a tempest often proved lethal. To the well-prepared, it posed only an inconvenience. The avatars were ready. Every fiber of his being said so. He remembered Irodee’s words in the town square, ‘Hecate is the mistress of illusions, she preys on our hopes—’. They’d been the words of a woman on the verge of despair.
Their only hope of defeating the avatars lay in doing something unexpected. Going for the gate seemed obvious to him. The Queen thought the opposite, saying the act should be seen as too desperate. Wasn’t desperation the emotion Hecate wanted him to feel?
Damn, he hated guessing games. He tossed a few more branches on the flames and watched as the smaller tendrils of wood curled up, reddened, and ignited.
As he turned from the fire, he froze, realizing someone was watching him. Legs dangling over the partition, one of Irodee’s troops nodded to him.
Bannor nodded back. The elf raised a drinking skin in one hand and pointed to it, he gestured for Bannor to come sit by him.
The soldier kept his gray-blond hair braided into rows. His shoulders, now rounded, looked like they once had carried weight of the world. For a moment, he simply stared at Bannor with heavy-lidded amber eyes that glinted like stained glass. He then grinned, a black gap in his smile where three front teeth had obviously been knocked out. Now close, Bannor saw that the elf’s ears bore unmistakable signs of purposeful disfigurement. Borderlanders called this particular hate crime against elves, an ‘ear bobbing’. It surprised Bannor that this elf wanted anything to do with a human.
The soldier put a hand over his heart. “Corrd,” he said in a gruff, but quiet voice.
He mimicked the gesture. “Bannor.”
Corrd nodded and shook the drinking skin. “Quetzal.” He took a pull from the nozzle, and sighed. He shook the bag again for emphasis. “Shimack. Good.” He held it toward Bannor.
Nodding, Bannor accepted the bag and took a drink. The sweet bitter brew made a shudder go through him. It reminded him of the dark concoction that Sarai occasionally made by steeping fire-leaves in boiling water. His heart thumped harder and the fuzziness in his vision started clearing. “Whoa.” He let out a breath.
The elf’s grin widened. He pointed at the skin. “Aka?”
He smiled back. “Aka, very shimack.” He took another gulp and passed it back.
Corrd and he sat for a while, sharing the quetzal and not saying anything. Other members of Irodee’s group were beginning to stir.
“Yo-urs,” Corrd asked in thickly accented common. He pointed to Bannor’s mithril hand axe that lay next to his bedroll.
Bannor dipped his head. “Eight summers,” he tried to recall the Elven words. He counted—ike, daba, tren… “Octa cyclica.”
Corrd made an approving grunt. He pointed to the axe, then himself. “Me do.” He mumbled in Elvish obviously reaching for words. “Bord-er.” He pulled a scabbard off his belt and showed Bannor. Embossed in silver, the stylized images of the pennons of the twelve counties of Malan twined down the length of the sheath.
Bannor made a fist in approval. “Dak’Rega,” he said.
Corrd brightened and punched Bannor in the shoulder. “Aka.”
This soldier did for Malan the same job Bannor did for Ivaneth. The elves of the Dak’Rega guarded the border villages and served as scouts to prevent incursions of vermin like orcs and goblins.
Bannor held out his hand and they meshed their fingers. “Good,” he said. “Shimack.” He clapped his other hand on top.
Corrd patted the stack. “Veeg,” he muttered then drew his hands back. He shook his head and laughed, then mumbled something in Elvish.
“Veeg,” Bannor repeated. He took the bag of quetzal from Corrd and took another body-riveting gulp. “We agree on that. We’re going to get crunched.”
Corrd grunted. The elf stiffened and his tan skin paled. He suddenly began studying his lap.
“Introduce me to your friend?” Sarai said from next to him. Bannor felt a light touch on his shoulder.
His mate’s silvery hair was mussed from sleep, and her face looked drawn from not being entirely awake. She wore nothing but one of his long tunics and her short-clothes. Startled, it took a moment for him to find his words. “Sarai.” He put his arm around her. “Ummm—this is Corrd. He’s a Dak’Rega. We were sharing some a—a quetzal.” Why did he feel embarrassed?
“Corrd?” Sarai rubbed her temple. “I’ve heard that name before. You two sharing that quetzal, or is it just a male thing?”
Bannor wasn’t sure how much of the common language that Corrd understood, but the elf stammered an apology. Wiping the nozzle, he presented it to Sarai, obviously taking great pains not to accidentally touch her.
She took a big swallow, shuddered, and then sighed. “Yes-s-s, real quetzal, not that weak fire-leaf sludge.” She tilted her head back and downed another big hit.
He glanced at Corrd. The soldier’s eyes seemed to have doubled in size. Seeing the princess half-dressed, and taking swigs from a bag of quetzal was probably the shock of Corrd’s life. Bannor could only imagine what he would feel like if King Edmund’s daughter had stumbled up to him half-dressed and asked for a drink.
Sarai’s eyes brightened and color flushed her cheeks. She took a last sip and handed it back with ‘thanks’ in Elvish. Corrd received the bag stiffly as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Much better,” she remarked to Bannor.
He gave her a squeeze. “So, what do you think we’ll do today?”
Sarai thought for a moment, and ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, we probably—”
A frantic pounding on the kirika doors interrupted her sentence. Bannor’s heart jumped and he looked to the shadowed entryway where the torches had burned down.
All around the room, soldiers sat up in their bedrolls, some bolting to their feet.
Sarai’s eyes widened and she stared at the huge metal portal. “First thing might be to figure out who wants in so badly.”
As the hammering continued, Bannor grabbed his weapons from the floor and ran to the doors. Corrd followed at his back.
They both slid to a stop, shoulders against the thick metal. The pounding sounded like sword hilts or something similar hitting the surface outside. Muffled voices demanded entry.
Should they open the door and see who it was? It might be Malanian subjects seeking safety from the storm. He glanced at Corrd whose face remained intent as he listened to the sounds.
“Don’t open those doors,” Irodee said behind them.
Bannor glanced back. The huge woman stopped next to Corrd and repeated the message in Elvish.
“How can you be sure?” Bannor asked.
The woman’s dark brown eyes flashed. “Trust me.”
Abruptly, the thumping on the door stopped. The echoes in the hall died out. Everyone glanced around.
“Damn,” Laramis muttered. “Our horses are outside.”
Many of Irodee’s warriors began pulling on their armor and strapping on swords. The Queen stepped between Wren and Laramis. Janai took Sarai’s arm and scanned the kirika nervously.
The building shuddered. Everyone ducked and stared at the ceiling. It was as if lightning had struck the roof.
“Not good,” Bannor mumbled.
Irodee rapped out orders, and her troops organized themselves into four groups.
The wavering flames in the hearth caught Bannor’s attention. A sense of danger shocked through him. “Look, the fire—!”
The fire blazed and a single fluttering shape the size of a bird erupted out of the fireplace. Two warriors flailed at a black silhouette as it zigzagged across the room. Bannor raised his axe and sword to fend the thing away as it suddenly swerved toward him.
The creature hit like a hammer. The force slammed Bannor off his feet. He landed on his back with a crash and all the air in his lungs whooshed out. A heavy weight pressed against his chest.
Through a haze of dots spinning in his vision Bannor tried to lever the weight off him. His fingers locked in other fingers and he stared into dark eyes looking out of a wolfish face.
His own.
Actually, I admire courage. I simply detest the trait in creatures when it gives them the will to defy my wishes…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’
* * *
Chapter Sixty-One
Reality's Plaything Page 48