Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six)

by Downs, Gregory J.

  He had dreamed, that night. And he had seen his father die.

  Gribly shouted, in anger and pain, and in loss. His fists clenched, his chest heaved, and a single tear trickled from one eye. He screamed into the void of this broken land, for all that he had lost, and all that he was losing, and all that he was going to lose.

  He shouted until his voice would no longer work. Then he healed himself with Spirit, and was about to start again…

  Brother. A message has come to Gorgoris. It was Gramling. The rebellion of the Golden Nation has begun. He is, more or less, its mastermind. There is burning in the Golden City, and the Golden Sepulcher is once more under attack from its own. The rebellion reaches farther than I had ever guessed.

  Gribly thought for a moment before replying. Are we to join them?

  No. But it may draw Sheolus’s attention before we are ready. I thought you should know. And, Gorgoris thinks we should allow ourselves to sleep, drifting through the Otherworld until it is time to leave, tomorrow night, gathering power. We’ll need all we can get.

  Fine. I’ll be down in a minute.

  There was silence, for a long time. Then, just when Gribly thought Gramling had gone on to other things, he heard his brother’s reply.

  I know what you have lost. We have both lost it. Them. I… I am with you. We will take it together, Gribly. We have to.

  Only then did the tears come. Gribly gazed out over the twilight expanse of the desert, and did not try to wipe them away.

  I know, Brother. I know. Together.

  ~

  That night, Lauro dreamed. And for the first time in a long time, it was not a nightmare. The very fact that he knew he was dreaming meant this was something more. He was standing in cool, soft grass, in a clearing, amidst trees, on a hill. The hill stood in a larger, rolling field. A copse was all around him. In the distance he saw a darkened forest. Walls of broken stone scraped the sky behind him.

  He had been here before. This was where he had first met Mudlo, the ranger, and…

  “Lauro?” That voice. He knew that voice!

  Lauro turned, and saw Avarine leaning against a tree, dressed as if out on a hunt. Her smile set his heart to pounding, as she brushed back scarlet locks and started towards him…

  This was not Avarine as he had left her last, sorrowful and tired. This was Avarine as he had always seen her in his mind… beautiful, serene, and knowing.

  As she drew near, Lauro took her by the shoulders.

  “Is this… is this just a dream? Is it you I see?” He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice, and he didn’t try to. It was all too good to be true.

  She took his hands in hers. “Yes. It is a dream, Lauro Vale. But a true dream. This close to the Last Day… I am more powerful in Spirit than I ever was before. I am really present, as are you. We are both dreaming… but that does not make it any less real.”

  His breath caught. “So… we…”

  “It is the last dream,” she whispered.

  There was no longer any need for words. He drew her in, and she engulfed him. They kissed. For a time beyond time they stood there together, in the place where they first had felt the unquenchable bond. It was a sliver of eternity, stamped in both their minds indelibly, come what may.

  At last, breathing deeply, they drew apart… but not far.

  “I tried, Avarine…” Lauro whispered. “I tried to save your people.”

  “You did,” she said, eyes glistening, “you did. Your friends did what they had to… and so did you. Now my people can fight for their freedom, without being crushed at every turn.”

  “Two days,” Lauro said, shaking his head. “The clerics are spreading the word. In two days, the world ends.”

  She hugged him tightly. “No. We will not let it. You lead your people, and I lead mine. We will march to your aid. We will stand together.”

  “It all seems so hopeless,” he said, forcing out the words, holding her and wishing he would never have to let go.

  “Never,” she whispered, pressing against him. “Never, never, never. The Halanyad will come, too, if you call her. Unite the free peoples. Bring us together… my Love.”

  He smiled, despite himself, and kissed her forehead tenderly. “We’re out of time. But I will send for her. And if you wish to come, come. But it will be too late.”

  “It is never too late, Lauro Vale. Never.”

  He leaned in to kiss her again, but the world seemed to shimmer, shuddering at the edges. Thunder rumbled. “What was…?”

  “Our time is up,” she said sorrowfully. “You’re being woken from the dream.”

  “I never want to wake,” he said, trying not to weep. “I may never see you again.”

  He kissed her. The world shook.

  “You will,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “I swear you will.”

  The world fell apart.

  ~

  Lauro woke, lying on the cot in his tent. His eyes were wet. He wiped them with his sleeve, sitting up to see who had woken him. It was one of his guards, a man named Lucen. He looked to have been recently on duty outside. Under his rainwater-covered visor, the soldier looked gaunt and pale… almost as if…

  “What’s the matter?” Lauro asked, swinging his booted feet around to land on the ground. He slept with most of his clothes on now, just in case. “Are we under attack?” He began to stand.

  “No, M’lord,” Lucen said, “but the strangest bloody thing has just happened. I think you’ll want to stay sitting, to hear it.”

  Lauro obeyed, feeling slightly foolish and very, very tense. “Go on.” He let his hand drift just under the cot, feeling for where the Midnight Sword lay atop his other things… just in case.

  “One of those demons broke into camp,” the bodyguard said. “But it didn’t kill anyone. Just walked straight through, avoiding everyone. We don’t know how it got here, or how it evaded the clerics… but it was different. Very different. Wasn’t made of proper clockwork, like the others. All silver-plated, with a mask-like face… and a red cloak, and it shone like the sun… we thought it might’ve been the Golden One himself, only it wasn’t. He stopped outside your tent just now, when we challenged him.”

  Lauro stiffened, his mind whirling. Automo. It had to be him. “Where is he now? Is he still outside?”

  “No. He stopped, and looked angry… and muttered something about a presence, like someone we couldn’t see was keeping him from entering. I think he could’ve killed us all, all four of us out there… but he was being stopped by something. Someone, maybe.”

  “What happened?”

  “He sneered at us, when we told him to surrender himself. He was taller than our biggest man, by at least two feet. Maybe more. It was a proper standoff, all right. But he backed down. He gave us a letter, which we didn’t dare not take. Then he just… vanished. He shone so bright when he did… we couldn’t see what’d happened to him. He could be anywhere by now.”

  Thank the Aura for you, Avarine. I don’t know what you did… but thank you.

  Lauro stood up. “Well, that’s past now. I don’t think he’ll return. The… the Aura will see to it. They probably kept him off.” Or did they? Who even knows, anymore? “May I see the letter?”

  Lucen nodded, producing a large, ribbon-bound scroll of vellum from a pouch at his belt. Lauro thanked him, taking it warily into his hands and examining it. It seemed safe… and there was no one to tell him otherwise. What I would give to have Gribly… ah, blast it all.

  He snapped the scarlet ribbon, letting it float carelessly to the floor of the tent. Lucen stood by, anxiously watching, hand on his sword-hilt… but Lauro did not blame him, or tell him to leave. He unwrapped the scroll before realizing there wasn’t nearly enough light to read by.

  “Lantern,” he said, and Lucen nodded, turning to rummage through the things on Lauro’s command table.

  “I’ll provide that.” Suddenly the tent was filled with light. Lucen jumped in fright, but La
uro had become accustomed to such intrusions.

  “You took long enough, Traveller,” he said, turning to where the Gray Aura stood casually behind him, hands folded into his sleeves. The light seemed to be coming from him, but Lauro was not impressed. “Where were you when the Red Aura walked freely through my camp?” Anger was not the appropriate response, but Lauro was beyond caring.

  “Stopping him,” Traveller replied icily. “The Otherworld is where I am strongest, young one. I cannot be everywhere at once.”

  Lauro shrugged, dropping it. He turned his attention to the vellum, warily reading through it with growing ire and gloom.

  So, it is you who make the first move. Have you discovered the cowardice of your friends? Have you even been told where they have gone? I will tell you. They have gone to ME. They seek with their small, weak power to supplant me… they will fail. As will you. Would you prefer to choose the place of your defeat, or shall I?

  I have withdrawn from the Northern lands in order to give you room to consider your fate. Bring your nymphs, if you wish. Bring your barbarian allies… it will do you no good. Do you fear me yet, little king? You should. Your prior victories have but postponed the day of your destruction… but no longer. You hear the rumors. You see the signs. When you receive this, you will have but a day and some hours before your world is destroyed. Let me make this as painless as possible.

  The White Marshes lie between us both. You control a sliver of the North… I control all else. Meet me in battle, little king. Test the strength of your god-sword against the ageless might of the Red Aura, my Supreme General. An invasion will only prolong the suffering of your people… you know this as well as I. But meet me in battle, your armies against mine… and make an end of it.

  One way or another, it will all end on the Day of Norne. Choose your death, son of Larion.

  It was not signed. It did not need to be. Lauro finished, rolled it up, and passed it to Traveller. The Gray Aura read it with gritted teeth. Lucen seemed only partially recovered from his shock, standing listlessly and looking as if he would die if he did not learn what was going on. Lauro beckoned him closer.

  “Sire?” the soldier asked. “Is it a challenge? What is your command?”

  “Do not accept, Lauro. You must not let him lure you. He is not all-knowing, but if you follow his lead you will have doomed yourself.”

  Traveller spoke faster than Lauro had expected. In a way, it made the decision easier… to hear him talk like that. Lauro turned, gazing steadily at the glowing Aura. His glance was hard and unyielding.

  “I am already doomed, O Aura. And it is not my fault. It is yours. If you stand with us, then stand. If you do not, leave. But whether you do or not, I am finished fleeing before my enemies.”

  Lauro turned to Lucen, battle plans already forming in his mind. “No,” whispered Traveller, and the light in the tent went out. He was gone.

  “Sire?” Lucen asked again.

  “Send word to Bernarl, the Lord of Rogues,” Lauro said, reaching down for his gear. “Alert the Mancaptains and Wind Clerics. Have my generals mobilize the men, and send word to our allies in the Blackwood and Grymclaw.”

  “Yes, sire…” there was a question in his voice.

  “A problem, Lucen?”

  “M’lord… they won’t reach us in time.”

  Lauro grimaced, but his mind was set. “I know. But they’ll be there to see the result. That’s all that matters. If we can’t come out of this alive, we’ll pave the way for those who follow.”

  “Yes, Sire. Is that all?”

  “It is.”

  Lucen bowed and left. In less than a minute, the camp around his tent was buzzing with activity. Lauro dressed in his travelling gear, with the least amount of armor as he felt safe with. The last march was at hand. He would lead his men… to victory, or to death.

  I’m sorry, Avarine, he thought. But this is how our story has to end.

  Chapter Thirteen: Umbalo Ultem

  WHUMP.

  The sound woke Gribly with its silent magnitude. He sat up in the bed Gorgoris had provided for him, rubbing his eyes. It didn’t really occur to him to wonder what it was; the Faithful had been ferrying Striders through to Goldenmount all yesterday. Strange noises were more common than breakfast.

  Yesterday. That meant today… is the eve of the Day of Norne.

  A thin sliver of red light shone through the window crack above him. Gribly rolled out of bed, fully alert now, and pulled on boots, a thin mesh shirt, and his long brown coat. There would be no more sleeping. For better or worse, he would never sleep again.

  Gribly had just taken his staff from the wall near the bed when Gramling stormed through the door.

  “There’s a problem,” was all he said before leaving, never even checking to see if Gribly would follow. But he did, and after a rapid walk-jog through the ebony halls of the broken tower, he found himself once more entering the secret Shrine beneath the enclave.

  It was dimly lit, as always, but for the first time since coming here, all eight of the Faithful shamans were arrayed around the altar again. Or were they? Gribly only counted seven, and…

  …Laid across the altar was the last one. Gorgoris. His hood was gone, and his face was burned hideously. As Gribly entered, the other shamans sent up a keening moan, then began a death chant to mourn their fallen leader. Gramling just looked at him solemnly, and walked up to the altar. He followed, and his brother laid a hand on Gorgoris’s chest. There was no breathing.

  “What happened?” Gribly asked, horrified.

  “He went through the portal this morning, to check on those camping near Goldenmount. I wasn’t sleeping yet, so I saw him go. Just now, he came back through a Dream Portal… like this. He died before the Faithful even summoned me.”

  “Summoned you?” Gribly questioned. Gramling nodded, appearing totally unaffected by the wailing all around them.

  “He bore only the face burns, and this.” His brother took the shaman’s arm and lifted it up, so that the cloth of his sleeve fell back.

  Gribly grimaced. Burned into Gorgoris’s flesh, still red-hot, were three words.

  For a gift.

  “Blast,” Gribly swore quietly. “We’ve been played.”

  “You know what it means, then?” Gramling’s voice was grim.

  “It’s what Sheolus said to me, in the dream where he showed me how to find Elia and you.”

  Gramling dropped the arm callously, letting it flop back to the stone altar. “He knows, then. About everything.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “But probably.”

  “Probably.”

  Gramling turned away, pacing. The mourning of the shamans was quieter, now. Gribly could feel the silence like a noose. Choking him. Everything they’d done… worthless. Unless…

  “Gramling. Come here.” Reluctantly, his brother did. Gribly whispered the plan in his ear, and when he was done, Gramling’s eyes were wide.

  “But he’s always predicted us before. He can probably hear us right now.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Gramling paced around the altar once, then took Gribly by the shoulders. “Let’s do it.” Gribly nodded. Gramling clapped his hands twice, loudly, and the shamans gave up their wailing.

  “What… command… you?” one of them said in heavily accented commontongue. He must have been second in command, Gribly knew.

  “We strike back,” Gramling said, eyes aflame. “Now.”

  “The Day of Norne begins at midnight… in six hours,” Gribly added. “No more waiting. Our vengeance begins this very minute.”

  The shamans stared on in awed silence.

  “Make a Dream Portal,” Gramling told them. “The Prophets and the Faithful will march together for the first- and last- time.”

  ~

  Lauro crouched on the frozen ground beside the ranger, wishing he had woodcraft even half as skilled as the veteran Magnin Bogley.

  “What do you think?” he as
ked, wiping the ground with his fingers. Rags wound around his hands and wrists, and anyplace they could be wrapped. All his army was the same. This blasted winter had decided to hit them in full force all day, as if to pay back yesterday’s warm rain.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” the crafty old man said, tapping the icy frost with a knuckle. “Rain, then freeze. Unnatural tampering with the weather, that. Work of demons, most likely.”

  “Blast.”

  “Could have a practical purpose, though.”

  Lauro suddenly grew tense. “What’s that?”