by Curtis, Greg
“Yes Lady.”
Sena accepted her orders immediately, but she didn't like them. It wasn't just that she was tired and had been looking forward to having a few quiet days at the temple. It wasn't even that she knew what the Lady was suggesting was dangerous. It was that it seemed like an escalation. If they relit the way, the Dicans would have to respond. And they only knew one way to respond.
They were buying themselves a war.
But also, she wasn't sure she wanted to face the wildling Dorn again. When he had spoken to them, yelled at them, she had known enough to understand that the anger in his heart was born of pain and fear. And while she knew little of him she could guess that he had reason for that pain. So many did. She didn't want to be yelled at by him again. But the fort would have to be one of their stops.
It wasn't his words that troubled her. It wasn't the anger either. Many were angry and hurt. It was the worry that somewhere in all that pain and fear was a nugget of truth – that the world had become a dark and terrible place of late and those who did terrible things needed to be fought. The one thing sun elves did not do.
And she worried that in asking what they would of him they would be exposing him to more pain and fear. And whatever else he might be, he did not deserve that.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Eris stood in the clearing beside the ancient fort staring at the huge rocks buried in the ground in front of him and knew a sense of anger. Something a wayfarer was simply not supposed to know. But he did. Seeing the rocks, the great holes they'd dug into the ground, and the blackened grass all around, he knew a surprising rage for those who had come to destroy the shrine a second time. What was it about these black robed priests of fear that could drive them to commit such terrible acts? The Lady was not going to be pleased to hear of the attack.
At least they'd failed. The fort still stood, and some of the vegetation on the courtyard was even starting to grow back again after the first attack. Meanwhile the giant war machine, a trebuchet thirty feet tall, was a blackened skeleton three hundred yards away on the track along with several other large ash piles. There were no bodies at least though here and there the dirt was stained with what he thought might be dried blood.
Anger would not help him though. Eris knew that. He had a job to do. One entrusted to him by Lady Sylfene, and he needed to be calm to do it. So he took a few deep breaths to clear the angry thoughts from his mind and then walked back to the fort and the shrine to the Mother.
It was a pity that his sister wasn't with him to help with the prayer. She was better with the ancient tongue than he was. Especially when he was tired from all the travelling he'd been doing of late. Using his gift so much was hard on a man. Hard on both the flesh and the spirit. But she had gone into the town to see if she could find the shifter and tell him what the Lady had planned, while he was the priest. Time was critical as they had many more altars, temples and shrines to travel to in as short a time as possible, and so they couldn't afford to spend any longer in Little Rock than they had to. Besides, they needed to know about this latest attack. The Lady needed to know.
In the courtyard he quickly made his way to stand in front of the shrine, annoyed to see the statue of Xeria so blackened. It would have to be cleaned when the priests arrived. More than cleaned. Something would have to be done to remove the stench of the black priests from the courtyard. Even though they'd been stopped their presence was everywhere and even a simple acolyte like him could feel it.
Once he was ready he began the prayer. His tongue found the ancient words easily enough; he had repeated them so often. But the words were only the smallest part of the prayer. They guided the spirit. It was the spirit that asked the goddess to appear, and his spirit was troubled.
He’d seen a lot of violence in the last few months. A lot of injustice and cruelty. He’d also felt a lot of the anger and rage. It came together in his heart like a war. A war for his very being. And this was the very worst place for him to be when he needed calm. This was the home of the wildling warrior. And his animus was here too. Everywhere. As Eris opened his senses to the spirit world he could feel Dorn's essence all around. The emotions he'd felt during the years he'd lived here had absorbed into the very stone.
It hung like a pall of darkness all around. The anger and fear was so powerful that they made the air feel heavy. But Eris also sensed with that with them there was a burning need for justice. And the need to protect. Hope and despair were perfectly balanced on a knife edge. Both in the fort and he suspected, in Dorn.
But love was there too. Eris didn't know Dorn, but as he spoke the prayer and tried to summon the Mother's presence he began to understand him a little. He was a good man in a very bad place. And now with the war upon them, he was a man struggling to find his way. The Lady was right about him; the man didn't know if what he had done was right or wrong. All he knew was that he had to try.
The other shrines had been easier. The prayers were spoken and the summoning of the Mother's presence came easily. But not here. Here the Mother's presence and the fury of the shifter's emotions were somehow confused. They had become mixed and it was hard to keep them separate. Still, he tried, forcing himself again and again to concentrate only on the Mother, but it was like trying to separate water and wine. They just wouldn't part.
Yet maybe they shouldn't be separate? As he kept struggling to keep them apart, to concentrate only on the divine, on the Mother, the strange idea occurred to him. Maybe they weren't meant to be two? Maybe there was something about the two that went together.
The divine and the earthly. The pure love of the Mother and the mire of emotions that was the man. The compassion of the transcendent and the fear of the corporeal. They seemed like such complete opposites, and yet something seemed determined to hold them together. Something bound them as one. Something akin to the bonds of family.
Eris didn't understand it, but it didn't matter. In the same moment that he realised that the two things were one he felt the Mother's presence and he called to her. A heartbeat later she was there with him. Just the tiniest fraction of herself, a shadow at most, something even less than an echo, but she was there and the shrine was awake again. Filled for the first time in three thousand long years.
His task was complete.
But as he opened his eyes and took in the majesty of her presence with his soul, he knew he was never going to be able to explain what had just happened. He was going to have to try – the Lady would expect it and in any case she needed to know. But what he could tell her made no sense. Not even to him.
Chapter Twenty Four.
It was warm in the alehouse. Carr had got the fire burning early, even before Dorn had arrived. His first customer of the day. Dorn was enjoying his time in the Griffin's Nest as he usually did even though it was still early and no one else had yet arrived. Not even the soldiers were there. Though they usually didn't get up until well after midday. The mornings they reserved for tending to their aching heads and cursing Heiros for his terrible jest. That he could bring them such joy in the night and such misery the morning after.
Dorn was planning on sitting in the alehouse until the other townsfolk arrived, and lunch was served. Carr's wife was always good with the roast and today from the smell it was wild boar on the menu. And that was just what he needed. A good hot meal, some more ale, and some people to share a few words with. To hear the news of what was happening in the wider world. Indeed, he had been told that there had been a bard in town in the last few days. Maybe some of his stories had been true. It had been too long since he had enjoyed those simple pleasures.
For the moment he was enjoying his ale. It was as far as he was concerned, a well deserved drink. Even if no one else knew what he'd done.
Nearly a month ago now he had sent the Dicans attacking his home packing for the second time. And in the weeks that had followed he'd sent half a dozen more patrols and two small armies running as well. As he'd feared the Dicans had decided to move
north in numbers, wanting to conquer the province with sheer numbers. He had done his best to make certain things didn't work out for them as they'd planned.
Dorn had been spending a lot of time out in the wilds, roaming ever further from Little Rock, hunting them down and punishing them for their many atrocities. It was easy to find them when he knew what their targets were. Temples and shrines, small villages and towns and any wildlings they could find. Whatever they thought they could either destroy or seize. But the white wrath was teaching them a valuable lesson. They couldn't. It was a powerful weapon.
He'd caught a patrol just outside of the Broken Shaft Mine and sent thirty more men screaming in terror. A small army of soldiers heading for the town of Three Falls a few leagues south of Little Rock had learned the same lesson in fear. Two hundred men had fled into the night and half a dozen Dicans would never be the same again.
He was also becoming quite accomplished at ripping faces apart. When those who survived returned to their churches he could imagine that they would be unpopular. And when they spoke of their fear it would be worse. Fear for them was doubt and Dicans did not tolerate doubt. They would likely be killed by their black robed brothers.
And here and there when he got the chance he shot arrows into others. Dusky elf arrows. The elves were no longer in the region as far as he could tell, but they still made good scapegoats.
In the last three or four weeks he would have thought the best part of five hundred men had been sent fleeing in terror, and two dozen black priests had been badly injured – all by his hand or his claws. He only wished it could have been more. But there was a limit to how far he could range even in his four legged form.
And when he hadn't been out hunting he had also done a considerable amount of work on his home. The vegetable garden was bursting with fresh produce, there were half a dozen hens in the new coop, and he had even built himself another chair upon which to rest out in the sun as he read his books. One more comfortable than the others. In point of fact he thought he deserved a second ale before lunch. Not that he would order one however. It might make the journey home through the forest a little more challenging than it should otherwise be.
“Might I join you?”
Dorn looked up to see the wayfarer standing beside him, and he immediately knew a sense of gloom. It had been a good morning. He had brought seventy furs to the tanner and received three full silvers and a dozen coppers for them. A good haul. And later when it was ready the man would provide him with a new leather vest as well. As a result his pack was full of dry goods for the trip home and he knew he would be eating well for months to come. What was more, his coin purse was still full. He had stopped in the Griffin's nest for a celebratory ale, perhaps a little earlier than normal, but he was still happy to wait. To wait for lunch and his new vest. But suddenly all the happiness left him.
“Shite!”
“I'll take that as a yes shall I?”
Sena smiled at him and took the seat opposite him at the table. Evidently it was too late to say no. But he silently cursed himself for not having done so immediately. Not that he thought she would have accepted his refusal. He was beginning to realise that these wayfarers were pushy. And yet she was still uncommonly pretty he thought. Many men would be happy to have her sit beside them, hopeful that Oliviane herself had brought her to them. But then they didn't know her.
“Should you even be speaking to me wayfarer? After all, I am shunned.”
It was something that had occurred to him after her last visit. He only wished he could have thought of it then. It might have ended the shouting early.
“The Lady tells me who I can speak to and what I should say. And she has asked me to speak with you today.” She pursed her lips for a moment and then smiled. “But it was a clever idea to use your punishment as a means of avoiding a conversation. I imagine it will amuse Lady Sylfene as well.”
He sighed realising he had no chance of shutting her up. “What do you want wayfarer?”
“To talk about what you've been doing.”
She waited for a moment for her words to sink in and when they did and he looked suitably upset, she smiled at him as if to make it all better. But what he wondered, did she know of what he'd been doing? Somehow he doubted it would be all of it. He hoped.
“Be at ease Dorn of Lampton Heights. It is not to punish you any further. Nor to cause you any upset.”
“Fair of face, fickle of faith.” It was an old saying but too often true. Pretty women often said things that weren't true and made promises they never intended keeping. But his words provoked a different response from her than the one he would have expected.
“Why thank you Sir. I am pleased that you should find me fair.”
Sena mocked him gently with her words, though at least not in a nasty way. She was just having a little amusement at his expense. She even batted her eyelids at him like some noble born girl trying to get herself married off to a lord, and Dorn did his best not to groan.
“Then please explain Sena. What have I been doing?”
He thought it best to be polite. After all it had only been five or six weeks since he had sent her and her brother away in anger. She was bound to still harbour resentment for that. And his mother had always said to be polite, especially with pretty women. They tended to be susceptible to pretty words and good manners. And when they were happy it made everyone's life easier.
“What haven't you been doing? For a start you haven't been travelling to the temple to be with your people. You haven't apologised for your mistakes. You haven't started on the path to redemption. Instead you've been sitting and sulking like a petulant child.”
Once again the school teacher was back, and Dorn wanted to groan as she told him off. But he couldn't. He was too relieved to realise that she didn't know what he’d actually been doing. Because he was sure that would create more problems if she knew.
“And you came all this way to chide me about it?” He took a sip of his ale and let the amber liquid slide happily down his throat. Carr's ale was always good, but just then it was especially so.
“No.”
But maybe she had in part. He could see the annoyance in her face. She'd imagined that over the previous weeks he would have calmed down and thought on her offer. The offer that she surely imagined was generous beyond words.
“Then why are you here?” It seemed the obvious question.
“You know that we are restoring the path?”
Dorn stared at her, an eyebrow raised in question, wondering what she was talking about. They were rebuilding a road maybe? Why? And why should he care?
“The path. The way of the elf.”
“More elves?” He groaned. “Haven't we had enough of them?”
And he truly had. If he didn't see another elf as long as he lived he would be happy. And if he could add Dicans to that list he would be overjoyed.
“True elves,” she clarified.
It didn’t help. He still had no idea what the difference between a true elf and any other elf might be. He also didn’t care. Still, he waved her on, not wanting a lesson in elves.
“As part of that we are investigating the ancient monuments in the land.” Suddenly he understood why she was here.
“The shrine to Xeria.”
Although it wasn't much of a shrine any more. All that remained since the fire was the statue itself. Blackened by fire and surrounded by scorched earth. And yet when he looked upon it some days he still felt something moving within it. Some force.
“Exactly.” She nodded as if she thought he knew what he was talking about. He didn't. Not really.
“We'd like to send some people to study it. Scholars. And maybe a few soldiers to protect them. There are still enemies about even though the invasion is ended.”
“The invasion is over?”
That he hadn't heard, and that mattered. If there were no more elves - dusky elves that was - riding throughout the wastes that was a good thing. And if t
he Dicans were also gone that was better. But he hadn't heard that they'd left. In truth though there hadn't been much news in ages.
“Yes. Hadn't you heard?” Dorn shook his head.
“The Kingdom of Yed, Lampton Heights and Tellur el Ve have gone to war with one another. The southern realms have been beating their war drums for a week or more now. There have been a dozen battles at least.”
“The Dicans and the dusky elves?” She nodded and suddenly Dorn felt all the joy that had fled him return and a lot more with it. His two most hated enemies, at war with one another. There could surely be no better news. Not for him nor for any of the other wildlings. Maybe some of that happiness showed on his face. Maybe a little too much. Sena frowned.
“People are dying.” She said it as if it was a new thing. As if the wastes hadn't already been littered with bodies from their attacks.
“People were always dying and many more were going to. Especially when the Dicans and the dusky elves were working together to invade the wastes.”
“Working together?” Her stare became unexpectedly hard as she studied him looking for answers. “And how exactly would you know that?”
“A month or two ago I might have rescued three of ours from a camp where the Dican's soldiers and the dusky elves were sharing a fire.”
Of course could he really say 'ours'? It seemed there was his 'ours' which meant wildlings and the 'ours' of the Lady Sylfene which didn't seem to include him. Even if she had offered the chance of clemency, something that still made him angry. Angry enough that he suddenly didn't care if she knew what he'd been doing these past weeks and months.
“Rescued? How?” She didn't look happy for some reason. She looked suspicious. And he didn't care.
“White wrath.”
“The torturer's aid?”
“The very one. But it's also a weapon. An agent of dark dreams and waking terrors. Warm the pods through gently until they pop and let the drifting spores slowly settle on your enemy. They send the soul to the underworld early. I used it to send the Dicans fleeing in terror from my home when they attacked the first time, and ever since then to send their patrols from around here fleeing.”