Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  “You’ll need them, my friend,” Terrek said. “When we reach the deeper drifts, you’ll understand what I—”

  Vyergin snorted. “You think I’ve never worn snowshoes? What am I? A greenhorn?” With confident strides, he approached Gaelin.

  “He has been taken by his warder,” Avalar warned Vyergin, smiling despite herself at the welcome sight of the man’s familiar face. “I cannot promise he is himself.”

  Vyergin’s eyes narrowed. The lines in his face had deepened from his ordeal, yet his skin was still firm, his muscles lean and hard.

  “I’m me,” Gaelin reassured them. “Just tired.”

  Vyergin gestured to Mornius lying in the slush by Avalar’s leg. “I’ve never wanted to be on the receiving end of that,” he said. “But today I find myself grateful you carry it. Once more you have my thanks, little mage. But what in the North’s white blazes is that ugly thing?”

  The calico shan thrust past Avalar, stretching out its flat muzzle inquisitively to nibble Vyergin’s graying hair. “Ugh!” he gasped, pinching his nostrils as he batted at the snuffling nose. “What drop-house has this fellow been in?”

  “That’s my Vyergin.” Terrek grinned.

  “Please,” said Gaelin in a choked voice, “you need to know about Hawk. When we came upon him up on the mountain, he was dead. He had fallen into the river.”

  “Ah, blazes.” Vyergin scratched at the stubble of his beard.

  “I would have saved him,” Gaelin continued sadly. “But we were too late. I . . .”

  “I know you would have. But I think you’ll learn in time that you can’t fix everything, Lavahl, be it you or . . . whatever that thing is inside you,” Vyergin said. “Hawk did well for me. I just hope his ending was quick.”

  “I believe it was,” Terrek told him quietly.

  Avalar gulped, eyeing the river’s haunted mist with suspicion. She shivered at her weakness, remembering her proud defiance in the tree of the Eris Temple, her declaration of fealty despite the naked fear the elves had shown.

  Abruptly Gaelin pulled away from her and stood, stepping with care through the slush to retrieve his staff. As Avalar prepared to rise also, Terrek’s touch on her arm stopped her.

  “How are you?” he asked. “I saw what Holram did. And I know it drained you, too. I can tell how this place is hurting you, Avalar. Tell me what we can do.”

  “I am a giant, Leader Terrek.” Grimly she nodded toward the mist. “Others of my kind have endured far worse.”

  Chapter 40

  GAELIN FROWNED AS he surveyed the giant’s progress along the river. Often, she blundered into the silvery mist, as if seeking a union with the tendrils of fog. At intervals she stopped to mutter to herself, gesturing to urge the wispy shapes around her to flee.

  Gripping Mornius, Gaelin lurched at Vyergin’s side toward Terrek, his calves and hips aching.

  “Why aren’t you resting?” Terrek demanded. He straightened from cleaning his shan’s splayed hoof. “Isn’t that herb supposed to make you sleepy?”

  “That was the tagwort,” said Gaelin, drawing near to rub the forehead of Terrek’s shan. “The yellow powder Ponu gave to Vyergin doesn’t do a thing.”

  “Apparently it does,” Terrek said. “You’re on your feet, aren’t you?”

  Gaelin shrugged. “At least there’s no wind.” He buried his fingers in the shan’s bristled mane. Beyond the animals, Wren and Deravin Silva were guarding the packs and gear, their soft conversation inaudible above the fall of snow.

  “Do you see the giant?” asked Terrek. Then he pointed. “Look at her. By the river again, even though something about it hurts her. Why would she do that? She hasn’t been right since you used her to heal Vyergin. How could you risk jeopardizing her, Warder?” He emphasized the word. Glancing at his men, he lowered his voice. “You joined with her magic. You couldn’t do it alone, could you? You needed her help.”

  Gaelin felt the shifting inside as Holram, roused by the direct question, stepped to the front, pushing him back in his haste to answer. With a certainty Gaelin did not share, Holram said, “She was never in danger. Indeed, I do need her. Just as Erebos requires water to manipulate strong magic, so do I utilize her flesh, for she is Talenkai. It is because of my need to connect with this world that my staff was made. If you want me to be of use to you, this is what I must do.”

  Terrek sighed. “I thank you for restoring Captain Vyergin,” he said. “He has been a staunch friend to my father for many years, and a great asset to me.”

  Holram shrugged. “I am a caretaker of suns, Terrek Florne,” he said. “Perhaps your gratitude holds significance for others of your kind, but I am not human.”

  “Good, then know this,” Terrek snapped. “Avalar suffered trying to save my brother’s life. That makes her family. But even if that wasn’t the case, she is my responsibility. Next time you wish to indulge in reckless behavior, consult me first. Not because I’m a commander. This has never been an army; our titles are nothing but my father’s ridiculous whim. But with the single exception of Gaelin here, these men who are left are employees. My father put me in charge of them, and I vowed I’d try to lead them well.”

  “At this moment, the giant is with her people,” Holram said. “Not yours. She possesses the memories of her forebears, recorded within her magic. Her present turmoil has nothing to do with me or with how I used her to heal your captain. This land torments her, Terrek Florne. On this ground, many giants perished, and now she is forced to experience those deaths. You must escape this valley. Stop picking at these animals and wasting your time. They are not horses, so there is no need. If you really wish to help her, you must flee!”

  “So that’s her problem?” Vyergin asked with a glance at the giant. “Terrek, did you know about this?”

  “You weren’t there. And yes, I knew. The elves told us as much. But we can’t sprout wings and fly,” Terrek said to Holram. “That drug in Gaelin helps him recover, but not completely. If he doesn’t have rest, he will sicken and—”

  “He will never wholly mend,” Holram cut in. “The boy is dying, Terrek Florne, and he will die. There is no remedy for what you humans call aging, but time is not to be the cause of Gaelin’s demise. His exposure to my power will be. Much like the sacrifices on my enemy’s altar, he is the lamb upon mine.”

  Terrek drew a sharp breath. “You’re telling me you’ve killed him? After all he’s been through, now he has no hope?”

  Holram scanned the river. “I do not delight in the death of innocents as Erebos does. I am fond of Gaelin and will do my best to save him. But for now, you must find a way to coax the giant from this valley. If you fail in this or delay much longer, Avalar’s tortured mind could be split in two.”

  “I could ask her to leave,” Terrek mused, “like I did after her first night.”

  “Be still,” urged Holram. “She is coming!”

  With massive strides, the giant plowed through the drifts, her face flushed, her fists clenched at her sides.

  “Leader Terrek!” Avalar slammed to a halt, her fury sending the shan into a panic, a milling of cloven hooves, of shaggy manes and tails flying.

  “Easy,” Terrek soothed her. “Remember what Kildoren said. These creatures the forest elves ride have protective magic that will change them into something terrible. I’d rather not deal with that right now.”

  Bending to catch her breath, Avalar swiped back her dripping hair. “Pardon,” she said, forcing a semblance of calm into her voice. “Your ghost, Leader Terrek. I desire his counsel. He will comprehend what I see. Mayhap he can interpret what I cannot! Leader Terrek, aid me, for I cannot find him. Have you sheathed his weapon? Have you cast away his sword?”

  “No!” Terrek caught her wrist, tugging at her as he spoke. “I freed the ghost, remember? I must wield his blade now because mine was destroyed! I lost the scabbard, Giant. Not his sword!”

  She broke loose with a snarl. “So where? Where did he go?”

&nbs
p; “Avalar, if I knew, I would tell you,” said Terrek.

  “He will return soon!” Holram said, meeting her fiery glower beneath her unkempt blond hair. “He must, for he is bound to that steel.”

  “Avalar, walk in front of us, will you?” Terrek motioned toward the trees. “Head that way, and stay away from the river. Break trail in the snow so we can ride. Gaelin is tired and he needs to rest. Can you do that for me?”

  Good, Holram thought. Give her something to do.

  “I am a giant,” Avalar replied. “If I may aid you, I will.”

  Holram saw the conflict on the giant’s face as she glanced again at the narrowing river, her eyes wincing at the sight. He yearned to enter her mind to help her understand. The terror assailing her was a memory; the reality of it had occurred long ago. Even a prowler would fight now to the death—and had done, he realized as he remembered Shetra—to keep a giant safe.

  “I will do as you bid me,” Avalar answered. She thrust herself forward, plowing toward the distant trees.

  Holram met Terrek’s grim gaze. “Gaelin is dozing,” he answered the question in the human’s eyes. “Until he wakes, I cannot return to the staff.”

  “Send her home,” Vyergin said. “I’ve seen what’s ahead, and it only gets worse. You’re asking her to go where her people were slaughtered.”

  “You think I don’t know?” said Terrek. “I’m not asking anything from her! She’s here because she wants to be. It’s what she is. How would you feel if I ordered you home?”

  “Oh, would you?” Grinning, Vyergin placed a saddle on the largest shan. “One good meal and a bath, that’s all I ask. And before you know it, I’d be running right back to you like the homeless cur I am, to fight with Lucian Florne’s son! Believe it or not, I still think we can win this.”

  “Erebos has wanted the giants’ extinction,” Holram said. “The one threat to him other than myself would be the defenders of this world. Now they no longer ride their Azkhar males to battle. Rather they hide at the elves’ behest. In this way, Erebos has already won.”

  “Well, this is one giant he will not get to kill,” Terrek vowed. “Not while I live and breathe.”

  Holram nodded. As the others readied the shan to follow the giant, he limped toward the calico. “Gaelin, for the sake of your health, you must stop sleeping,” he thought to his host. “I do not wish to harm you.” He fumbled to remove the paddles from his boots, then tucked them into the pack behind the saddle. Sighing at the fever mounting in his flesh, he considered the shan’s wide back.

  The wet leather of Gaelin’s leggings abraded his thigh when he raised his foot. The sensation was unpleasant, he discovered while the shan, turning its head, lashed at his hip with its tail.

  “I do not like you, either,” Holram told the beast. He scrambled up at last and, clinging to the creature’s mane, settled awkwardly in the saddle. Remembering Kildoren’s words, he tipped his heels down, tilting his toes away from the animal’s ribs. He sat for a moment, gasping for breath while Terrek hurried on foot after the giant.

  Vyergin, sitting astride Terrek’s shan, hung back. When Holram rode abreast of him, he snatched the calico’s reins. “You aren’t ready for this, and you know it,” Vyergin growled. “I have watched Erebos work. You are no match for him.”

  “As my enemy has gained power extinguishing life,” Holram told him, “so I have grown stronger by restoring it. I have not been idle, Brant Vyergin. Perhaps I am mightier now than you know.”

  Vyergin nudged his shan into a fast walk. “You don’t care what you’re doing to this boy,” he said. “He is sick, and still here you are, making him worse. You won’t let him be. You’re a parasite. You’re as toxic as Erebos.”

  With a hard yank, Holram reclaimed his reins from Vyergin’s grasp. “Indeed, warders are lethal to creatures of flesh and blood. To save yourselves, you must be rid of us both.”

  Vyergin snorted and wheeled his beast, Terrek’s beaver cloak flaring as he rode at a shambling lope after his companions. Trailing him, Holram let his calico dawdle. He rode with his thoughts directed inward, mulling over the captain’s concern.

  “Friends,” Holram whispered at last, savoring the feel of the word on his tongue. A low thunder rumbled above him. He squinted at the whorls of fog obscuring the treetops, blinking at the granules needling his face. He rode with his head tipped back, his spirit reaching from the confines of Gaelin’s flesh. Up and out he stretched with his mental arms, longing for the void that was his home. He knew the empty coldness—for the whole of his long life he had dwelled within that realm. Above all else, it had taught him patience.

  Beneath the thickening snow, he was willing to wait, rocking drowsily on his little beast.

  Hands caught at his shan’s reins. He was lifted from the animal and set on his feet, then guided toward a fire below the trees.

  Wren Neche knelt to wrap him in a blanket. Holram, nodding to the guard, gripped the scratchy wool with fingers that burned, hugging it to himself as he peered into the flames.

  Beyond the blaze, Avalar crouched on her heels. “My father says giants are free,” she said. “Staying on Hothra is our way now to protect the world, but this is a lie, the falsehood the elves teach to our children. The sword has told me this, and I believe it. No one is free in a burning house. We either flee or we fight its destruction. To survive to see it whole again, we must.”

  Holram shivered under his blanket, inclining his shoulders toward the fire’s heat. “To flee is not an option for you. Your only choice is to fight. Erebos has grown. The closer I get, the more I feel it. He is fully mature, and I am not.”

  The giant sat on her cloak with its white fur over her legs, her quiet gaze meeting his. Vyergin stepped into view, an iron pot swinging from his gloved hand, heavy with broth for a stew. He bent to prod at the glowing brands with a stick before positioning the blackened vessel among them.

  “Like old times,” Terrek remarked, smiling. “Welcome back, Captain.”

  “Brant Vyergin understands,” Holram said. “He witnessed the perversion that is Erebos, and his heart bears the scars. Inquire of him, Terrek Florne. You should comprehend what it is you align yourself with. I am poison to you. I belong among the stars.”

  Quiet fell upon the camp, punctuated by the snap of the flames. Finally, Terrek looked up. “You’re telling us we shouldn’t trust you?”

  Avalar exploded to her feet. By the time Holram started to contemplate dodging her, she was on him, seizing him by the front of his tunic and hauling him to her level. She shook him hard, rattling his teeth. “Hear me!” she snarled. “You are a warder! And I am a giant! We do what we must, which is all we can do! You will not threaten the Circle! I have beheld it and I trust you. So, too, does Leader Terrek. Now you”—she gave him another hard shake—“must trust yourself!”

  Roughly she set him back on his feet, but at once clasped his arm, steadying him.

  Holram swayed under the weight of her glare. Terrek, his mouth stern, pulled at the giant’s fingers. “Easy does it, Avalar. He is Gaelin, too, remember? Don’t hurt him!”

  “I do not question myself,” Holram reassured her. “I only seek to make it clear what you must—” Quaking, he sank to his knees. The salty smell of Vyergin’s broth triggered a rolling response, a rhythmic clenching in Gaelin’s stomach that he could not stop. Helplessly, Holram gagged as a vile taste flooded his mouth. Then he was heaving, spewing the meager contents of Gaelin’s stomach over the ground. “What?” he gasped. “What . . . is wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong,” said Terrek. “You’re just ill, Gaelin.” Deliberately he invoked the name, his meaning clear, and Holram, relieved to be relinquishing his hold at last, returned to his staff with a sigh.

  “Gaelin?” Terrek crouched, offering him a fistful of snow to cleanse his mouth.

  Gaelin gathered himself and stood, wiping his lips. “I need to sleep,” he mumbled. “I’m so tired. When I helped Vyergin, Holram kindled all his p
ower in me and through me. Not Mornius. He focused with the staff, but he directed . . . all his power . . .”

  With a sigh he let himself go, tumbling back into Terrek’s strong grasp.

  Chapter 41

  FELRINA STARTED AWAKE on her soggy mattress. Through the rattle and catch of her breathing, she heard a faint knock. “Priestess?” called a familiar voice as her door creaked open, spilling light across the room. Gulgrin, his lamp held high, ventured in, liquid sloshing in the vessel he carried against his chest. He cursed softly as the fluid splashed the front of his tunic and his gray robe.

  She shifted limply at the sound. Her wrists were tied, her arms bound loosely to the post above her head. With one eye swollen and the other sealed shut, she strained to make out her apprentice as he shuffled through the shadows toward her.

  “What’s he done?” Gulgrin asked in a strangled voice. “Why’s it taking so long?” He stiffened as the glow from his lantern found her. “Oh!” He staggered back to crash into the little table. It toppled over, its bloody implements clattering to the floor.

  She struggled to breathe as Gulgrin hastened to right the table and replace Mens’s tools.

  Briefly he touched her wrists while he loosened the coarse rope binding them. “He . . . told us you were ready,” Gulgrin stammered. “The others are gathering in the chamber below. It’s true? You’re . . . dying?”

  She wanted to answer, to curl up in a ball, to gouge Mens’s eyes out with her fingers, but again the mental shield she had created blocked him, cradling her in gentle oblivion. From far away she had experienced the pain, from a refuge to which her abuser’s leering face could not go.

  “It is true,” he whispered.

  She groaned as his arms slid under her bruised ribs and eased her from the fouled mattress onto the floor. The soothing coldness of the bare stone pressed upon her skin. He lifted her mattress, bits of its damp straw landing on her cheek as he carried its sagging bulk from her room.