by Alec Hutson
“Then they must have won, yes?” Nel continued, a note of hope in her voice.
“No,” Alyanna said simply. “They were slaughtered.”
“But surely the victors would burn their own,” Keilan said. “And leave the enemy to rot in the snow.”
Alyanna shook her head. “The Skein are a strange people. They believe that the souls of fallen warriors are carried in the beaks of the dark-winged flock into the halls of the gods. The barbarians burn their enemies to deny them this honor.”
“So where is the queen?” Nel said, her voice rising to a near panic. “And the magisters? What happened to them?”
Alyanna shrugged. “Dead, I assume.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the closest pile of blackened corpses.
“No!” Nel cried angrily, whirling back to face the sorceress with her hands balled into fists. “You’re wrong! They must have escaped!” For a moment Keilan feared she was going to hurl one of her daggers at Alyanna.
“You could ask them,” Alyanna said, gesturing at something behind Keilan. He turned to see a half-dozen Skein approaching; most brandished double-bladed axes, but a few also held bulging sacks. Scavengers, Keilan guessed. His hand drifted to the jeweled hilt of his sword, but he knew that he could not stand before these men. They were tall and broad, with wild red and yellow beards, and beneath their dark furs, metal glinted. Keilan had never seen a Skein before, but the barbarians lived up to every story he had heard while clustered around the Speaker’s Rock in his village. They looked as much animal as man.
The Skein quickened their pace when they realized they had been seen. Keilan saw their anticipation of what was to come, vicious smiles splitting ruddy faces. Chance and Fate appeared in Nel’s hands, and reluctantly Keilan drew his sword and tried to set his feet into the Forms without slipping in the snow. His heart beat wildly as the barbarians broke into a run, bellowing as they lifted their black-iron axes.
Shimmering crimson lances flashed past Keilan. The sorcery pierced each of the barbarians’ chests unerringly, ripping through the Skein like they were made of cloth. Some toppled over immediately, while others stumbled to a halt, staring down in shock at the charred holes in their chests before then collapsing. The last warrior standing actually dropped his ax and put his hand inside his body, not comprehending what had just happened, before joining his fellows on the ground.
They had all died in the space of a few breaths.
“Garazon’s balls,” Nel murmured, giving voice to what Keilan was feeling. They turned back to the sorceress and found her still sitting calmly on the disc, as if nothing had happened.
“Your instinct should always be to use your sorcery, Keilan,” she said, climbing to her feet and stepping lightly from the chavenix. “It’s ridiculous that with your power you always reach for your blade.” She raised her face, squinting into the brilliantly blue sky. “Though I’ve known others like you. Men have such a romantic attachment to their swords.”
“What should we do?” Nel asked, her daggers vanishing.
Alyanna’s gaze traveled over the battlefield. “Let us see what we can learn from this place. The sorcery that was used might give us some insight into the capabilities of our enemies.”
“And then?”
“We follow the Skein host, I suppose. We know the Chosen are allied with them.”
The disc laden with their packs and bags lifted from the ground and came to hover beside Alyanna. Then she set off towards where the fighting had been thickest, the chavenix trailing obediently behind her.
Keilan and Nel glanced at each other.
“Do you think Vhelan . . .” he began, before Nel cut him off.
“We don’t even know if he was here.”
Keilan nodded quickly. “Yes, of course,” he said, and then hurriedly fell in behind Nel as she moved to follow Alyanna.
They picked their way through a maze of dead Skein, skirting around the heaps of burned Dymorian dead. The blackened corpses piled together reminded Keilan unsettlingly of the structure the Chosen had emerged from on top of the ruins of the Selthari Palace. Death and horror followed in the wake of those demons . . . yet the presence he had touched in his dreams had not felt so evil. What had turned the spirit of the girl into a creature that wanted to murder the world? He shivered – away from Alyanna’s cossetting sorcery, the bite of the Frostlands was prickling his skin. If they were going to stay in the north, they needed to find some warmer clothes.
Alyanna’s low whistle pulled him from his thoughts. He followed where she was looking, and then couldn’t hold back a startled gasp. A huge white-scaled serpent lay in the snow, bristled with countless arrows and spears. Orange eyes stared sightlessly in death, and its jaws were cracked open, revealing row upon row of curved teeth.
“I haven’t seen one of these in a long time,” Alyanna said, approaching the beast and laying her hand upon its scaled side.
“What is it?” Nel asked nervously, seemingly unwilling to get too close to the monster.
“We called them snow snakes in the south, though the only other one I’ve encountered was a dead specimen that had been brought to one of the Star Towers for study. I’m sure the Min-Ceruthans had their own name for the things. They infest the northern glaciers, tunneling vast nests into the ice that resemble what insects do under the earth. I heard that long ago the more adventurous Min-Ceruthans would lead expeditions into the far north to hunt these things for sport.” She walked towards the thing’s head, running her fingers along its sinuous length. “I don’t think even the old holdfasts ever considered using these beasts in war, though. How clever.”
Keilan imagined this great armored serpent smashing into the Dymorian lines and couldn’t hold back a shudder. It must have been horrific.
Alyanna paused at the monster’s open jaws and reached inside. Her face showed a slight strain, then Keilan felt a surge of sorcery and there was a crack like ice fracturing. When the sorceress withdrew her hand a moment later she was holding a curving fang as long as her forearm.
She said nothing, simply tossing the tooth onto the chavenix hovering beside her. Suddenly, a look of consternation passed across her face, and she glanced up at one of the rocky hills overlooking the battlefield. Without another word, she lifted from the snow and rose into the air.
“Alyanna!” Keilan cried, but the sorceress did not reply, intent on whatever had drawn her attention above. She did not glance back at them as she soared over the lip of the escarpment and vanished from sight.
Keilan and Nel shared a worried glance. What had she felt? He could sense strange sorcerous currents here, and perhaps they were emanating from above. It felt like when he used to swim in the ocean and would suddenly slip into an inexplicably cold or warm patch of water.
Alyanna reappeared, descending from above. She had a strange expression on her face, almost like she was deep in concerned thought, her lips pursed and her brow drawn down.
“What is it?” Nel asked. “What did you see?”
The sorceress shook her head slightly and beckoned for the chavenix to come closer. “Not what I expected. I think you both should have a look.”
His heart beating fiercely, Keilan climbed on top of the floating disc. Nel did the same, and he could sense the tension thrumming in her. She was terrified of what they’d find above, and he knew why.
When they were settled, Alyanna made the chavenix soar higher. The rock wall of the cliff rushed past, and then they crested the edge of the ridge.
For a moment, Keilan struggled to understand what he was seeing. The rocky summit had been devastated: pillars of stone were thrust up from the ground, which, along with the lower reaches of the pillars had been blackened and scarred by flame. The formations looked unnatural, like something had pushed up from below, and given the debris heaped around their bases, whatever had happened had occurred recently. The sorcerou
s reverberations up here slipped past the warm bubble Alyanna maintained around the chavenix and made him shiver.
The sorceress set the disc down and indicated a tight cluster of the pillars with her chin. “In there,” she said flatly.
Nel and Keilan slid from the chavenix and cautiously approached the unsettling rock formation. The residue of sorcery was so strong it was making him dizzy.
Nel was the first to glimpse what was within, and she gave a horrified gasp. Keilan rushed forward, his fingers scrabbling for his sorcery in case there was some threat.
It was a pyramid of human heads. He staggered, putting his hand on one of the pillars to steady himself. Mouths open in silent screams, eyes wide and glassy. There was no blood that he could see, as if each of the heads had been drained and cleaned before being carefully stacked.
Nel approached the pyramid slowly, as if in a dream. Her hands were shaking, and her eyes were moving over the grotesque pile like she was searching for something.
It was then that Keilan realized these were not soldiers. He saw the heads of women, some with gray hair, others only a few years older than him. And men of all ages as well. There was a softness and a smoothness to many of their faces, something he had seen before among those who spent their days hunched over books or attending to tasks inside.
Magisters. These were the sorcerers of the Scholia.
“I know them,” Nel whispered.
Keilan touched her arm, wanting to drag her away, but she shook him off.
“Nel . . .”
“Do you see him?” Her voice was hollow.
Keilan looked again. “No.” One head did draw his attention, though, perched at the very apex of the pyramid. “At the top. Is that . . . ?”
“The Crone’s servant,” Nel murmured. “It is.”
“What was he doing here?”
Nel shook her head slightly. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think Lady Numil is here as well?”
“I don’t see her . . . head.” Nel ran a shaking hand through her hair. “But maybe she’s under the rest.” She stepped closer to the pyramid, but Keilan grabbed her and pulled her back. She struggled against him, but he did not let go.
“No,” he said as she twisted to face him, shoving him hard in the chest.
“Keilan, stop!” she cried, her voice cracking.
“I won’t let you,” he said, as calmly as he could, and she struck him hard on the cheek. He rocked backwards, his face burning, but still he held onto her.
“I need to know!”
“If he’s here, he wouldn’t want you to see!” Keilan said. Nel gave a final cry as she tried to twist from his grip, and then she collapsed. Gently, he encircled her with his arms as she shuddered against him, her small body wracked by sobs.
Over her shoulder, Keilan watched the grotesque pyramid. It seemed like more than a few of the heads were staring at him.
“Lady Nel?”
Keilan whirled around, still clutching Nel tight.
“Who’s there?” he cried, looking around wildly.
A young man with dark red hair and an explosion of freckles was peering around one of the pillars of stone.
Nel pulled away from Keilan, rubbing at her face. “That’s me.”
Tentatively, the man stepped out from behind the rock. He was wearing a forester’s garb, leather armor dyed green and dark brown, and the cloak he was wearing was clasped by a golden dragon eating its own tail. A ranger of Dymoria.
He looked stricken, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or terrified. “Are you . . . are you ghosts?” he asked, staring at Keilan and Nel like he expected them to shimmer and vanish.
“No. We just arrived here from the south.” Her voice was firm, the fragility she had just shown Keilan buried again.
The ranger blinked, running a shaking hand over his begrimed face. It looked to Keilan that he might start crying soon.
“Bless the Ten. I thought you were a vision put here by the demons. No one else has had the courage to come up here ‘cause they feared what they’d find.”
“No one else?” Keilan asked, hope kindling in his chest.
“The survivors. There’s not many of us, and most are wounded.”
Nel clutched at Keilan’s arm. “Vhelan? Is he alive?”
The ranger’s face crinkled in confusion. I don’t know a Vhelan. Is he a soldier?”
Her nails dug into his flesh. “No. A magister.”
“Only two magisters made it off this rock, I’m sorry to say. Magister d’Kalla and Magister Vhalus.”
Nel gave a strangled cry, pulling so hard on his arm he nearly lost his balance. “Vhalus,” she repeated breathlessly. “Vhelan ri Vhalus.”
The ranger’s hand drifted to his shock of red hair. “Young, but bit o’ silver on his head?”
“Yes,” Nel gasped, and again tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Yes.”
Despite the horrors of all those heads staring at them, Keilan couldn’t stop smiling. He wanted to hug Nel tight again, but she pulled away from him.
“What happened here?” she asked.
The ranger opened his mouth to respond, but then he stumbled back a step, his eyes widening and his hand going to the sword at his side. Alyanna glided out from between two of the unnatural pillars, ignoring them as she approached the pile of heads.
“It’s all right,” Keilan assured him. “She’s with us.”
The ranger continued staring at the sorceress uncertainly as she picked up the head of a plump female magister by its long hair and held it in front of her. She gave it a gentle push, examining it intently as it spun.
“The Skein had dark sorcery,” the ranger explained. “And monsters. They unleashed the beasts first, punching holes in our lines. Then they came at us. We still would have won, I think, but there were demons. The magisters were slaughtered. The queen . . .”
His voice trailed away.
“The queen?” Nel prompted him, when it became clear he did not want to finish.
“She fell,” he finally said.
Alyanna threw the head back on the pile, starting a small avalanche that disturbed the silence that had followed the ranger’s words.
“She’s dead?” Keilan asked.
The ranger shrugged, his face despondent. “We haven’t found her body. Maybe the Skein took it so it could be defiled. They are a monstrous people.”
“Why did you come up here?” Alyanna asked, pacing around the pyramid as she inspected it closely.
The ranger drew aside his cloak, showing two silver-hilted swords that were thrust through his belt. They looked familiar to Keilan.
“Lady Numil asked me to retrieve these.”
Nel and Keilan shared a startled look.
“Lady Numil is alive?”
The ranger nodded. “She’s back at the caves, with the rest.”
“Take us to them,” Nel commanded.
The ranger led them down from the ridge by way of a switchback trail. Keilan understood why the magisters must have thought themselves safe from the fighting – in places, the path narrowed so that they were forced to walk single file, and it seemed to him that a handful of warriors should have been able to defend against a much larger force.
But it had not been other warriors that had ascended.
The remnants of the defenders were strewn everywhere, and the snow was stained with dried blood and viscera. Keilan did not see a single limb or head attached to a torso – it was like how a child might meticulously pluck away the legs and wings of insects. Pale faces twisted in terror stared out from the black iron jaws of demons, and Keilan shuddered at the sight. Separated from the bodies, the Lyrish guardsmen’s helms really did make it look like the heads were being swallowed by monsters. Keilan’s stomach churned at the horror of it all
.
Alyanna floated beside them as they picked their way down the trail. She at least did not seem disturbed by the carnage.
The ranger’s eyes widened when she first stepped from the path and drifted into the air. “You have a magister with you, Lady Nel?” he asked her.
Nel shook her head. “She’s not part of the Scholia, though she is an ally.”
Keilan thought she wanted to add for now, but she did not – perhaps because she didn’t want to wipe away the hope and excitement that had appeared on the ranger’s face.
“What’s your name, ranger?” she asked as they skirted the remains of a soldier that had been macabrely arranged so that legs were growing from its shoulders and a clenched, bloody fist emerged from the stump of its neck.
“Chelin, my lady,” the ranger replied, and Keilan noticed that he was intentionally not looking at the desecrated corpse as he stepped around it. “I was with you and the boy here after the attack on Saltstone. I was one of the rangers chasing the paladin south.”
“The archons let you go?”
Chelin bobbed his head. “Aye. Lady Numil went to see the queen, and after that a message came and we were freed. We arrived back in the city a few days after the army marched, but we caught up with them before they reached the Serpent.” He shuddered. “Though now I wish we’d been left to languish in those cells. The last few days have been like a nightmare from which I can’t wake.”
When they reached the bottom, they found the chavenix waiting for them like an obedient dog. With some coaxing, Nel convinced the skittish ranger to climb onto the disc, and then they floated up and away, following his stammered directions. As the strewn corpses flashed by beneath them, he clutched his knees to his chest, his face white and sweaty.
“You’d best swallow back down anything that comes up from your belly,” Alyanna said, smiling sweetly at the ranger. “If you are sick on my chavenix I will toss you over the side.” He nodded jerkily, seeming to grow even paler.
“That way,” he managed after a long silence in which he was visibly fighting his gorge, pointing at a tumbled pile of rocks at the base of one of the Bones. The stunted little mountain was pressed against the plains where the battle had been fought; there were no dead here, that Keilan could see – likely the Dymorians hadn’t wanted to be trapped with the mountain’s flank at their back, even if the stones scattered about would have made it hard going for attackers.