by J. T. Hartke
The strain of reaching such a distance began to sap at Tallen’s strength. He released the Psoul Aspect. Tomas still stretched out his power, and Dorias scratched his goatee.
Gwelan, on the other hand, wore a small smile. “This is why I like scouting with paladins and wizards. You never actually have to get close enough to see the enemy.”
The sheer numbers Tallen had sensed, and the strong undercurrent of anger running through them, sent a stab of fear into his heart. An involuntary shudder rippled up his spine. “I think I’ve seen enough, that’s for certain.”
Dorias turned Shade back up the gully. “Come, Tomas. With that many so close, one or two scouts could slip through your net. And with such a force, there are bound to be some form of scouts. We should be headed back for the base camp.” He looked at the sun, which had already begun to sink. “We can move faster on our way back, but it will still take a few days.”
A hesitant frown haunting his face, Tomas reined Fireheart around. He spurred his horse forward and took the lead back up the waterway.
About an hour later, they wandered through a washout where several gullies met in a sandy, ice crusted pile of pebbles. A meandering flow of water trickled down its center. Tomas raised his hand, bringing the others to a stop. “Something is out there.”
Immediately embracing his power, Tallen threw out his mist of Psoul, spreading it in every direction. Only the bare psahn of grass broke his net of magic. “I don’t sense anything with my power.”
“Nor do I,” Tomas answered. “But my other senses are tingling. Something…someone…is out there watching us.”
Tallen’s heart froze, and his eyes darted about the landscape, searching for whatever had Tomas spooked. “How could something, or someone, hide from our powers?”
Dorias threw his arm up, and Merl launched into the air, winging for an arrow-safe altitude. “There are ways, if they have a strong enough shaman with them.” Tallen sensed him embrace his power. “We must be ready.”
Tomas dismounted and took several steps forward before looking back at Dorias. “Stay here with Tallen and the horses.” He waved toward Gwelan and indicated a gully toward his right. The rogue drew his weapons and slipped up the eroded watercourse.
Tallen and Dorias stayed put, each holding the reins of one of the other men’s horses. The cold seeped into his boots, and frost gathered at the edge of his hood. Water flowed down the gully, barely enough to be called a stream. Tallen kept his mist of Psoul magic spread out about them, straining his mind to search it for any ripple of life. He could feel Dorias do the same. The silence of the Wastes, broken only by the tiniest trickle of water, hung over them like a foreboding shadow. Tallen reinforced his magic, knowing that it only sapped at his strength even faster. He knew even his power had limits.
“Wait,” Dorias whispered. “I believe Merl has found something. Let’s—”
The wizard’s words broke off when a concussion popped in Tallen’s mind, almost knocking him from his feet. The jolt dazed him for a moment, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. When he began to regain his senses, he realized that he could no longer feel his power. A blanket of numbness hid it from him and cut off the flow of Psoul magic. His mist faded, and a terrible sense of isolation swarmed over him.
“The Aspects!” Dorias blurted. “They are hidden from me!”
Realizing he could not find them either drove Tallen to a near panic. He battered at the wet blanket that had snuffed out the fire of his power. No matter how he pressed, he could not reach through. Tallen felt a sense of panic begin to overwhelm him. Unable to find the Aspects, he was exposed, without any ability to defend himself. This is worse than the Viridian Stone! It is as if I had never discovered my power in the first place!
A harsh voice barked from around the corner of the gully. “Now! The vessel is here!”
An orc trotted into view carrying a wide black battle-axe. He stood nearly as tall as Tallen and twice as wide. Fierce, swirling tattoos covered his face, like great, curled tusks. A sadistic grin lifted one corner of his lip to display a sharp fang jutting up from his jaw. Five more warriors stepped up behind him, each gripping a vicious weapon of their own. Two more orcs, robed and wearing hoods made from the face of a boar, stood close by. The younger shaman held out his hands while the elder watched him. Tallen could sense the magic surrounding the orc, but the blast to his mind still obscured his own power. He’s the one who did it!
Tallen pulled the dagger from his belt, and the lead orc laughed a hearty bellow.
“Young fool.” He flipped a familiar looking smooth stone in his hand. “For your sake and mine, please do not force me to break you in half.” The orc looked to his warriors. “Take them both quickly, while the others have their swordsmen busy.”
Tallen looked to Dorias, who held up his hand as if ready to strike with his magic. “I will burn you orcs where you stand if you come near us.”
The warriors paused, but the big captain laughed again. “If you could, you would have done so already, mage.” He spat on the ground. “Take them, ‘Slayers.”
“Run, Tallen!” Dorias shoved him back down the waterway toward the river then threw himself at the warriors.
Tallen took several steps before looking over his shoulder to see the wizard attack the surprised orcs with nothing but a dagger and a fist. A quick boot flashed out to meet one orc in the chin, and Tallen added it to Dorias’ list of weapons.
“Run you fool!” The wizard jumped back, barely avoiding the tip of a mace. “Find Tomas!”
Tallen ran. His boots splashed the muddy water into his eyes, but he plunged onward, heedless of anything but where he threw his feet. An invisible whistle flew past his head, almost grazing his cheek. It crashed into the wall of the gully, throwing black muck in all directions. The splatter buffeted him, yet still he kept his feet, forcing them to charge ahead. Another minor branch of water met the stream. Tallen dashed up it, the shoulder-high walls of eroded soil giving him cover from a second blast of Earth.
Shouts of rage followed him up the new gully, and the sounds of pursuit echoed from the earthen walls. He pushed himself harder, gasping for breath and struggling against the mud and uneven ground. Another fork opened, and he took it, then another. The walls were not as tall where the water barely trickled, so he hunched over, fearing another attack.
At one point, hearing no sounds behind him, he chanced a peek over the lip of mud and switchgrass. No orcs moved out on the open plain, though he caught a glimpse of Stew dashing eastward, his reins flapping behind him. Where are the other horses?
The thought vanished from his mind as he heard more splashing behind him. With a sudden flash of inspiration, he jumped up onto the open ground and charged through the grass a few yards to another twisted gully, this one deeper and more narrow than the last. He jumped down inside it, and then proceeded to run back downstream, hoping to circle behind his attackers.
A boulder twice his size protruded from the mud, and the stream of water flowed around it. Tallen ducked in behind the stone, gasping for breath and a moment of clear thought. In that second of respite, a tiny glow hummed at the back of his mind. A sense of his power called from beyond the stunned numbness, like the warmth of a fireplace in the next room.
Tallen jumped up and ran again. He stayed down in the gullies flowing toward the river. He kept low and as quiet as the muddy water would allow, wending his way back toward the Gallond. His mind continued to stretch toward that faint hint of his power, but it felt like reaching with a hand that had fallen asleep.
A flicker of sensation touched the back of his mind. Something called him, ringing in his head. A slow warmth burned against his chest, and a white glow shone from behind his bleached wool shirt. Reaching in to grab the leather thong, he pulled out the ancient medallion Dorias had given him – the pendant of twisted wire from Leolan Calais’ hidden chest.
Each branch of different metal warmed his hand, but not uncomfortably. The diamond set in its center glowed with an internal light, white and beaming. As his concentration drew in on the diamond, his mind found its way through the blanket of numbness to brush against the surface of his power. The Psoul Aspect whispered to him, edging its way forward, begging to be used.
Clasping the medallion in his hand, Tallen surged up over the edge of his hiding place. Psoul poured into his conscious mind, and he flung it forward to find the others surrounding him. He could not reach as far as normal, but in the barren lifescape of the Wastes, they were the only sources of life force to find. Pushing his legs to their limit, he bounded back toward them.
As he neared, and his grip on Psoul through the medallion strengthened, Tallen sensed more detail from the gully where the orcs had attacked. Relief surged through him when he found Dorias moving through the gullies as well, the orcs close on his heels. A twinge of emotion pierced his heart when he realized that Shade and Fireheart retreated with him, though Stew and Gwelan’s horse were nowhere to be found. The flashing zip of life that was Merl flew among the attackers with blinding speed.
The orcs resolved, each with a blazing psahn of their own. They circled the man and horses. Tallen sensed one of Fireheart’s steel-shod hooves flashing out to smack an orc to the ground. He also felt a deep wound in the stallion’s side, leaking his hot blood onto the ground.
An involuntary snarl left Tallen’s lips when he found two orcs much closer, the two who had rushed after him. Two twists of Psoul magic and their life forces snuffed out; just like the mage he had killed at the Doctor’s College. Tallen charged onward, forgetting them like swatted flies. One orc had separated Dorias, and another reached back with a weapon Tallen could not quite sense through his magic. He twisted the Psoul Aspect again, and in tandem, the attackers dissipated from his perception.
A powerful leap brought Tallen over a narrow gully. Four orcs jumped up from the grass and charged him. He had not seen them in his limited Psoul sense, but now they popped into it. He flung one hand at them, sending out four whips of his power, and they dropped into crumpled heaps.
A fierce whinny rose from just ahead. A black mane flared above the grass tops. Tallen charged forward. The patterns of psahn in his mind resolved, until he sensed each individual orc. Two lay dying, while the leader gathered the rest for a charge at the powerless wizard and enraged horses. Shade had placed herself between Dorias and a faltering Fireheart. The wound in the horse’s side leaked psahn as certainly as it leaked blood.
Tallen stretched his power, his reserve of the Psoul Aspect waning with use. The medallion felt burning hot in his hand, but he clutched it despite the pain. The light from the diamond spread an orange glow across the back of his hand. He drew on it again, searching with his mind for the diamond and its portal to power. A few more drops splashed into his pool of magic, and he cast it out, pinching the life from the three orcs closest to him. He collapsed to his knees along the gully’s ridge, heaving for breath.
Blood ran along Dorias’ face, and Fireheart barely remained standing. Shade backed up toward her master, away from the corpses of three dead orcs. Their leader stared at them with a startled expression, the huge axe wavering. His yellow fangs leaped out from behind a ghastly snarl.
The shamans had disappeared, and when Tallen stretched out a web of Psoul magic to find them, his reserves drained. The medallion went ice cold, and the light of the diamond died away. A crushing weight of exhaustion washed over him, and he collapsed forward on his elbows.
“Tallen!” Dorias ignored the blood that ran into his eyes. “What did you do?”
The orc captain charged, his axe swooping toward Shade. The mare ran, unable to face the warrior’s charge. Dorias threw himself between them, more dexterous than Tallen expected. The orc swung and Dorias’ dagger shattered against the blow. A fierce kick caught the wizard in the chest, throwing him half a dozen yards, where he crashed hard against the ground.
Tallen could see only a few feeble movements in Dorias’ hands, and he screamed in impotent rage. No power came to his call.
The orc captain spat at the wizard. “Be honored, Mage. I’ll hang your guts on my war banner.” He lifted his axe and stomped toward Tallen’s teacher and friend.
“No!” Tallen cried, throwing himself over the edge of the washout. His weakened arms and shaky legs gave him no support, and he tumbled through cold mud and sand. It caught in his mouth, and he splashed through a crust of ice into biting water. Any strength left in his body sapped out of him, and he lay there as the orc closed in on Dorias. Tallen lifted a feeble hand.
A figure leaped from the far side of the washout, flashing a pair of curved swords. The orc captain turned like a startled fox, catching the blades with his axe and heaving the man over the top of his head. When he came to a rolling stop, Tallen realized it was Gwelan, who only had eyes for the orc.
The two closed again, Gwelan’s blades flashing out in a flurry of perfectly timed motions. The orc captain caught them with his axe and a heavy iron gauntlet. A fist punched between the swords and ripped along Gwelan’s face, cutting a vicious slash along his jaw. Underneath the punch, one of the swords thrust, opening a hole in the orc captain’s abdomen. He kicked Gwelan away. The rogue tumbled and came back up on his feet, sword points held low. The orc held his guts in with one hand while sweeping the air with his axe. Gwelan closed, circling slowly, waiting for the orc to bleed out.
A slow smile built on Tallen’s face as the redness spread through the orc’s fingers. The giant warrior’s movements slowed, and the victory that rose in Tallen’s chest swelled near joy at the sight of the orc staggering.
Knowledge of his precarious fate flashed in the orc captain’s startled expression. He bashed at Gwelan in desperate swipes. Tallen noticed a slight grin on the rogue’s face, but when Gwelan took a moment to examine him and Dorias, the grin washed away, replaced by fear and concern. The man rushed forward, slashing to his left and drawing the orc’s parry. Gwelan shifted in a striking leap, changing his direction. The axe went wide and two steel teeth bit into the orc’s side and neck. Deep red blood spurted into the air in a swift beat. The swords withdrew and the orc collapsed on his chest, splashing black water into the air.
With a final twitch of his hand, the captain lay still in the crimson-brown mud.
Pushing himself with every last ounce of strength, somehow Tallen found his feet again. He tumbled forward the few yards to where Dorias lay. Gwelan beat him there. So did Merl, swooping down from the sky to land next to the wizard’s head, one wing hanging slightly askew. His light squawks barely rose to Tallen’s ears. Shade trotted closer, her nostrils flaring.
The wizard’s chest did not move, and he stared at the sky. Gwelan collapsed at his side and pressed against his chest. A gasp rose from Dorias’ lungs, and he blinked. He began to cough, scrambling to sit up with Gwelan’s help. The wizard shook his bloody head and gave Tallen a thankful nod, before pulling out his silver flask. Merl hopped on a stone, but Shade stamped nervously.
“Fireheart,” Dorias whispered.
Tallen turned toward the roan stallion. His steel-shod hooves were stained with almost as much blood as his gaping side. The great steed had finally gone to his knees and lain down, but his head still lifted to look toward the others.
A sudden pounding of wet steps broke the peaceful trickle of water. Tomas charged up along one neck of the washout’s tributaries. The paladin’s sword remained in its sheath, because both arms churned the air. Tallen had never seen a man run so fast, one step seeming to create a splash before the previous one was finished. He slid to a sudden halt, taking a last few careful paces to kneel down next to the stallion.
“Dearest Balance,” he mumbled, “if I can be no aid to my friends, at least let me be of aid to my horse.”
Despite the numbness in his senses and the e
mptiness of the medallion, Tallen felt the paladin take hold of Fireheart’s fading psahn. Tomas poured his own strength into it. Throwing his gauntlets aside, he pushed the horse’s wound together, using both his fingers and his power to tuck the animal’s innards into their proper places. The wound closed slowly, the muscle and skin knitting together over the hole in Fireheart’s abdomen. Sweat broke on Tomas’ brow in spite of the cold, and grimness set in his features. Chords of muscle stood out on his neck.
The wound shut, covered at last by scant fur and a wide, pinkish scar. Fireheart reared his head, but Tomas cradled it to rest. Dorias hobbled to his feet, while Gwelan handed him a clean kerchief for his head. Shade trotted over by Fireheart, the whites of her eyes still showing. She sniffed him, her hot breath blowing steam across the stallion’s rump. Fireheart moved as if to rise, but Tomas eased him back down again.
“We should set a camp here.” He looked back at Tallen and Dorias. “Both of you can barely stand.” He tried to find his own feet. “Apparently, neither can I.” He heaved his body upright. “It is only momentary. I will regain my strength in a short time. It took a great deal to close Fireheart’s wound.” He looked to the rogue. “Gwelan, we cannot chance a fire, if you could—”
Dorias held up his hand with the flask while the other pressed a crimsoned cloth to his head. “The attack is fading, either by time or distance from its caster. I can manage some heat, if you can find me a hard enough stone.”
Tallen reached for the flask while Gwelan searched for a stone. “You can barely touch enough Fire to do that when you are well. Give me a sip, and I think I can do it.”
Dorias laughed as he handed over the liquor. “Boy, you can hardly stand.” He hobbled over to the chunk of worn granite Gwelan and Tomas had shifted closer to Fireheart. “There is a way to do it with Earth.”
Tallen felt the wizard use the Earth Aspect, but he could not sense its exact weave. The stone began to radiate warmth, and Dorias breathed heavy by the time Tomas raised his hand. Both Tallen and the wizard collapsed along the edge of the washout.