“Stop, you young fool.” The command was no more than a mere whisper soaked in blood, yet the Shaper ceased his ministrations.
“What are you doing?” Arderi could not keep the fear nor anger from his voice. “Heal him! You must, you are a Shaper!”
Shaking his head, Jintrill averted his gaze from Arderi. “He is correct. His injuries are too extensive. He will be dead long before I could begin to Meld the Essence that would save his life.”
A shuddered breath racked Clytus. “Leave us, Shaper.”
Tears flowed freely down Arderi’s cheeks. “There must be something you can do.”
Jintrill stood and placed a hand upon Arderi’s shoulder. “I am sorry.”
With blurry vision, Arderi watched helpless as the young Shaper wandered over to where the Drakon had kicked Clytus’ sword.
“Boy.” Clytus’ words were weak. “A drink of water.” Arderi pulled his waterskin from his side, cradled the man’s head in his lap, and dripped water into Clytus’ waiting mouth. Most of it ran down the side of his cheek, washing away some of the blood. The Commander nodded, a look of genuine gratitude upon his face. “You must… not let… my quest die here… My son… must not…” His eyelids slid closed and his head lolled for a moment. He seemed to be waging some type of internal war. “In my pouch… with the coin… you will find a Silrith’tar… Give it to my wife…” A surge of strength ran through Clytus and he reached up with his remaining arm and grabbed Arderi’s shoulder, pulling them closer together, his eyes wide, a look of determination on his face. “Swear you will finish what I have started! Swear to me you will not let my Sindian die!”
Under Clytus’ grip, pain laced through Arderi’s shoulder, yet he did not try to remove it. “I swear, if there is still breath in my body, I will return to Mocley and finish what you have started. I vow it shall be done.”
A thin smile touched Clytus’ lips and his head bobbled as his eyes closed. “Good.”
“Master Rillion…” Fear raced to overpower the sense of loss inside Arderi. How would he survive to fulfill his vow if this man died?
At his words, Clytus jerked like a man who had almost fallen asleep and his eyes fluttered back open. “Take my coin purse. There is enough there… to see you to Mocley…” A wet cough came from him. Flopping his head to the side, he eyed the Shaper. “Dorochi… my sword… Take that as well… Ragnor, you must take Dorochi to Ragnor…”
The grip on Arderi’s shoulder slackened and Clytus’ hand slipped off onto the hard stone ground. The Commander’s neck went limp and Arderi heard the last of the man’s breath leave his body.
The days rolled away and Alant Cor’s unease continued to grow. His fellow students acted as if nothing was amiss. Even when he attempted to broach the subject of what he had overheard, they denied his story. Yet, he could not get past what the Elmorr’Antien, Prince Aritian, had said that afternoon in the gardens.
What did he mean by the Chi’utlan being nearly full? Chi, in the Old tongue means ‘of the Essence.’ Yet combined with ‘utlan—meaning pool or pond—the combination makes no sense. A pool of Essence? Essence is in things. How can there be a pool of something that is not tangible?
And how can Melding with this Chi’utlan create a Mah’Sukai? Whatever a Mah’Sukai is. I have not been able to locate a meaning for either word in any book on the Old tongue I brought with me from Mocley.
He tried once to ask about it. A few days after the meeting in the garden, Alant had approached his instructor, Vanria Delmith, and asked after the meaning of Mah’Sukai. He had never seen a reaction so severe from an Elmorr’Antien. The Vanria snatched him by the elbow, and a bone-biting cold bore into Alant’s flesh at the his Vanria’s touch. The strength in that thin gray arm surprised Alant as much as the cold—he still had a yellowish bruise where the three-fingered hand had gripped him. The Vanria practically dragged him into an empty room, demanding to know where he had heard the word. The Tarsith around Alant’s neck had gone frigid several times during that little episode. Each time it went cold, Alant gained a look of frustration from Vanria Delmith. Alant had made a concerted effort not to grasp the pendant under his robes and he did not think the Elmorr’Antien knew of the Tarsith. Delmith finally let Alant leave once Alant admitted to the instructor that he had found the word in a small passage of an old book back at the Chandril’elian of Mocley. Even though his instructor let Alant go, he did not seem convinced.
Since that day, Vanria Delmith has been distant in class.
“As you feel you can stare out the window, Alant, please come here and show me how this is done, yes?” Vanria Delmith’s tone shook Alant from his thoughts.
Glancing around the room, Alant realized with a start that he had no clue what the class had been discussing. “I am… uh…” The unblinking stare of the deep black eyes of the Elmorr’Antien broke no argument. Reluctantly, Alant stood and made his way to the front of the small room the Humans used for all their lessons. Bare of furniture except for the essentials—four ladder-backed chairs for him and his fellow students, and a large plush leather seat for Vanria Delmith, a wooden table sitting to the side. Glancing over to Shaith with a pleading look, his heart sank at the quirky grin that sprang to her dark-skinned face.
She knows! She knows I have no clue what they were discussing and she will do nothing to help me.
Not that he knew of any way in which the girl could help him now.
At his hesitation, Vanria Delmith waved a hand indicating for Alant to stand next to his chair. The instructor—tall, even for an Elmorr’Antien—looked Alant straight in the eyes even though he sat and Alant stood. Approaching his teacher with trepidation, Alant bowed his head in proper form. He had learned much in his short stay. “As you say, Vanria Delmith.” Shoulders slumping, Alant took the spot indicated and turned to stare back at the others.
“You may begin, Alant, yes?” Vanria Delmith’s voice carried a knowing, accusing tone that added to Alant’s anxiety.
He had paid attention at the beginning of the class—Alant pushed himself harder than his instructor did, if not so mercilessly. They started this lesson on changing the temperature of items. More specifically, the creation of cold food storage boxes. Except, once Quiln had asked one of his annoyingly redundant questions, forcing Vanria Delmith to go over items that the orphan should know by heart, Alant had tuned them out and let his mind wander. The small iron box they were using as a practice tool still rested on the small table beside the Elmorr’Antien. Alant did not think he had blanked out long enough for the class to have changed topics.
And the little box is still there!
Focusing his mind, the Sight of the Essence slipped upon him like a second skin. The Spectals he saw fell into place and the room took shape around him with a quickness he could never have achieved before coming to train under the Elmorr’Antiens.
Less than two moons ago, simply gaining the Sight of the Essence would have taken me several moments! Now it comes almost naturally. I have learned so much in such a short period.
Probing out with his mind toward the small, egg-sized iron box, Alant reached into the iron itself. Collectively gathering the Spectals that represented the temperature of the metal on the inside surfaces, he focused the pattern of what they should look like with an altered state of temperature. Concentrating on the Spectals that formed the inside walls of the box, he began his manipulations. The Spectals flashed into the pattern he willed them to be, then back to their original structure. He then flashed the configuration back and forth several more times, changing the second image slightly each time, before he decided on a final configuration.
Aye, tis correct.
Beginning the slow, meticulous process of Melding the Spectals to their final pattern, reality seemed to slow.
There is no reality for a Shaper who is Melding the Essence. Only the Meld itself.
Alant knew
he would be working on the box for at least half an aurn. It was not his goal to create a full-fledged coldbox—even one the size of this small box would have taken him most, if not all, the day. He merely needed to lower the box’s internal temperature some. It was a simple enough task, one he had done on many occasions during the long periods of study the Elmorr’Antiens gave him.
Letting his mind wander, he continued with the monotonous task, and found himself once again musing over the fact that only one Elmorr’Antien, Vanria Delmith, ever taught the Human students. The school housed a half dozen or more teachers.
And Vanria Delmith spends short enough periods with us Humans as it is, even if it is well spent. Still, I cannot complain. I am far superior now with the Essence.
Only a handful of Elmorr’Antien students were in residence as well. No more than half a score, and these seemed very young to Alant.
Vanria Delmith refers to them as younglings. Each as young as little Rik, and he has not even seen his sixth winter yet!
Thoughts of his youngest sibling brought on a pang of homesickness that threatened to break his concentration. Pushing the image away, Alant held onto the Sight of the Essence firmly until he was sure he was secure in it, then continued his manipulation of the tiny box.
Quiln is the only one who should not be here. He fails at most every task.
Alant knew it was wrong to think this. Quiln had grown up one of the unwanted children on the streets of Orlis, forced to scrounge for every meal. Still—
“It is beyond me, Delmith, why you try so hard with these Humans!”
A piercing coldness laced through Alant’s chest as the Prince’s words washed over him. Letting out a gasp at the unexpectedness of it, the Sight of the Essence slipped from him like water through a sieve. The room flooded back, its lines and angles muted compared to seeing it with the Sight of the Essence. As it left, he saw the Spectals of the box snap back to the state they were in prior to him beginning his Meld of it—all work he had done, lost.
His normal sight returned—the room seemed dull and colorless. Alant looked over his shoulder at Prince Aritian and his heart jumped to lodge itself in his throat.
Though the Prince’s face changed little from his weird, blank visage, Alant thought the Elmorr’Antien looked disgusted.
“My Prince!”
Vanria Delmith had obviously just risen to his feet, and chairs scraped across the floor as the other Human students sprang to their feet as well, hands to their sides, waiting to be addressed as was the Elmorr’Antien custom.
At a slight nod from the Prince, Alant joined the other students in their greetings and their curtsy and bows. Alant still felt the Prince wore a look of contempt as he cast his eyes over the Humans. “They are such a pathetic race. Might as well call them Ju’nar! The boy has been here near two turns of the moon and still has not learned how to hold the Sight.”
Stretching out a long, thin finger, Vanria Delmith pointed to Alant. “This one here promises to be the strongest Human I have yet met.”
A sneer crossed Prince Aritian’s lips. “As may be. He still lost the Sight in the middle of his Meld. A youngling could do better! And he still seems to have no manners—eyeing me so.”
Delmith cut his large, black eyes to Alant. “Yes. I have noticed that he reacts strangely whenever he hears our tongue. It is… curious.”
With his heart still in his throat, Alant dropped his gaze to the floor. He fought the urge to reach up and take hold of the Tarsith, and almost sighed with relief when his instructor continued.
“I had not expected you for a few more days at least, my Prince.” It was plain that Delmith was just as uncomfortable at being taken by surprise as the rest.
“It is time, Delmith, the Chi’utlan is full to the brim.” The Prince had a look of urgency, and kept his gaze long upon Alant. “If you think this Alant creature so strong, I think we should use him next.”
Use me next? Use me for what?
“I would like to instruct the boy a little longer, if it pleases my Prince.”
“Instruct him longer?” Prince Aritian’s voice sounded strained. “It sounds as if you are becoming attached to these creatures, Delmith.”
“I will admit I find their race curious, yet do not accuse me of becoming attached, my Prince, you know whom I serve!” Alant thought that an Elmorr’Antien could not rise to anger, yet Vanria Delmith’s voice was as close as he had ever heard. “Alas, I would request we not use the Alant boy. He is progressing nicely with each passing day.”
“Why does this matter?” Prince Aritian paced across Alant’s field of vision as he continued to stare at the floor. “Why would you request this?”
“I feel the longer the Humans are allowed to progress in the Essence, the more chance they will have to survive the Melding with the Chi’utlan.”
Survive the Chi’utlan? I still do not know what that is. Mayhaps this Chi’utlan is what gives the Elmorr’Antiens their power beyond those of the Human Shapers. Are they trying to increase our strength? I find this unlikely, considering the Prince’s disdain for us.
“Fine, then! I will use the Quiln creature. He has no family to miss him, should things go badly.”
Vanria Delmith’s head twitched as if he wanted to look over at Quiln. Instead, he bowed. “As you say, my Prince, it shall be done.” Vanria Delmith sounded as if he would argue, yet did not. “Never has the Chi’utlan replenished itself so quickly. Are you anticipating success?”
As the Elmorr’Antiens continued to talk, the iciness from the Tarsith subsided. It remained cold, just not painfully so.
“I have known success was on the horizon my entire life.” Prince Aritian crossed the small classroom and stared out into the gardens through the only window in the room. “As a youngling, when I learned of the Chi’utlan in the caverns below the great Chandril’chi tree, I knew there was a reason. Even so young, I knew I was linked to it.” His voice took on a far away tone. “I could feel the pull of it, as if the Essence itself tied me to it. You have read the stories, Delmith. You learned as I did—as all younglings must—of the last Cycle! You have read the chronicles of the coming of the Age of Power, the Age of Conquest.”
Turning, Prince Aritian’s eyes bore into Delmith’s as he walked back to where the Vanria stood, reciting as if he were reading from a book. “‘And yet, as we Elmorr’Antiens retreated to the safety of our homeland, the other races ravaged the Plane of Talic’Nauth. Nations unto nations, led by those who could wield the Essence directly—the Mah’Sukai—to destroy cities with none other than thought. The mighty Mah’Sukai who no longer had to Meld the Essence—they bound the Essence to their will!’”
Drawing in a deep breath, the Prince waved a hand of dismissal through the air. “Yet it never spoke of how these Mah’Sukai came upon their power. That was most frustrating to me. No matter what tombs I read, no matter who I questioned, not one of our race knew how or why the Mah’Sukai got their power—just that in each Cycle, they did.”
“I still remember the elation when my father sat me down, told me the truth of the Chi’utlan. The fervor in his voice that it ‘must be kept safe!’ Kept secret at all cost! That only our rulers and a few choice among the Circle know the truth.” The Elmorr’Antien’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Yet our Chi’utlan is not the only one on Talic’Nauth. The old books say there are others. Lost now to us, yet still out there! They wait to be found—and the other races will find them! They have done so in each Cycle throughout history past. They will wield the power of the Essence once again. Become Mah’Sukai! Raining death and destruction down upon this Plane!”
Prince Aritian now paced the classroom at a rapid clip, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his points. “How can my father and the rest of the Circle be so blind? If we know how to seize that power for ourselves, why not do so?” The Prince’s gaze swept the room. “Elmorr’Anti
ens are the supreme race upon this Plane! All others are like insects! Not even worthy of our notice. I will not wait for these… Humans ”—he twisted the word like a curse—“to wield the full power of the Essence once more! I will not do nothing, as my ancestors did. I will not let the rabble of Talic’Nauth sweep across the Plane and destroy everything around us. What if this time they do not leave our homeland alone as they have in past Cycles? I will not allow that to happen to my people! I will NOT!”
Never had Alant seen an Elmorr’Antien so animated. The zeal in the Prince’s voice sent a shiver down Alant’s spine. Glancing around the small room, he saw that the other Humans stood looking at the two Elmorr’Antiens as if nothing they said had any impact on their lives.
Visibly relaxing himself, the Prince walked to the door, placing a three-fingered hand upon the frame. He did not turn his head when he spoke. “The time is close, Delmith. As soon as the Essence wills it, I will become the first of our kind to Meld with the Chi’utlan and wield the full power of the Essence as a Mah’Sukai. An Elmorr’Antien Mah’Sukai! Then our King and his precious Circle will see we no longer need to hide from the other races during the Age of Power. We can reach out our hands and insure peace—stability—for all. Have the whore’s son ready this eve.”
Vanria Delmith stared at the door long after the Prince had departed. When he turned, he noticed that Alant still stood by his side and flinched. “You may return to your seat now, Alant, yes?”
The cold of the Tarsith left with the Prince. Before he realized it, Alant opened his mouth to speak. At the questioning look from Vanria Delmith, he shut it with a click of his teeth.
Stupid boy! Hold you tongue. You heard nothing! Not that I understand half of what I did hear.
Without thinking, Alant glanced at Quiln who stood with the others.
What is it they mean to use you for?
Farmers & Mercenaries Page 32