by Paul Heisel
Feln turned and the memories fell into place. In front of him was not the escape he sought, but a dusty pantry filled with wooden stage props and music stands. He cursed his bad luck and turned around to face the door. They were coming, maddened by the number of comrades he had felled. Pounding came. The door vibrated from the blows as the soldiers hacked away at the wood. Another blow hit it, almost shaking it off the hinges. One more hit it and a head of an axe breached the wood, splintering it. They were intent on hacking him to pieces. Backing away, Feln put his katana in its sheath and did the only thing he could think of - he had a magic belt from Pyndira, so he needed to use it. He began making movements with his hands, the ones he had read about in books and has seen in his research into Pyndira. Up and down, side to side his hands moved in a rhythmic fashion. He had to transport to Pyndira. It was the only way he could escape.
Nothing happened.
Feln was sure he was making the correct hand movements, he knew it! He wished Suun were here to help him understand how to use the belt, it would be his escape. No matter how he tried, though, nothing happened - he couldn't invoke the magic transportation. The axe broke through a plank, shattering it and leaving behind a hole. An arm snaked through and sought what was jamming the door. Feln stepped forward, jammed another knife into the hand, and pinned it down. A bloody scream came forth. Curses followed. Again he tried to use the belt to escape. There had to be something else he needed to do. What was it? Why couldn't he transport? The door splintered and another arm came through, withdrawing the knife and releasing the pinned arm. The axe cracked additional panels. The next blow came and the door reverberated. It was nearly open. He was running out of time, a certain death awaiting him.
What was he doing wrong?
The last blow came, smashing what remained of the door to splinters. The battered door wriggled, creaked, and fell in. There were too many of them, all frantic to get at him. Crossbowmen came to the front and discharged their weapons, bolts whistled and missed, thunking into wooden props. Feln retreated along the wall deeper into the storage. It wouldn't take long for them to reload. Next time he wouldn't be so lucky, and they would have time to take careful aim.
Shouts came from behind the soldiers and there was a substantial boom. Through the thick walls, he heard hardened men scream. Feln couldn't see what was happening as he backed farther into the storage. It was dark back here. In the blackness, he kept making movements with his hands, invoking the magic. He closed his eyes and pleaded for a bolt of inspiration. A vision came to mind, it was an image of a city set among the hills with crops extending in every direction. There was a city square full of people. A market nearby. It was a drawing he had seen in one of the books about Pyndira.
Feln thought he was going to be ill. His insides tumbled, as if he were falling off a cliff of immeasurable height. Never had he felt so queasy, and he was on the verge of vomiting. A threadlike chill came and went, extending from his forehead to his groin. After the dull chill departed, he detected a hint of sulfur and the smell of dirt. Searing radiant heat penetrated the air. All at once his senses returned. He was confused, as nothing was familiar. It felt different. The only thing he did recognize, though, was what sounded like hundreds of people screaming in terror.
#
The four burst through the doors, Gargam in the lead. The auditorium was large, fifty feet wide and another sixty deep sloped down to the stage. Chandeliers, alight, glittered. Concert goers dressed in finery sat huddled together on benches, one plump woman was hysterical, another had fainted. The musicians were retreating behind curtains with instruments still clutched in their hands. Music stands clattered to the ground as they sought shelter.
"Where is the king?" screamed Kara.
The Music Hall fell silent. The plump woman fainted, caught by her husband and put next to the other woman.
"Which king?" a noble said.
Another more cooperative patron pointed out the door. "Across the way."
There must have been thirty or more concertgoers and another fifteen musicians. All were frightened. "Anyone comes out this door," Kara told the assembled people. "You will meet the same fate as those soldiers."
No one moved.
#
Owori bounded up the two steps and flung the doors open, shooting out and to the right with her twin blades at the ready. The others followed. On the way out they closed the door, all of their eyes settling on the room across the atrium. The bodies were numerous. Those who lived were struggling to their feet and trying to get their weapons. Pounding came from their immediate left; more soldiers were coming up the stairs.
The monks looked to each other. Weary yet unwilling to give up, they were so close to bringing this to an end. Owori looked to the stairs, hoping Gargam would step forward and take point. The brute was good at that. She and TeBroo could flank the soldiers and strike from behind, while Kara could make sure the injured didn't pose a threat. Before Owori could shout orders, Kara stepped forward with her arm outstretched.
"Back!" she hollered.
Gargam wheeled and grabbed TeBroo and Owori, pulling them into the middle of the atrium and away from the steps. Kara raised her hand and a ball of flame streaked, shooting into the stairwell. It hit the end wall and exploded, rocking the whole structure. Flames shot up and down the stairs and the screams that resulted were horrific. The stone bucked. The few survivors, charred, crawled up, seeking safety. They didn't find any. A stream of fire came from Kara's hand and struck those unfortunate souls, killing them instantly. She held the stream for a short time, incinerating them further, the atrium filled with the stink of burned flesh.
Stunned wasn't the word for it. Owori stood there and watched the power, the magic Kara had used was beyond anything she had imagined or had thought possible. With it she had stopped dozens of soldiers. Behind them the injured were dropping their blades, fearful of what would happen next.
"Back!" Kara hollered again. Her hand pointed to the door across the way. A lance of fire crossed the room and smashed the door, the heat and force weakening it. Owori felt the heat radiating and stepped farther back. The magic waned, Kara was visibly drained, and the fire coming from her hand subsided. The door was on fire; flames and smoke billowed up and rolled off the high ceiling. It would spread if not contained. Gargam rushed forward and smashed what remained of the door, scattering the smoking pieces to the floor. They followed him inside, leaping through the gray haze.
The powerful Gargam didn't hesitate throwing himself into the midst of the surprised soldiers. His movements were so exact no one could get near him and survive. Using a thick double-edged sword in two hands, he carved his way into the middle of the war room. TeBroo fought behind him, keeping the soldiers from their flanks. Strangely, there were already dead soldiers here.
Owori had her twin blades helping as well, and she surmised they were at the limit of their collective capabilities. It would be a close fight to the death, and Kara looked as if she was beyond spent. Soldiers recovered from the initial shock and came at them from all sides. Across the expanse of the hall were downed soldiers, and there was a group fighting through a door. An unseen force pulled her toward that door, but she moved no farther than one step. She engaged a soldier and blocked blows.
She felt magic.
Kara whipped by her without her katana. She struck at the air with her fists, and a conflagration shot out from her hands in a fan, igniting the attacking soldiers in front of them. The clatter of falling swords followed the screams, and the stench of burned flesh and hair filled the air. More screams issued. Kara shot her hand out, from it darted one last stream of deadly fire. It seared the enemy and no mercy was intended. Gargam was moving in a rhythm away from Kara where he anticipated every attack thrown at him by the soldiers. The counterattacks were heavy, deadly, and precise. Each strike of his sword ended a life. The bodies were strewn to either side of him as he made his way to the king.
The few soldiers remaining to prote
ct the king scattered for cover, most threw down their swords and surrendered with arms upraised. Owori could see that Kara was done, her chi was gone. Kara unleashed her katana and strode toward the king unhindered. TeBroo, who was circumventing the waning fight, was close to the king. Jakks, despite his guard being decimated, was poised for battle. Another man, unarmored and unarmed, was ten feet away from Jakks, unconscious with a bloodied mouth and nose. Whistles caught Owori's attention and reflexively she moved her blades back and forth, turning around to meet the new threat. The missiles clattered off her blades and scattered to the ceiling. The two crossbowmen from across the room were reloading. Owori charged headlong into them. They had no time to defend themselves, and the crossbowmen dropped their weapons and retreated in haste, fumbling to unsheathe their blades. It was too late for them, though. Owori injured one and left one poor soul dead on the floor, then when it was safe, she turned her attention back to Kara, Gargam, and TeBroo.
The trio had the king captive. The king's mouth was bloody from blows and his shoulder drooped from a sword injury. Despite the armor, it looked as if TeBroo had found a weak spot. Kara drove the king to his knees. She was speaking to him. The king's head dipped toward the floor in defeat. Gargam shouted for the soldiers to stand down and surrender, or they would execute the king on the spot. Owori didn't let her guard down as she walked, wary of deception. The soldiers were dropping their weapons and yielding to Gargam's demands, and they gathered near the center of the room and sat down as instructed. Others were ordered to extinguish the small fires. Charred men, dead black corpses, lay smoking on the floor from Kara's magic. The rest of the chamber was scattered with the dead and injured, a mess. As Owori arrived, she could hear the king muttering curses under his breath. She turned and looked at Kara.
"Looks like you know how to finish a fight," Owori said.
Kara nodded weakly.
Owori didn't know how Kara had conjured the fire and she didn't know where Gargam had learned his indefensible fighting technique. Both she had never seen before, and she was sure both had incorporated magic. Owori looked at Kara and could see that she was exhausted. Creating the fire had exacted an enormous toll, similar to what happened when she remained invisible for long periods. Although Gargam looked fresher than either of them, she could see that his strength was fading too.
"Call off your invasion of our home city," Kara demanded. "By whatever means necessary, send word to stop the fighting immediately."
Jakks spat at her in response. "More soldiers are coming. When they get here, you'll be dead."
True to his word, they heard pounding feet, soldiers rushing in the atrium. Kara took her blade and put it to Jakks's throat. "You know what happens next."
The man who had been lying on the floor rolled to a sitting position and rubbed his face. His mouth and nose were bloody, his cheek was swollen from a heavy blow, and the bruising had already begun. "What's going on here?" Makison asked.
"Makison, my brother," Jakks said as Kara pushed the sword closer to his neck, "you have arrived at a most interesting time. You're supposed to be dead!"
"TeBroo and Gargam, cover the door," Kara commanded. "Kill anyone who enters. Owori, take care of the others."
When Owori moved to the soldiers who had surrendered, they protested and pleaded for their lives. She had her blades ready and she would do what was necessary, but she could see these men were defeated. They wouldn't give them any trouble. It was those outside the door that would be the problem.
"Who are you?" Kara asked.
"Brother to Jakks, I'm Makison, the rightful heir and king of Borgard." Makison stood and touched his injured face.
"Should I be negotiating with you then?"
"No," croaked Jakks. Kara pressed her blade into the side of his neck, drawing blood.
Makison stood taller. "Yes," he said. "Though I don't know what's happening, I am the rightful king of Borgard. For many years I have been imprisoned in this castle…my castle."
Jakks snorted. "That sniveling Velinole…"
Kara's eyes flared. She withdrew the sword and smashed Jakks with an elbow, knocking him to the ground. The big man went down.
"Cease all aggression against the Accord of the Hand," Kara told Makison. "Send out ravens to the armies that attack our lands. Recall them at once, or this kingdom will have no king at all! I'll execute both of you!"
Makison nodded, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Where is the other one? The other monk. Did he not join you?"
"There is no other," Kara answered.
"Feln?" Owori whispered as she came over, leaving her post.
"Yes, Feln, I knew him when he was a boy," Makison said. His eyes shifted back and forth. "I had an agreement with Feln. He…he…released me from my prison. I've been in the dungeon for so long." The man held back his emotions. "I agreed to stop the fighting, and let it be done." Makison threw his hands into the air and fell to his knees.
Owori approached him, touching him lightly on the shoulder. She knelt so she was looking into his drawn face. "I can't imagine what you've been through. Where is Feln, where did you leave him?"
"I don't know where he is. He left me. He was scouting for the best path out of the castle. When he didn't come back I took off looking for my brother, to confront him."
"He's in there," said a soldier who was sitting on the floor. He pointed across the room to a battered door. "Over there."
Her eyes fell upon the door, shattered and broken by weapons. Owori went into the storage room where she found stage props and music stands spilled on the ground, and two stuck crossbow bolts, but no signs of Feln. After searching, she returned to the room. "Where did he go?"
"I don't know," the soldier replied. "Maybe he's among the dead. Maybe she," he pointed at Kara, "torched him."
On the floor Jakks stirred. "The Knight Captain will be here soon with more troops. You're doomed, whether or not we are dead or alive."
"Your Captain is dead by now unless a generous soul has helped him," Kara said. "I ran him through with his own sword."
"There will be no more violence," Makison interjected. "I have agreed. That I promise. No more violence. Stop this!"
"You fool," Jakks spoke. "There are only the four of them! I am the king!"
"You there," Makison said, pointing at one of the wounded soldiers. He turned to the group of advisors who were cowering in the far corner, noncombatants determined to stay out of the fight. "You as well. Both of you are to spread the word throughout the castle that we have surrendered. Tell everyone to stand down. If anyone attacks this room, I will hold you responsible."
The soldier looked to Jakks, then to Makison. The advisor didn't move from his spot.
"Yes milord." The guard scurried away and TeBroo let him through the smoking door.
"Go," Makison commanded, his voice having regained strength. Reluctantly the advisor followed the guard.
"What about Feln?" Owori asked.
"I shall organize a search for him," Makison said. "If he's in the castle, we'll find him. Now, there are things we need to do now that are more important. We need to bring this conflict to an end."
Owori took a deep breath, her body aching from the fight. She scanned the bodies of the dead, wounded, and charred. She didn't see Feln or any sign of him, yet it would be hard to tell if any of the burned dead were him. He has to be alive. But where did he go? There was an overwhelming sense of loss, soaking Owori to the core. She held back the emotions. He was gone, again. There was hope they would find him, perhaps he was hiding in the castle or maybe soldiers had captured him. Recalling the size of the storage room, though, there was nowhere for him to go. Perhaps he had blinked and had escaped. She hoped. He had to be somewhere.
Chapter 9 - Pyndira
Without a moment to spare, Feln sidestepped something that was attacking everything in sight. Heat emanated from the creature, and Feln knew had the magic belt not been around his waist, the fire would have scorched him. Deftly he m
oved back, rolling as he did, and popped up with his katana. A host of charred bodies littered the ground and acrid greasy smoke filled the air. The stench of sulfur and burnt flesh made Feln wretch. People were screaming and running away, trampling those caught in the stampede.
The creature stood tall, several feet taller than a normal man, and it had unnaturally broad shoulders. Corded muscles covered its body. Its skin was black as sack cloth and flames licked from its body, flaring into the air. Its legs, similarly muscled, stood on wide black hooves. Its two arms ended in five wicked fingers with razor-sharp nails. Its head was skeletal and it looked to be part horse. Deep eye sockets, pinpoints of red, focused on him, the interloper. The random flames subsided and a rush of fire gathered on the creature, covering it in a flickering, orange blanket. It came at Feln with a fury, claws raking down.
Feln withstood the onslaught and blocked the blows with his katana, moving backwards. The intense heat came at him, the flames shrouding him in a mantle of fire. Only the chi of the belt kept Feln from serious harm. The creature still came at him - undaunted - and Feln found his advantage and pressed the attack. His katana bit deep, slashing its shoulder, nearly taking an arm off. The creature, maddened, overextended its next attack. Feln slipped underneath, split open its belly, reversed direction, twirled and landed a deadly strike to its back with the full force of the blade. It fell to the ground in a heap. Feln didn't hesitate - he drove his katana deep into the back and out through the chest, finishing it for sure.
Flames erupted from the dead beast. The force threw Feln back, stunning him. As he landed, he could feel the heat. He felt blows of a strange weapon, it was like a rope or a whip but weak and ineffective. It didn't hurt and the attacks were rather random. The heat subsided and he felt himself rolled this way and that by rough calloused hands. Amongst the sulfur and ash, he could smell dirt. Feln settled on his back, feeling cooler earth underneath him. The sky above him was clear and a deep blue, bluer than any sky he had ever seen. It had to be the blue sky of Pyndira, the otherworldly place he had only dreamed about.