"No, I have had other more minor celestial confrontations, but this will be a war, Kinsaver. One we cannot lose. We are off to Horologium to regroup. Welcome aboard. We're proud you're joining us."
Throg said, "So the truth seekers created the Silver Sphere and attacked Biskara on the celestial plane. The United Forces helped to defeat Hideux and the first army of Nightlanders on Azimuth."
"An amazing story." Zach rubbed his head. "I think Atum was a big Egyptian god or something. I read about him in a book on the old pyramids."
"Sure, Atum moves around. Who can guess where he is today? Even though he is the founder of the truth seekers, they elect a new leader every so often."
"Okay, Throg, now who are you?"
Throg hesitated a moment as if making a decision. "My name is Axel Throg. I was a member of the Meridian army, specifically the captain of the Aulic Assembly's personal guard."
"I could tell you weren't just a woodsman. Why did you leave?"
"Perhaps a broken heart had much to do with it. I found it more comfortable in the wild." His eyes carried a sad tinge.
Zach twirled his blade a few times, not wanting to push Throg too hard about his past. "Wow."
"What?"
"You have a heart."
Throg grinned and released a branch he held, swatting Zach in the face.
"Ow!"
"My sincerest apologies."
Zach glared at Throg, who grinned and motioned for them to continue.
"You're a powerful adversary now, as you have inherited the abilities and strengths of your link on the Aulic Assembly. You'll need a little practice to sharpen your skills, and won't be as polished as your link. Members of the Assembly are among the most dominant soldiers on Azimuth, along with Milo Morgante and the Stonecoats. The war ahead, however, will be dangerous for all."
"You mentioned the Stonecoats," Zach said.
"Yes, Milo is their current leader, and a good man. The Stonecoats are an elite outfit of warriors. They are adventurers, a freelance club with a long history. It's fortunate their allegiances are usually with the Aulic Assembly, although Milo disagrees on some issues with Lord Achernar."
"What kind of issues?"
"Well, he says they are political in nature. I think the problem is more personal—tension over a woman. Lord Achernar spends a fair amount of time with Bianca Saddler, a member of the Assembly. She happens also to be the representative who's served longest on the Assembly. Milo is fond of her from their youth."
Throg knelt to the ground and ran his fingers through the dirt. "We are close to the Dorado Path. We should keep quiet from here on in."
They paced silently for several minutes. Had Throg not insisted on their hush, Zach would have burst out with more questions. An oversized butterfly with spectacular shades of green, yellow, and red lines on its wings fluttered nearby, hovering gracefully alongside them while they trekked. Zach spied it, but froze the instant his eyes fell upon the being in their path.
"Throg," he began.
"It's okay. He's a Leshy. They're forest spirits, guardians of the animals and trees. I happened to befriend this one, whose name is Drake."
The Leshy gazed at them with large emerald eyes, and stroked his green beard with blue hands. As they drew closer, Zach noticed the Leshy wore his jacket and pants backward. His face was as pale blue as his hands.
"Good day, Drake. How have you been?"
"Been better, Throg. Huge disturbances in my sector."
"I'll bet."
"Is that a Kin with you?"
"Yes, this is Zach Ryder. We're looking to reunite him with his fellow Kin."
"Oh, yes, the sooner the better. The disturbance started with the nasty hag Baba Yaga coming down from the Cark." Drake shook his head. "Now the Nightlanders are ravaging the Dorado Path. His Kin are in danger. Quite a battle they're having at the moment."
Throg jumped forward a step. "The Kin are on the Dorado... in battle? With Nightlanders?"
"Yes, they are. The Zumbaki, of all beings, joined Biskara. They also brought back those dreadful Disembowelers."
"Zumbaki and the Disembowelers?" Throg gasped.
"What are they?" Zach tensed at his companion's unease.
"The Zumbaki are a savage tribe—cannibals," Throg said. "They believe they gain strength by eating their enemies, and most of the time they are too wild to have any allies. The Disembowelers are terrible beasts. The Nightlanders trained them in past wars, but they were thought to be extinct. Malefic must have bred them and kept them in hiding."
"Well, they're making a mess out of the forest," said Drake. "I don't like how the Disembowelers are hurting some of the horses in the battle. These Nightlanders never respect the woods and its animals as you do, Throg. So, I'm happy to assist."
"Thank you, Drake. How far up the Dorado is this happening?"
"Maybe a couple of hours northeast from the river here, a little less perhaps. I always forget how slow mortals travel. I spied the wishpoosh pillaging your belongings. Their behavior has been unusual. I warded them off and managed to grab a few of your things, some weapons and such I thought you might need. The bag is up ahead behind the third tree to the right." Drake motioned forward.
"Thank you. I will do my best to preserve your forest. You have my word," Throg said.
The Leshy nodded. "Nightlanders captured two of the Kin, and took them to a small camp near the battle. The leader of the Stonecoats is attempting to rescue them on his own."
"Milo? I'm glad the Stonecoats are with the rest of the Kin. We are too far to help them, but... you can get to the battle quickly." Throg looked at him.
"You understand my kind doesn't like to get involved, but you have done much for me in the past. I will go to assist the two Kin to return your kindness."
Throg smiled, his eyes crinkling, and then Drake disappeared into the woods.
"The Leshy are shape-shifters. They can shrink to the size of a small rock or plant. On a rare day, you might view them in their natural state. They can be formidable allies... if they like you. They can also be a royal pain in the arse if they don't—double for the younger Leshy, the mischievous critters. I befriended Drake some time ago.
"If what he says is true, then we're near your fellow Kin and close to battle. The Disembowelers are rabid and dangerous. We'll need shields if we encounter them. The Zumbaki are more threatening when they travel in packs."
The two of them jogged along the path Drake had pointed out to them. Throg stopped at the third tree and found his knapsack, a canteen of water, and several knives. A chipped sword leaned against the bag. Throg lifted the blade once he pulled the pack on.
"We need to move without delay. We will run into the Dorado Path in a short time. Stay close to me, and remember, if anything happens to me, the Dorado Path leads straight to Meracuse."
He glared back at Zach, and the Kin saw determination in Throg's eyes.
They accelerated their pace, and a surge of adrenaline rushed through Zach. A war, other Kin, and to top it off, blue men with green hair, seemed to be the norm around here. He wondered what Adrian would think of all of this.
Crisp morning air made Morgana's heart swell. She smiled as she tied her light chestnut hair back. A soft whine came from the floor and she looked down. Otis, her Meridian Sheppard, barked and lolled his tongue. He gazed with big, brown eyes, begging attention.
"Just a minute, Otis," she said, rubbing his side with her bare foot.
She sluiced cold water over her face and neck. The dry air promised a hot day. As she left her bedroom, she overheard her father speaking in hushed tones with another villager right outside the door.
"I got wind of rumors Malefic's soldiers are moving west now," said the old man. Borgen was a priest and a healer. Last summer, he'd bound Morgana's sprained ankle. Borgen's healing went unsurpassed in Chapton. "That merchant from Vixen said so."
"West?" her father murmured. "Well, good, I suppose. He'll pass near us, but I think we shoul
d be safe."
Morgana rapped on the open window. "Father, did you want breakfast?"
"I broke my fast early today, dear. Why don't you have a bite before you go to the temple?"
"I'm planning to do some chores, first," she said. "Not that hungry yet."
At her heels, Otis whined and wagged his tail.
"Borgen, how soon do you need Morgana?"
"She can take her time. Been a slow morning." Borgen smiled at her.
"Thank you, Borgen," she said, returning his smile. "I'll be along in about an hour. I just have a few things to do around the house before breakfast."
"Good, good. I'll see you then. Take care, El." Borgen clapped Morgana's father on the shoulder, his frail fingers looking bony and weak. He walked with not so much of a limp as a wobble. Morgana feared at times that a hale wind would knock him clean over.
"Morgana," her father said after Borgen had gone, "if you're doing some chores, don't forget to tidy up the hutch in the back. You know how the rabbits get this time of year."
"Sure. Otis, to me."
She really hadn't needed to say anything. Otis followed eagerly as she took some stew from the gigantic cauldron over the fire pit, and spooned the meat into a large bowl. He nuzzled past her and began to eat, licking his chops as he downed the cold beef.
Morgana patted him, then slipped her shoes on and hurried out back to tend to the rabbits. She paused at the feel of something in her father's coat pocket. She reached in and pulled out a weapon.
"Father?" She approached him with the gun. "What are you doing with this?"
Her father snatched it from her. "It's a hand-cannon."
"They're banned!"
"No, they're not. Blasters are illegal. Hand-cannons aren't. Not anymore. Now, go take care of the rabbits. I'll handle this."
Morgana shifted from one foot to the other and bit her lip. In the end, she had no choice, and hurried around back. The hay needed cleaning and their water replacing.
She eased the three rabbits into a small wooden crate and covered the top with chicken wire. "Don't fret. Just a little bit."
She pulled out the dirty hay, tossing a bushel into the yard for the chickens to pick over. A few hens clucked and fluttered aside as she bustled back and forth between a bale of fresh straw and the rabbit hutch. Once she'd laid the new straw, she pulled out the bowls and cleaned them, refilling one with cold water from the rain barrel, and the other with chopped carrots and lettuce.
"There we go." She set a white rabbit back in with the others and latched the chicken wire door. "All neat and fresh."
She hurried inside. "What else needs straightening, Father?"
Elund shook his head, his pitchfork in hand. "The cattle are already to pasture, and there's no sweeping to do. You could go and fetch water for Borgen. I imagine he'll want some at the temple to wash the paintings. But you should eat soon. Getting late."
Cleaning the hutch hadn't taken too long, though Morgana's gut growled at the thought of food. "I'll take a biscuit with me to the well. Is that all right?"
"Sure. Stop by the temple first, and find out if anyone wants breakfast."
"Okay. Otis, come." She patted the meat of her thigh.
The dog, lying beside the empty fire pit, wagged his tail, jumped to his feet, and hurried after her.
She took a biscuit from the tray on the counter and was halfway out the door when her father called, "Just a moment, Morgana."
"Yes?"
"Don't forget your knife. That rope gets stuck too often." He handed her the short blade. "I can't tell you how many times Ms. Lantern's had me replace it!"
"Thanks, Father." She tucked the knife into her work belt.
He pulled her into a tight hug. "Have a good day."
She wrapped her arms around her father and smiled. "I love you, Father."
"Love you, too."
Morgana flashed a grin and hurried outdoors, Otis trotting along behind her. She wolfed down her biscuit in a few bites. Taking a pail from outside of the house, she began a brisk walk to the temple, just down the street from where she lived.
Most of the humble building had been covered in canvas sheets to keep the dirt out. A few women talked outside as they refurbished a painting under the warm forenoon sun.
"Good morning, Morgana," said one with a kind smile. Her cheeks crinkled.
"Morning, ma'am," Morgana clucked with a curtsy. The sound of hammers and saws reverberated from within the temple. "They're already to work?"
"Oh, my, yes. They started early this sunrise. Why, Kal was up before the sun!"
"My father sent me to check if anyone wanted some breakfast. I was headed to the well and can stop by the baker's on the way back."
The woman stood and hurried inside to ask. The others working on different paintings chatted amiably with Morgana while she waited. Only a moment later, the elderly lady returned.
"Kal said they're fine for now, but they could use your help when you get back. The new wall's giving them a hard time, bless the Father."
"Didn't they paint yesterday?"
"Oh, my, yes. Took almost the entire day, too! But they want a mural done, and you're the only one with an artist's hand, Morgana."
A hot flush rose into her cheeks. "That's kind of you. I'll start when I return."
The old woman knelt again beside the image, and dipped her brush back into the bowl of red paint. Morgana's mother had painted many of the others inside. The walls showed somber-faced saints and glorious, smiling gods. The years had dulled their colors and cracked the clay floors.
When Borgen had suggested restoring the temple to her father, he'd readily agreed. The whole town had gone in on the project. Rather than pay workers, though, everyone took turns volunteering. The women painted and cleaned while the men repaired the floors, ceiling, and walls. Near the back, they were building a nursery.
Morgana turned to Otis. "Wanna race to the well?"
He barked and hopped.
"Good! Ready?" She stood in place, leaning forth, and Otis crouched. "Set...."
Otis nearly jumped forward, but she laughed and tisked him.
"Wait a minute. No cheating!"
Otis's long tail flapped excitedly.
"Go!" Morgana took off at a run.
Otis easily outdistanced her. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she darted forward. Chapton harbored a fair sized village, with the well stationed at the other end, past the main square and the gurgling fountain. Chapton's outskirts contained mainly farmhouses. Cattle and sheep dotted the green fields beyond the main square.
"Good morning, Morgana," called Ms. Lantern as Morgana and Otis sprinted by. Old Ms. Lantern had her knees in the dirt as she tended the garden.
"Good morning!" Morgana's chest heaved.
Racing Otis took a lot out of her. By the time they reached the well, her lungs ached. She laughed and knelt to ruffle the dog's ears. "Good boy!"
Otis licked her cheek, then sniffed around the well, his nose to the ground.
Morgana lifted the pail and set it on the wall of the well, then lowered the bucket attached to the rope, and hummed. A few moments later, the bucket plopped into the water below, and she let it fill before hoisting it up.
After she'd poured the fresh water into the container, she asked, "Are you ready to head back?"
Otis froze, his pointed ears perking.
A chill wind came on, and Morgana tucked a stray strand of mousey hair behind her ear.
Otis growled, the pitch rumbling deep in his throat. He crouched, his hackles prickling.
"What is it, Otis?" She turned the direction he was looking. At first, she heard nothing. Then, the sound of distant thunder rolled across the terrain. She frowned. The sky was clear and blue—if there was a storm, it wasn't anywhere nearby.
The noise grew louder, though, and she recognized it. The pail she had been holding dropped from her hands and cold water splashed onto the ground. A banner, black with a gold sigil, was the first t
o cap the hill outside of Chapton. Atop the crest, only a few forms in dark armor appeared.
Then they came. The entire hilltop was crowned with soldiers garbed in black. The army roared.
"No," she whispered. She simply couldn't believe it, yet there they stood. Fear shook her very core. Twirling, she stumbled back toward the village. Her legs turned to jelly, but she ran on, screaming and waving her arms as she darted from the well.
Ms. Lantern stood up from her garden, facing opposite the hill. Morgana dashed to her, crying, "Run!"
"What? Morgana!"
Otis yowled and bounded into the yard, trying to pull Ms. Lantern away from her plants.
"Otis, stop!"
"Nightlanders!" shrieked Morgana. "Run!"
Only then did Ms. Lantern look toward the highland. Smoke rose behind the Nightlander battalion. Morgana gasped and stepped backward, tripping over a rock. She landed hard, eyes wide. The soot came from poor old Mr. Ender's farmhouse.
At first, she wondered what the army was doing. Perhaps they were hoping the villagers would leave without a fight. Then a loud cry rose from the black warriors. They were almost five hundred strong, a small battalion, but one that could easily overthrow the village. They swarmed down the slope, hundreds of them rushing toward Chapton, and at the head towered a cloaked rider in obsidian armor atop a gigantic war horse.
Morgana launched to her feet and ran, with Ms. Lantern now in tow. Otis howled as they sprinted, his pink tongue lolling from between black lips. His powerful legs carried him ahead of Morgana, but he never once left her sight.
"Everyone!" she shouted. "Run!"
Villagers who'd crowded around the central water fountain stopped what they were doing. Workers at their small stalls and shops turned toward her. When they gaped at the black army coming for them, they screamed. Women dropped baskets of goods and men hustled to get weapons.
Chapton was by no means a small village, but most of the citizens were women and children. Dogs growled and barked in the cobblestone street. Ahead, a little boy stood frozen in the middle of the square, his blue eyes wide as skipping stones, crying.
Morgana raced up and grabbed him. She lifted him and continued running. Ms. Lantern was huddled between an overturned cart and a house, and Morgana pushed the boy into her arms.
The Silver Sphere Page 12