Suddenly Mudlo’s vision cleared, and he saw the battlefield for what it was. A massacre. The rangers like him, those that still lived, were pressed down to the ground just as inexplicably as he, but the M’tant were running and falling and screaming and dying as clouds boiled overhead. Jagged lightning streaked down again and again, burning a nymph to ash at every strike.
CRASH! CRACKLE! CRASH! Mudlo’s ears felt overwhelmed, and he couldn’t hear his own cursing. What in Vast was happening?
A booted foot pressed down on his back, pinning him further. A wild shrieking laugh reached his ears over the howling wind and deafening storm: the voice of the Tannarch.
“I’ll skin you yet, bloody hawk! Ahahaha!” Mudlo twisted and kicked, but spikes on the heel of the Tannarch’s boot dug into his shoulder blades and forced his face into the dirt. It was hopeless.
Then a broken, burning body slammed into the Tannarch, knocking him off Mudlo. The ranger scrambled away, twisting around under that unnatural wind pressure, to see what had happened. How many close scrapes can I have in one fight? The body was of the nymph with the scythe.
The Tannarch quickly rose, hurling the corpse off and standing, brandishing one of the curious M’tant spear-swords in each hand, a wordless snarl on his face… But he wasn’t looking at Mudlo.
Lauro Vale crouched not ten feet away, looking haggard and deathly pale, wind whipping the ground to shreds beneath his left hand as he dug his fingers into the soil. His right hand was raised to the heavens, and lightning crackled in the sky whenever he moved.
Red Aura’s Forge! Mudlo thought, did he just come out of the sky? But wherever the boy had come from, he was beating the M’tant at their own game. Sky was trumping Stone, Wind was beating Earth, and Lightning was massacring every nymph in the area. It was power such as was only whispered about in legends. How was the bloody boy so blasted powerful? He could probably rival King Larion himself!
The Tannarch whirled his long-handled blades, cursing and blaspheming, but most of the words were ripped away on the wind. He moved as if to charge Lauro, then thought better of it. With a shriek even Mudlo could hear, he plunged both blades into the ground. The ranger was picked up and hurled several yards as the ground heaved and rippled, rolling towards Lauro in a churning wave of rock and earth. The Sky Strider looked even sicklier, but calmly rose and jumped through the attack, violent shards of air blasting a hole in the earthwave to let him land safely past it.
Mudlo twisted and scrambled to see again. The Tannarch was screaming something into the wind he couldn’t hear. The M’tant king pulled his weapons free of the earth and charged. Lauro moved his mouth, words lost in the storm, but Mudlo could’ve sworn he’d said my turn.
Lauro shoved a fist to the sky. Lightning crackled. Then he ducked under the Tannarch’s wild swing and punched him full in the face.
The world flashed white. Everything seemed to SHIFT.
When Mudlo could see again, the Tannarch was a smoking husk, breaking apart in the wind that grew louder and stronger and fiercer with every second. He felt himself being lifted from the ground. Meters away, Lauro was kneeling, head in his hands.
“Lauro! LAURO!” Mudlo screamed. The boy was going to tear them all apart, from sickness or rage… and he couldn’t shout over the blasted wind! “LAURO!”
Nothing. The world was going to end, right here and now.
“LAURO!” Another voice yelled this time, and somehow the sound cut across the destruction to Mudlo’s ears… and Lauro’s. The young Sky Strider looked up…
…and the storm ended, all at once.
Mudlo scrambled to his feet. The clouds that had funneled down from above were retreating and growing lighter. He was able to move freely again, and the lightning-blessedly!- had stopped, too. Out of the corner of his eye Mudlo saw two rangers dragging Arlin away hurriedly. Thank the Creator! The leader was still alive. Another ranger- Gando, Mudlo thought likely- was beating the pulp out of one of the black-robed nymph Striders. The slim, violent ranger had cut off the nymph’s hands to stop him from Striding. Ugh.
But the silence was what disturbed Mudlo the most. His ears rang with it, after the overload of noise and sights and sensations that the storm had brought. In a stunned sort of stupor he looked to see who had managed to call through the wind.
The red-headed half-nymph girl, the one who seemed so attracted to Lauro, was limping through a hole in the wall. She looked ready to cry, and her face was deathly white. She had called out? She had stopped him?
So much for taking care of those nymphs on our own, Mudlo thought, and was surprised at how exhausted he felt. I should just quit the rangers and let those youths take my bloody place!
Chapter Fourteen: Duty
The next morning Lauro awoke with the biggest bloody headache he’d ever had. That, plus the utter havoc of the day and night before, was bad enough. Battles, death… chasing down the surviving nymphs… But worse, Avarine was now ignoring him. After calling to him through the madness… stopping him from destroying his friends as well as enemies in the hopeless rage that had burned through him… she wouldn’t even speak to him! Well, he murder-blasted deserved that, didn’t he? He’d killed her father.
Her father. The Tannarch didn’t deserve to be the sire of such a beautiful creature as she… but he was. Had been. Why couldn’t I have stopped myself??? Why couldn’t I have just captured him, instead of killing? I had no bloody right to… He stopped himself. Cursing would get him nowhere. He didn’t know why he’d picked up the habit so quickly. The thing to do… was to confront her, and apologize, no matter how hard it was.
Clambering stiffly out of the hide roll the rangers had given him to sleep in, the prince managed with difficulty to dress in breeches, boots, shirt, vest, and coat, all provided by the ranger… without cursing once. His body ached and groaned with a thousand various pains, but he counted himself lucky. Unlike Arlin, the rangers’ leader, he still had all his limbs. In fact, he hadn’t even broken a bone. Lucky as anything, considering that he’d summoned a wind tunnel to get himself to the rangers’ aid in time. First time he’d done that since Mythigrad.
Before he left the tent, Lauro strapped two of the strange M’tant blade weapons across his back; Severs, Avarine had called them. It was a cruel joke to him that he should be so fascinated with his enemies’ weapons… but the rangers rarely bore swords, and had none to spare. The dead nymphs, however, had been only too obliging…
Ignoring more than a few bodily aches, Lauro pushed the flap of the tent aside and stepped out into the open. Outside, the world around the ranger camp gave little indication of the carnage of the day before. The clouds had broken completely for the first time since they’d begun creeping over Vast, and though they were threatening to return, for the moment the sun was washing the Lost Walls in its light. Lauro had the strangest feeling… as if it was because of the battle that the world had decided to make a kind morning. It was in sharp contrast to the glumness he felt.
The tents of the rangers were spread around a grassy clearing between two of the larger walls, part of the fabled Lost Walls themselves. Rubble was piled strategically on either end to form a readily defensible position that could be held by a few, being at the same time almost undetectable from its surroundings.
Lauro’s tent had belonged to one of the rangers who had died. Avarine was in another, Mudlo in a third, and Arlin rested in a fourth. Besides them, six rangers still lived: Raenin, Gando, and Armir; Daslite, Magnin, and Morr. They were as different a lot of warriors as Lauro had ever seen, and two of them, Raenin and Daslite, were women. Daslite was Arlin’s wife, apparently. The ties between the rangers confused Lauro to no end.
Anyway, it seemed as if no one was about yet. It was still early in the morning, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground. It was soft, and made no sound when Lauro walked on it. He needed to get away; to have time to think.
He climbed the lowest part of the rubble he could find. It was the only wa
y in and out, and he still felt a little shaky when Sky Striding, after yesterday. When he dropped down on the grass outside the barricade, though, he almost fell over in surprise. Avarine was leaning against the wall, mere feet away from him: he could have landed on her.
“I… didn’t know you were up,” he said hesitantly. She didn’t respond. Her head was tipped back against the wall, and her eyes were closed. Had she fallen asleep? Against his better judgment, he decided to keep speaking. “Are you all right? I know a lot has happened, Avarine…”
“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off. He bit off his words, wondering whether to feel annoyed, or just pleased that she had spoken to him again. He settled for being impulsive.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to soften me. Not yet.” She opened her eyes, but didn’t turn to look at him. Her arms were folded, either from anger or tiredness. He noticed that, and the exhausted way she held herself. Why wouldn’t she let him explain, and help? Her hair was tied loosely behind her head today… why did he notice that, of all things?
“I only wanted to say…” he gulped as she turned her accusing brown eyes at him, “…that I’m sorry for what I did, and that I’m… If I had been thinking… If I had…” He couldn’t seem to form the words. Looking at her, seeing the hurt he had caused... his tongue wouldn’t work. His mind seemed frozen. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m leaving, Lauro Vale,” she said quietly. “Some of the rangers will come with me. We’re going to retake Mortenhine.”
“Wh… what?” He could barely believe his ears.
She turned to look at him, brown eyes wide. “My father’s death showed me what I couldn’t see, with you, Lauro Vale. I have a duty to the Creator, just like you. That duty… is in Mortenhine. The Blackwood must change, and I’m the only one who can stand for it.” Was she crying?
“But we…” he began to protest, taking a hesitant step toward her, then stopped. No. She wouldn’t want him, not now. What was he accomplishing here, other than to make a fool of himself? Grunting to stop the tears, Lauro turned to walk away from the camp, and away from her.
“Lauro.” She had always called him by his full name. Why not now?
He turned. She wasn’t leaning any more. She was walking towards him, slowly, limping from that old wound he hadn’t been able to heal. “Yes?” he said softly.
Her anger was gone. She came to him, and stood close, just breathing. “My duty is with my people, so I will go. But Lauro… my heart is with you.”
Then she reached up and kissed him, hard, holding him as if she couldn’t bear to let go. He kissed her back, stroking her hair, holding her close.
And something sparked; something he could never after put a name to. It was Light, it was Storm, it was Sky, it was Spirit. It was an impossible possibility. It was her, it was him, it was them.
He pulled himself reluctantly away. She was looking at him now, smiling that same sad smile… and she was glowing again. Lightbringing.
“You’re…” he said.
“You, too,” she told him. He looked down, and saw that he was! Light like hers shone from his hands and, when he looked cross-eyed, his face, too. Not as bright as hers, but…
Avarine laughed, a light, good-hearted laugh. “I’ll never understand you, Lauro Vale.” There. His full name again.
“And I, you,” he said, grinning. He couldn’t just see the emotion on her face… he could feel it; feel her joy, tinged with sadness, but not tainted by it. His mouth opened. “We’re…”
“…Linked,” she finished for him. “I can feel it… I must have… well, I don’t know. But…” and she looked down, shifting her weight. “I don’t feel pain anymore. Anywhere. My leg is healed. I think… I think it wasn’t just me. It was both of us.”
“Yes… I guess it was.” He felt her cheek. “And it always will be, from now on.”
He looked at her, and she looked back… and everything was as it should be again.
“Ah… I don’t suppose you two are done yet?” A blue-hooded head popped up from behind the barricade, wincing merrily in mock disgust. “We have a bit of planning to do, you see…”
“Mudlo!” Avarine shrieked. Lauro threw back his head, laughing. He couldn’t help it.
Chapter Fifteen: Golden Nation
Vastion was being overrun. Very well. Today, that was not Karanel’s concern.
It had been some time since she had found herself again, found her sanity after the cataclysm that should have killed her. Now she had risen far, and changed much… but that was not her concern either. Not today, at least. Today, her only objective was to learn.
Manlyn had been one of the first Vastic cities to fall to the golems and Coalskins. It had not been the last, before King Larion’s army had halted the tide, breaking it for a few more precious weeks with the spearhead of the White Wind. Karanel had reached it easily enough, leaving her direhawk well to the South, and therefore coming toward the place from the direction its occupants would least expect a warrior of Vastion to come from. Now, as she neared the gates, she realized that coming would be the easiest part.
Manlyn was a city mobilized for war. Refugees from the surrounding areas poured in, but they were guarded by the invaders, ushered along by the invaders, even “protected” by the invaders. It was all so wrong that Karanel felt she would be sick… The invasion had been that fast. When the dalheims fell, all nearly at once, there had been no way to stop them, and now more came every day: iron beasts that belched fire, legions of Coalskins in gold or bronze armor, and even what looked like a small metal fortress that rolled along on spiked wheels, crossbow-wielding Coalskins peeping out at windows in its side.
Karanel pulled her hood farther forward as she joined the throng of refugees hastening to enter the city of their new rulers. She had dyed her hair and changed her clothes, disguising herself as a peasant. If it cost her the last hand she had, she would learn who these demons were, and why they had come. A legion from the underworld, in retribution for Vastion’s sins? She doubted it. The Creator would never allow such a thing. Then what were the Coalskins? Whatever or whoever, they certainly were far more advanced than Vastion, or the squabbling bandit lords, or even the fabled Sea Nymphs.
The former Windmaster allowed herself to be jostled and shoved as the rabble filed through Manlyn’s Southeastern gates. The Coalskins had guards on the walltop, but didn’t bother checking any of the peasants entering: the massive golem waiting idly outside the archway was terrifying enough that they obviously considered it unnecessary. Karanel frowned. Pure arrogance. But there was nothing she could do. Not now.
As the crowd oozed through the gate, giving the golem a wide berth, Karanel unconsciously tugged her hood a little farther, shrouding her face a little more, and hugged the stump of her right hand beneath her good arm. There was nothing she could do now, if she was seen and suspected to have been in the war.
Her desperate defense of the dalheim had not just claimed her hand. It had claimed her Striding, too. That was why she wanted to learn. She had lost the advantage Striding had given her, and it was up to her to make up for it. She couldn’t beat them with raw power, as she had thought back at the dalheim. She would beat them with her mind. With knowledge.
And with prayer. She’d met a cleric, during the horrible flight when her men had been caught and massacred, and she was left to wander aimlessly through the war-torn villages of her crumbling nation. He had helped her to see. Where strength failed them… that was the time to believe.
Anything that helps us beat these hellspawn to dust, Karanel thought grimly.
The people around her were so caught in their own woes that they didn’t see her slip to the edge of the crowd and dart down a side alley between two tall pillared buildings. As the shadows hid her, she slowed, mind searching for the next logical step.
Time to learn.
~
Gribly paced the deck of the Invincible furiously. Why was his father dela
ying? Every minute, Elia grew farther away! And to top it all, they had been forced to wait almost twice as long as he’d wanted to before setting sail. The Lord of Rogues was still not on the warship, yet, and Gribly didn’t know what to think. Well, he could guess. Lord Danner had been giving trouble again, most likely. Gram had impulsively decided to come with them, and that sat not well at all with the Waterpike, who seemed strangely loyal to his master. Still, blast it all, Gram was king!
“Can’t he just order them?” Gribly grumbled to himself. It was how the Dunelord would have done things, and that was the only ruler Gribly had met… well, besides the Raitharch, Varstis, not to mention Lauro himself… Oh, forget it.
He spotted movement down below. Someone striding along the docks in a flapping black coat and yellow shirt. Finally.
Gram came to stand on the edge of the pier, looking up with squinting eyes. He looked a bit winded. “Could’ve at least put down a gangplank,” the huge man said.
Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four) Page 11