by Dan O'Brien
E’Malkai breathed hard as he waited for what seemed like an eternity. The world around slowed so much so that the seconds felt like hours. When Mete did not rise, E’Malkai moved over to him. Seeing his closed eyes and unmoving body, he bent close. The crowd was held in an even more tense silence than they were previously. The lack of sound was now deafening. E’Malkai held the warrior’s arm up and felt for a pulse. He found it, but it was weak. “We need a healer,” screamed E’Malkai as he stood, facing Higald.
The chieftain nodded to men dressed in forest-green clothing befitting of rangers of the mighty wilderness. They stepped over the fabric and knelt close. Pushing E’Malkai away as they hovered over Mete, they whispered to one another.
“Is this finished?” called E’Malkai, unable to hold back the angst in his words.
“The rite of combat is concluded,” rumbled Higald.
E’Malkai moved to the edge of the fabric just opposite Higald and stared at him coldly. “Then what I have spoken is the truth?” Higald nodded. “And the fact that I beat a man unconscious proves that I am not liar. Violence is your proof of what I am?” yelled E’Malkai, his body as well as his mind beaten and bruised.
Higald scowled and stood tall. His hands dropped to his sides. “You are what you speak because of your desire to continue. You could have yielded. Mete would have stood aside and allowed to walk from here as a liar. None of the Fallen would have blocked your exit. But, your resolve proved too strong. What is in you is truth, and your words are a reflection of that.”
E’Malkai stared. His body still churned with violence. His mind was still primal, attack and defense had taken over. “Where is Arile?” The youth looked around for the first time and realized that he was not present.
Mihen spoke, his voice tired. “The white hunter did not wish to watch the battle. He knew that you would be victorious. The chief of the Utiakth believed in you; therefore he has no reason to doubt. He is in the library.”
E’Malkai looked back as Mete rose to his waist and rubbed his head in disorientation. He looked in the youth’s direction and nodded. His bloodied smile was reciprocated and the youth turned back to Higald, taking in the passive eyes. “Do I now have free reign? Will my questions be answered? Will help be provided where it is needed?”
“The Fallen is yours to explore. Our elders and library are at your disposal,” he replied with a stern nod. The Fallen chieftain turned and disappeared.
“He is a hard man to speak to,” commented E’Malkai as the adrenaline slowly wore off.
“He was not always as he is now. When your father was here, happiness was plentiful. Seth spent little time within the Fallen, but he never stopped caring for its inhabitants. His hunts and his discoveries are what allowed the Fallen to survive as it did. There was no place too far beyond his reach, no beast so insurmountable that he would not conquer it for the sake of this place,” replied Mihen.
“What happened?” queried E’Malkai as he lowered himself to the ground and sat with an exasperated sigh. He soon laid all the way back, stretching his arms and wincing as the pain radiated over his limbs.
“They found her, the girl Summer, in the north far beyond where they should have gone. There was much dissent. Ryan, his brother, would not listen to those who thought that she might be dangerous. The council, then Higald and the Three Warlocks and Three Sorceresses, wanted to exile the woman. Ryan would have none of it and told the council thus. Seth was once again thrust on to the tundra, but this time to walk a man to his death, a man called Fredrick…”
“I know this man,” interrupted E’Malkai, his hands laid across his face as he pursed his lips in pain.
Mihen cleared his throat. “I would not have believed such a man would live this long, but it is fitting that he is still alive, for he fears life so greatly. Nevertheless, the death march was unwarranted. The Three Warlocks merely wanted to see Seth walk to his death. His place was a thorn in their plans. They wished to claim the Fallen as their own. Seth returned alive and threatened the council, and they forced him into exile. Weeks later, there were starving women and children and scores of novice hunters dying on the tundra without anything to show. Wolves had begun to find their way in through the back tunnels. That black door in the room where you met me leads deeper into the earth.”
The wintry scientist continued. “Higald blames himself for the exile, as he should in many ways. His word should have been law. He allowed himself to be manipulated by the Warlocks and paid the price, the loss of our greatest warrior to what we believed as death. But your presence here changes all of that. He sees the possibility of redemption in you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
Mihen helped the youth to his feet. “His distrust comes from the weight of his failure, of his sorrow. To see redemption so close, there is always doubt. To be given another chance after almost two decades must have seemed impossible to him.”
E’Malkai leaned against the old man.
“I hope that he can help me.”
Mihen shook his head and waved his hand. “Enough of this. You need to soak for a while, and when you are refreshed we will tackle those texts that I spoke of. See if my theory was correct.”
They walked forward and E’Malkai croaked, “What theory?”
Mihen smiled broadly, a secret smile that held something deeper. E’Malkai was far too tired to pursue what was behind it all. In time he would have no choice, for the answers would lead him to his destiny.
ⱷ
The Fallen Tunnels
The Umordoc entered the darkened passageways of the Fallen one at a time. Their mammoth bodies cramped as they crouched to pass through the tunnels made by men. The opening of the Fallen had been widened thrice-fold.
The warrior scout led.
His frame was smaller than the others. He sniffed at the air; the warmth felt damp and heavy in his lungs. The High Warrior was behind him. The length of his spear was tucked on his back and scraped against the ceiling as they moved forward. The darkness was illuminated by the luminescent fungus that thrived in the dampness.
“We must tread softly,” growled the High Warrior. His heavy voice echoed in the dismal tunnels, and the dark warrior nodded. The scout’s footfalls were cautious as he crept with the grace of a creature half his size.
The weave of the halls were soon cluttered with their numbers, a train of darkness that burrowed deep into the shelter of men. As they reached the opening that led into the open area of the Fallen, they stared out with their dead eyes at a massacre in the making.
ⱷ
Lassen
Field General Lassen watched with disdain as his men marched from the Stone Tower. Orders had been fulfilled. Now he waited for the changing of the guard, the return of High Marshal Kyien.
Fairhair had departed without question. From atop his perch, the Field General could see the legions of those loyal to the Stone Tower trudge through the hills of ice and snow.
Lassen gave into the sorrow and despair that had gripped his heart. The wave of those loyal to Culouth was a singular force unrivaled in sheer manpower. Even the tactical prowess of the Field Marshal stood little chance of conquering such a powerful foe.
Plans had been set in motion on both sides of the battlefield, endeavors that would scar Terra, perhaps irrevocably. He stood near the spiral staircase that led to the keep that overlooked the ocean cliffs, the room that had been home to many meetings among the officers of the Stone Tower. It had then been in the service of a cause that had been justified.
These days Lassen had to tell himself that T’elen would make Kyien and Culouth pay for what they were about to do. He crossed his arms over his chest and pulled the coat he wore closer to his frame. Beneath the gray skies, a frigid wind whipped from the east as if it meant to freeze a man in his tracks.
The crimson transport was unchanged, except that white pockets of snow and ice could be seen along the sides as well as the top. The cold had no allegiance,
for it tried to freeze them all into a slow death.
The transport shuddered violently as it landed.
The whining creak of the ramp as it dug into the snow made Lassen wince. Fe’rein exited first. He never seemed to wear different clothing, or perhaps the mion possessed an unlimited supply of similar clothing. A dark cloak was wrapped around him that gave him the appearance of a wizard, albeit a shadow one with cold eyes and a shaven skull.
The mion passed Lassen without speech or incident and merely moved up the staircase toward the southern keep. Kyien had chosen to bundle himself in layers upon layers until there was no room left for anything except warmth.
He raised his hand over his eyes. The wind brought sheets of snow and freezing rain that at times made it difficult to see anything. “I see that the Stone Tower was emptied as I wished,” he called as he moved closer to Lassen.
Lassen nodded and motioned for the High Marshal to proceed ahead of him. Kyien did so without hesitation. His short legs churned as he rocketed to the top as if it were a race. The outcome was comical. The image of him as he struggled up the ancient stairs brought a grim smile to Lassen’s face.
Lassen breathed as he walked the stairs for what he hoped would not be the last time. He knew that a different time was upon both planes and there was little that he could do to sway that one way or the other.
Once inside, Lassen closed the door. The strength of the winds fought with him until he had gotten past the halfway point––at which time he shut it with a hard sound. He turned back to the High Marshal and the mion and did not feel the fear that he should have.
Kyien spoke first. His sober, self-aggrandizing tones were as obnoxious as his choice in attire. “Field General Lassen, may I present to you: the mion.”
Fe’rein did not turn and Lassen bowed shallowly. Neither seemed as anxious or content as the High Marshal did with their meeting. “The Stone Tower shall serve Culouth as it had never before. It shall be the beacon of our power on the Lower Plane as we fight to destroy the treacherous T’elen.”
Lassen cleared his throat. “The Stone Tower lies far from the war that you wish to fight. Field Marshal T’elen…”
Fe’rein interjected, his eyes consumed in shadow. “She no longer has that title. Her properties and titles have been stripped in accordance with her traitorous behavior.”
Lassen nodded, closing his eyes as he did. “T’elen will not come to the Stone Tower in force. A land war is surely in her favor, for the swamps of Illigard are as well-fortified as anything else in the empire. Unloading scores of soldiers from Culouth until they swarm the Lower Plane like locusts will only cost more lives than anything else.”
Kyien’s face flushed. He squished his hand against the table angrily. Fe’rein’s voice possessed no compassion. “T’elen will not attack those who are helpless. At her core, she is a warrior from a place that you cannot even fathom. She will restrain her blade and anger until such time that it suits us.”
Lassen felt compelled to argue the point even though he had already thrown in with Illigard. It was a matter of principle that they understand the amount of harm they were going to inflict on their own. “T’elen is clever. She may not be influenced so simply by your games.”
“If I did not know better, I would think that perhaps you believed that T’elen will survive this exchange. That Illigard will even last the winter,” challenged Kyien, a distrustful glint in his eye.
Lassen allowed himself to slow. “I only value the lives of my fellow soldiers and those drawn into the war that should not have been and will suffer as a result.”
Fe’rein rolled the cloak off his shoulders and placed it on the raised stone ridge that Lassen’s officers had often used as a seat. He sat and stared out on the Sea of Torment as he spoke. The mist covered the rage beneath the water, a murky fog that breathed the cold sap of the winter. “The welfare of Culouth will remain intact. Millions of citizens remain within their air-controlled walls that will be there no matter the outcome of this war.”
Lassen nodded.
Fe’rein, despite his murderous intent, seemed to have at least allowed for probability and chance to take their due course.
“That is all that I meant. I would hope that some semblance of humanity remains when the battlefield lay barren,” spoke Lassen worriedly.
Fe’rein did not answer, nor did he move. His eyes remained staring at the winter upon the seas, an incredible sight. “The matter of the Ai’mun’hereun is why we have requested that you stay.”
Lassen froze.
A lump caught in his throat.
The word was one he knew all too well.
Fe’rein gave the Field Marshal a sidelong glance. His head turned only slightly before he looked back upon the ocean. “From your hesitation, I know that word has reached here as well. It matters little, except for what such rumors can do to the morale of soldiers and those in service to Culouth.”
Lassen did not have to fake his confusion. “Rumors, my mion?”
Kyien leaned across the table. His dark eyes bulged as he spoke. “You did not think that your precious T’elen would not use counter intelligence, a network of lies to perhaps sway some to join Illigard against us?”
Fe’rein did not give the Field General time to speak as he wheeled from his position beside the window. His dark cloak was bunched in his closed fist. “She thinks that if she appeals to the religious interest of those not affiliated with Culouth that they will join in a holy crusade of her making. I mention this only because I know that she visited you here. Came and spoke of an alliance.”
Lassen’s jaw dropped slightly, surprise evident on his face. “How could you know that? There isn’t a man within the Stone Tower who, before today, has even strayed from this place in months.”
Fe’rein did not seem capable of smiling, but the corners of his face tightened in joy seeing the Field General squirm. “An informant walked your walls: a squirrelly man who no doubt spent a great many days in your tavern without your notice.” Fe’rein faced the door as he spoke. “Fredrick, please come in.”
Fredrick entered.
His disheveled appearance seemed unaffected by the coarse wintry winds. His beard had grown long and bushy. The pupils of his eyes were stained in red veins of sleep deprivation.
He shuffled across the room.
His rank clothing seemed to immediately fester as the heat of the room returned with the closure of the door. His outer coat was torn. Pockets of white material shone from within the lining. The gloves he wore had holes that revealed the light blue of his hands, which had begun to feel the bitter effects of the cold.
“Lassen––Field General Lassen, I mean.” He looked at Fe’rein for what to say, but the cold gaze gave away nothing.
Lassen looked at the man and recognition kicked in.
He had seen him, though only in passing. “I have seen you here before. You sat in a dark corner of the tavern. I remember the coat. It did not seem sufficient for such weather. I thought to ask what you were doing here since the Stone Tower was not an outpost with facilities like Illigard, but that seems rather irrelevant now. What matters is that you did not trust me, my mion.”
Fe’rein shrugged.
“The precaution was necessary. Yioren, formerly of the House of Di’huere, was recently revealed as a traitor and met his end accordingly. But the possibility of insurrection here was especially important given previous allegiances to T’elen and Illigard.”
Kyien joined in.
His manic glee seemed to feed off Fe’rein’s lack of emotion. “We know that your allegiances lie with Culouth. Still, we could not reasonably allow you to continue to occupy the Stone Tower given that you even entertained such a meeting. You will find there is little that can be hidden from the Intelligence. Their collective mind can see beyond the boundaries of steel and stone.”
Lassen moved toward the door and met the listless, almost drunken gaze of Fredrick. The general’s strength was enough th
at he could have squeezed him to death with minimal effort. “Move aside, drunkard. I do not have time to toil with your kind.”
Fredrick staggered aside as Lassen gripped the cold iron ring of the door and pulled on it. The corner crashed into Frederick’s shoulder. The impact sent the man sprawling on the cold stone floor, where he merely rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.
Rest, it seemed, had been something a long time coming. Lassen felt the cold lash of the wind against his face and realized how far behind his soldiers he was. He hoped that the lieutenant would complete the task that he had been given.
“Field General Lassen, there is one more matter of which I would ask your opinion,” called Kyien.
Lassen sighed.
The cold grip of winter seemed a far better companion than the High Marshal and the mion. He turned, taking one more look at the plains just outside of the Stone Tower. As he did so, the snarling visage of Fe’rein was upon him, inches between their faces.
“Did you think that your clever ruse would go unnoticed? That we would not see that your lieutenant veered from the others, his course taking him toward Illigard without Culouth markings?” snapped Fe’rein as he grasped the collar of the Field General and threw him across the keep.
His frame collided with the stone wall; his bones shook within his body. His face felt heavy as he lifted his head to see the shadow energy consume Fe’rein.
Kyien sneered, his cruel features centered on his upturned lip. “Even if he survives the weather and makes it to Illigard, it will matter little. The information with which you provided him will be useless since neither he, nor you, will be affiliated with Culouth any longer. He will be branded a traitor by us and a spy by Illigard. You have given him a death sentence.”