by J D Abbas
Shatur moved cautiously through an opening in the rocks, his sword at the ready. He came back a few moments later. “I see nothing of concern within, just Famon and Elbrion,” he said, clearly puzzled as he eyed Zhalor.
The prince of the Ilqazar stood his ground.
“I don’t know what your concern is, my friend,” Celdorn said, “but I trust Shatur, and I need to see to Elbrion.” He stepped around Zhalor and followed Shatur into the shelter of the rocks.
Celdorn stopped cold when he saw Elbrion lying in a pool of shimmering fluid, his skin gray, eyes closed. He was motionless. Famon pressed on a wound near his heart and spoke softly to him. Celdorn had seen Elbrion injured before but never this lifeless. He dropped to his knees and gently stroked his face.
“I am here, my friend,” he whispered. Elbrion didn’t respond.
“He hasn’t awakened again,” Famon said.
Celdorn swallowed the mass in his throat. “Elbrion, it’s Celdorn. You can’t leave. You promised to stay by my side.”
Elbrion’s eyes fluttered then opened. He seemed to be working to focus his gaze. A limp hand rose and motioned for Celdorn to come closer. When his ear was near enough, Elbrion whispered, “You’re a fool.”
“What?” Celdorn pulled back and studied his friend, not understanding.
In a flash, Elbrion was gone, and a slight Wallanard man lay in his place. The man jumped up and cackled, taking full advantage of Celdorn’s shock.
A blade appeared and went straight to Celdorn’s throat.
“You Guardians are so damn trusting. Idiots. Gullible idiots!”
Celdorn pieced things together as he rose to his feet. “Domar?”
“None other. I believe you were looking for me.” He sneered as he tipped his sword under Celdorn’s chin. “So, the great Lord Protector of the Shalamhar finds himself trapped by a lowly peasant—the same peasant whose property he stole, the same, angry peasant who lost a significant source of income thanks to you. I would have sold her to you, if you’d asked.” He shrugged. “Of course, I didn’t know you liked little girls.”
His smugness enraged Celdorn, but he kept his mind busy evaluating the situation. “You’re a sick, deviant bastard, Domar. I’m nothing like you. I would never use a child for my selfish gratification.” His hands curled into fists, itching to wipe the grin off Domar’s face. “I’m a man, not a coward. I don’t need to use children because I’m weak and inadequate with women.”
“I stand here with a blade at your throat, and you dare call me weak?”
“You’re in this position because you’re a poltroon. You couldn’t confront me like a man, instead you guise yourself and use deception to gain advantage. You wouldn’t dare challenge me man to man; you lack the fortitude.”
To Celdorn’s surprise, Domar laughed. “Your opinion doesn’t matter here, my lord. You taunt in order to obtain an opportunity to advance. I’m no fool. I don’t care what you think of me. My only concern is getting my property back, and you stand in the way.”
“Property? That’s what you consider your daughter?”
“No, not just property. She’s an investment, a means to an end. And a damn good bedwarmer to boot.” Domar’s disregard for the preciousness of Elena’s life infuriated Celdorn. “What? You expect me to express fondness and sentimentality toward her?” He cocked his head as if genuinely puzzled by that thought. “She’s a slut, a whore, a worthless piece of refuse, whose only value lies in her ability to please a man—and she’s provided an abundance of that, I can assure you.”
In a flash of rage, Celdorn swung his left arm up and knocked Domar’s sword to the side, oblivious to the pain as the blade sliced easily through his leather vambrace and into the flesh of his lower arm. He charged Domar and bashed his head into his chest, driving Domar back and to the ground. Domar grunted and his sword flew. Celdorn rose to his knees and laid his fist into Domar’s stunned face.
Shatur lunged at Celdorn from the side, knocking him away from Domar. When he struck Celdorn’s solid form, Shatur’s guise gave way to his true dark, squat stature. The Farak rolled, holding his head, unable to rise.
Famon, or whoever he was, drew his sword and rushed at Celdorn. He held his blade like a lance, intending to run him through. Celdorn rolled at the last moment, and the attacker’s blade clanged against a boulder. Celdorn pulled his dagger, rose behind Famon, and drew the blade across his throat. Famon hit the ground with a thud. The man’s Bengoran ancestry became apparent as his guise dissolved.
Domar scrambled for his sword while the Farak who had taken Shatur’s form rose to his feet. The two stood on opposite sides of Celdorn, their blades at the ready. In one swift motion, Celdorn hurled his dagger with his left hand at the Farak’s throat, hitting his mark precisely, and drew his sword with his right as he turned to face Domar.
“So you think you have outdone us,” Domar said with a sneer. “I’m well aware of the fighting capabilities of the Lord Protector. You think I would be fool enough to face you with only these two inept imbeciles as reinforcements?”
“And yet here you stand alone.”
“Do I now?” That hideous smirk returned.
Celdorn glanced to his right, thinking he’d seen movement. His eyes flicked to the left as something else shifted. Then he realized it was the rocks themselves. A low rumble echoed as bulbous arms emerged from the granite formations. Slowly each boulder took on a distorted semblance of human form, surrounding him.
Domar cackled gleefully as he watched Celdorn’s expression. “The Zhekhum has given me so many ways to amuse myself. I can’t begin to tell you the fascinating things I’ve learned. Of course, I wouldn’t want to.” Domar was enjoying this far too much.
Celdorn lunged at Domar, his sword already in motion, aiming for his throat. Domar’s blade met his and blocked the blow. Celdorn stepped back, pulling his sword free. Domar thrust at him again and again. Celdorn parried his cuts, drawing him away from the rock walls by repeatedly retreating.
“Giara fights with more proficiency than you, Domar.”
“You fight with girls?” He scoffed. “I prefer her other skills. You’ve been wasting good talent.”
The flat side of Celdorn’s sword struck Domar on the cheek, knocking his head to the side. “I will put some civility in that tongue before I’m through.”
Domar rubbed the side of his face. “You still don’t realize that you are outnumbered. You’re far too self-righteous for someone about to meet his end.”
A massive granite foot stepped between them. Celdorn threw himself back just in time to escape being crushed. As he rolled, a boulder with knobby fingers grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. It squeezed and raised him high, legs flailing. Wrapped in a stone grip, Celdorn couldn’t breathe. He closed his eyes as his mind swirled, quickly losing consciousness.
Somewhere in the darkening mist of his mind, he heard a voice sing out. A shaft of light pierced the fog and a dazzling hand reached toward Celdorn’s heart. His body lit with a brilliant radiance that burst past his flesh and shattered the stone hand that clutched him. Celdorn fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
Another of the creatures stomped forward and swatted at Celdorn before he could rise, tossing him through the air and into the rock wall. He crumpled to the ground, stunned. A granite boot rose above him. He rolled out of the way just in time. A different hand scooped him up and dashed him to the ground. The stone fist pummeled him again and again until darkness nearly consumed him.
“Stop!” Domar said. “He’s mine to finish. Stand clear!”
As the creature stepped back, Celdorn pulled his knees under him. Domar swung his sword, intending to lop off his opponent’s head, but his blow missed its mark as Celdorn found the strength to raise himself upright. Pain exploded in his upper arm. His body reeled, vision blurred.
When he collapsed onto his side, Celdorn saw a dazzling light flash past him and straight at Domar. Then the blackness took him.
; Chapter 15
Six days had passed and still no word from Celdorn. Elena grew increasingly inconsolable. When she wasn’t present, Silvandir discussed with Haldor what action they ought to pursue if they didn’t hear from Celdorn. What if the company had been ambushed entering the Gap? What if they were overwhelmed in Penumbra? How would they know?
In the end, they agreed that if they received no news in the next two days, they would send out scouts to see if they could find their trail or gather information as to what was happening,
They all retired early that night with heavy hearts. Silvandir watched Elena toss and turn. After two hours, she finally settled down and began to breathe deeply, rhythmically. He felt his own chest relax along with hers, relieved she’d found some semblance of peace.
Even after Elena’s distress left him, Silvandir was still agitated—and frustrated with himself for being so. He was rarely troubled by misgivings or doubts, but since Elena came into their lives, he’d repeatedly felt caught in a whirlwind. He found himself imagining what the future would be like should Celdorn and Elbrion not return. Would Elena accept him? Would she allow him to care for her in their stead? He gazed at her as she slept, longing for her to understand his desire and one day receive him. He wondered how his heart could feel such yearning in so short a time. Why couldn’t he gain control over these emotions?
Suddenly, Elena sat bolt upright and screamed. Silvandir ran to her. Sasha was there before him, licking Elena’s wet cheeks.
“They’re dead,” she shrieked, her whole body racked with sobs. “Oh my god, they’re dead. No!” Her wail echoed off the stone walls.
Silvandir wrapped her in his arms as chills skittered up his spine. “Elena, it was just a dream.”
“No, Silvandir”—she pushed him back—“they were visions. He killed them. I saw it.”
The other men surrounded the bed as Silvandir attempted to comfort her.
“You were soundly asleep, Elena. It was a dream.”
She stared at him, eyes clouded with confusion. “I-I saw Elbrion fall from his horse when an arrow pierced his heart. I watched his light fade into shadow,” she sobbed. “Then I saw Domar’s blade slice through Celdorn’s arm and into his chest. I watched his heart beat its last through his riven flesh.”
Her wild eyes flitted from man to man. “We must move quickly. We can’t leave them out there. My fath—Domar will desecrate their bodies. We must send men to retrieve them. Please!”
“There are a hundred Guardians with them. I’m certain they are safe,” Silvandir assured her.
Elena’s hand gripped his shirt. “You’re wrong, Silvandir. You must believe me.” She looked from him to the others. When no one responded, her shoulders sagged. She pulled away, wrapped her arms around her knees, and retreated into silence. Sasha lay beside her and licked her arm, tail thumping encouragingly.
It broke Silvandir’s heart to see Elena’s despair and have her push him away. She was convinced she’d seen the death of her adai, and her sense of loss was so immense it permeated the air of Celdorn’s chamber. The others must have felt it too; their faces were drawn in shadows.
No one slept the remainder of the night.
When the morning light finally appeared, the men rose and began to move about. It took great effort to persuade Elena to leave her bed. She walked to the bathing room and washed and dressed as if in a trance, wrapped in a shroud of silence.
Others from the keep came and went—though never entering Celdorn’s chamber—with business for Haldor to manage. Food arrived, but no one seemed interested or able to eat. Words were few and hearts heavy.
At midday, the guard outside Celdorn’s door announced that a rider had just passed through the outer gates. The tension in the room escalated. A short time later, Haldor was summoned to the first floor by Giyon. Silvandir joined him since none of them were to leave this area alone.
At the foot of the stairs, surrounded by guards, they found a messenger—one Silvandir recognized but did not know—who insisted his words were to be spoken only to the Lady Elena. Dressed in black and silver livery, he appeared to be from Marach, but Celdorn’s orders were clear. No one was to enter his chambers, save the six who guarded Elena.
“Why can you not give the message to me, Reynor?” Haldor asked. “I am the one Celdorn left in charge in his stead.”
“I’m sorry, Haldor. Celdorn insisted. He knew you wouldn’t allow me to pass, so he told me to leave my weapons with my Ilqazar and permit you to search me and bind my hands before leading me to the lady. She’ll be able to see immediately if I am truly Rogaran or am guised. He asks you to trust your heart.”
Haldor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a few moments, he said, “I will allow you passage, with the conditions you have set forth.”
Silvandir startled. “Are you certain that is wise?”
Haldor shook his head and gave a weak smile. “No, but this is just the sort of thing Celdorn would do. I am trusting my knowledge of the Lord Protector.”
“So be it,” Silvandir said and moved aside, his stomach tensing.
Giyon cleared his throat, and Haldor glanced at him. “It is on my head, Giyon. I take full responsibility for anything that might occur. Search him and bind him.”
As they climbed the stairs, Silvandir wondered why the message had to be given directly to Elena. The fear that they might be Celdorn’s dying words to his daughter haunted him.
The guard at Celdorn’s door eyed the messenger suspiciously.
“I have allowed him passage,” Haldor said, “but I would like you to stand inside the door while he is present.”
When the men at the table saw the messenger, they rose as one. Elena stood more slowly, her hand on Sasha’s back for support and her eyes fixed on the man from Marach. Suddenly, she collapsed into her chair, face pale with dread. Silvandir hurried around the table and knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. “What’s wrong?”
“I ... I can’t breathe.” Sasha plopped her head in Elena’s lap, her dark eyes filled with concern.
“Is this messenger Rogaran?” Haldor asked.
“Y-yes,” she whispered, and Silvandir stomach unknotted. He stroked the back of Elena’s hand.
Haldor told Reynor he could approach. The messenger stopped a few feet short of her and dropped to one knee. “Lady Elena, I bring you a message from Celdorn, Lord Protector of the Shalamhar. He asked me to speak it directly to your ears.”
Elena gave a stiff nod as tears slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t breathing.
“Elena Celebriana, our little light, born to us with great joy,” the messenger began with a smile, “all is well ...”
Elena swayed like a gust of wind had struck her and held up a hand for him to stop. Sasha raised her head, ears up, watching the girl closely. There was a collective sigh of relief in the room, and Elena began to breathe again. Swiping at the tears with her sleeve, she gave a shaky smile and motioned for the messenger to continue.
“Your father is no longer a threat. We will return by late afternoon tomorrow. Do not venture out until then, for we know many of our enemies are still roaming about, seeking your harm. When we arrive, you may meet us in the bailey. Be on guard until then. Peace to you, little one. Your ada, Celdorn, son of Malgion, Lord Protector of the Shalamhar.”
Haldor stepped forward and cut the bonds from the messenger’s hands as he rose. Elena signaled for him to sit in the chair next to her. Reynor smiled at the tears of joy on her face, but glanced at Sasha warily before moving toward the seat.
“Celdorn said you would be much relieved when you received his words. It has been my privilege to deliver them. I am Reynor, from the northern realm. I serve at Marach,” he said with a formal bow before lowering himself into the chair. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I have seen you in the arena and heard much about you from your adai. You are highly favored to be so chosen. They are both great men.”
Silvandir didn’t care f
or the way Reynor grinned at Elena, a bit too familiarly. He rose and stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. Reynor’s gaze slid from Silvandir’s hand to his face, and the messenger’s smile wavered.
“I am indeed blessed. Thank you for your kind words.” Elena’s voice held a smile, apparently oblivious to the exchange between the men. “Elbrion is well?”
Reynor refocused. “He is strong, my lady, and he too sends his greetings and love.”
“Celdorn is unharmed?”
“It was a fierce battle, the details of which I will leave to Celdorn. But he is well; do not fear,” Reynor replied. Silvandir noted that he had not answered the question directly. He wondered what had happened.
Elena asked no more; she seemed content.
Haldor invited Reynor to step onto the balcony with him. The two were engrossed in conversation for several hours.
~
The day seemed interminably long to Elena. She yearned for night to come, so it could pass and the new day arrive. She hoped she would rest easier having received such good tidings.
Night finally fell, but sleep eluded her. She eventually decided it was fruitless and rose from her bed to join Braiden who was on watch. As she stepped to the floor, Sasha, Silvandir, Mikaelin and Haldor sprang from their places, immediately alert.
“I’m fine,” Elena assured them. “I’m very much myself, just unable to rest. Go back to sleep.” She patted Sasha’s head, encouraging her to stay put, and waved the men away as she approached the hearth. “May I sit with you, Braiden?”
“G-gladly.”
The other men returned to their pallets. They seemed relieved not to have to face another difficult night.
Elena, chilled by the night air, pulled her chair close to the fire. Braiden moved nearer, so they could talk without disturbing the others.
“Is s-something troubling y-you?”
“No, I’m just anxious, longing for the morning to arrive and pass quickly, so I can see Celdorn and Elbrion and know that my dreams were only fears.”