by Matt Heppe
“It was. It was a man, but his flesh was pale and stretched thin over his body. The eyes were sunken and lifeless, but he breathed, and his breath stank of death. And his flesh burned—”
Cam coughed.
“—like birch bark.”
“Burned?” Timon said, glancing at Cam. “When did it burn?”
Blood rushed to Ayja’s face, but perhaps she was too flushed from her run for them to notice. “I… ah, I’d built a fire when I got there, hoping Nedden might see it. When I stabbed the creature it fell into the fire and was consumed.” She paused. Cam had warned her about giving herself away. Don’t lie, he’d told her, but if you must, keep your lies close to the truth. “It wasn’t natural,” Ayja added. “It didn’t burn like any living thing should.”
“I would have liked to see it before it burned,” Timon said.
“My spear didn’t kill it. It was the fire that finished it.”
The men around her shook their heads in appreciation of what she’d seen. “It’s good Cam taught you the spear,” Ulrod said.
“In the hills a girl needs to be able to defend herself,” Cam said.
“There’s room in the valley,” Ulrod said. “I always tell you to move down here.”
“They say we hill folk are as stubborn as the rocks we live on,” Cam said. “Come on Ayja, there are people to warn. The danger is worse than we thought.”
Chapter Seven
Four mountain goats watched Telea and Mekeles from the side of a sheer cliff. They’d seen goats before, but each time Mekeles had approached them they’d either been too high or had run off. This time, they were closer. Mekeles approached slowly, singing a restful song of the deep earth. But once he was close enough, he lifted his powerful voice into the Song of the Quaking Earth and knocked one of the goats from its perch.
The animal struck the earth hard, but stood. Mekeles threw his song at the animal, dashing it against the cliff, and then it fell, either stunned or dead. Mekeles didn’t wait to find out. He ran up with his knife and finished it.
Telea didn’t like it—using song to kill an innocent beast. She’d seen far worse, grim battles where the Imperial Chorus cut through waves of enemies. But those enemies were summoned demons, or possessed men, or men driven by hate to kill.
Why do I like it less when song is used to kill a simple beast than when it is used to kill a man?
They were starving though, and it had to be done. Her mother still wouldn’t have done it and would have let herself starve to death rather than eat the flesh of an animal. Telea’s father was a Drinker, though, and had no problem with eating meat.
For two days they’d struggled out of the mountains with no food and only ice-cold water to fill their bellies. They’d climbed boulders blocking their path, swum when they’d had to, and descended slick-rocked waterfalls.
Now, for one night at least, their bellies were full and they slept by a warm fire. They woke to rain on their faces.
“At least it’s summer,” Telea said. Late summer, at least.
Mekeles gave her a dark look. “Our embassy is massacred by summoners, we nearly die in the mountains, we just escape starving, we have no idea where civilization is, and you say, ‘at least it’s summer.’”
Telea felt her face flush and turned her back on him. She busied herself by tying her braids into a ponytail and pulling her felt cap onto her head.
Mekeles always had the worst to say. She was just trying to keep their spirits up. What could she do? He was a miserable person. “Dromost take this rain,” Mekeles said behind her.
Why was he the one to survive? Her master, the Drinker guide, so many good people had died. And she was stuck with him. She knew the thoughts were wrong—that they weren’t worthy of a healer. She should be thankful that he survived. She should be thankful that she wasn’t alone.
Telea took the meat they had dried by the fire over the night and packed it into a makeshift bag made from the hide of the goat.
Mekeles had contributed nothing. He hadn’t made the fire. He didn’t know how to clean the goat, he didn’t know… she shook her head. No, that wasn’t true. He’d killed the goat. Give him his due.
Sorrow and anger are the roots of evil. She heard her master’s words in her head. He was a great man and a kind spirit.
You mean sad and mad make bad, she’d always replied. It always made him smile.
Telea put the food bag over her shoulder. Mekeles was a sad sight with his ragged bandage on his head and only one trouser leg. He certainly wasn’t used to roughing it.
I suppose I don’t look much better. “Let’s go,” she said. “Maybe we’ll walk out of this rain.”
Mekeles wiped the water from his brow. “Lead the way, child of hope.”
Telea shook her head and started down the valley.
They hadn’t gone far when they reached the remains of a long abandoned village. Or maybe it was a fort—Telea saw the crumbled remains of a wall encircling the ruins.
“Look,” Mekeles said pointing off to their left. “The road up the pass starts here.”
The ancient path leading over the Great Salador Pass carved its way up the mountain from here. How far is it intact? All the way to where the demons attacked?
“That means the road to Sal-Oras must be on the other side,” Telea said. She strode through the ruined village, her pace faster now. They would make it. And the elementar king of Sal-Oras would come, bringing Forsvar to aid them. He had to come.
“Slow down,” Mekeles said from behind her. “We won’t get there today.”
“Come on! Walking will keep us warm.”
She heard him mutter something behind her but ignored it.
For the most part the road was in good repair, which astounded Telea, as it had obviously not been used in centuries. The ancient road builders had laid the stones so tightly no weed could gain purchase. At least this was how it was for most of the way. There were parts of the road where it had buckled or washed out completely, but even there their journey was much easier than it had been in the mountains.
The rain continued to fall, and they didn’t bother stopping to eat. Telea doled out strips of dried goat that they chewed as they marched. The river they had followed was larger here, having captured more streams with each mile they passed. They certainly wouldn’t die of thirst.
Night fell early. They were in a pine forest, still marching downhill. Telea had seen the maps. The mountains would end, and then the road would head northwest to Sal-Oras. Hopefully they’d come to some town soon and could find some help. Who knew how much time they had? Once the wards failed the Dromost Gate would open, and they would die. The lucky ones, at least.
“How do we camp in this?” Mekeles asked.
Telea shook her head. She hadn’t seen anything resembling shelter all day. “We’ll walk through it. Through the night,” she said.
“Are you daft? We’ll kill ourselves on some broken part of the road in this darkness.”
Telea stopped and looked down the road through the forest. She thought she could make out the vague shapes of buildings in the gloom. “Is that a town down there?”
“Finally,” Mekeles said, walking past her. Telea hurried to join him. “Real food…and wine,” Mekeles said. “And a hot bath.”
Telea peered into the darkness. “Another ruin,” she said. “We would have seen people by now if it was still inhabited.”
“Damn.” Mekeles stopped. The town was larger than the last one they’d seen, but like the other, it had been ages since anyone had lived here.
“I wonder if it was the Great Death.”
Mekeles shook his head. “I doubt it. More likely it was the closing of the Great Salador Pass. With the pass closed, a town like this probably lost all of its trade. The Death probably finished it off.”
“That makes sense.” Something caught her attention. “Is that wood smoke?”
“I don’t know,” Mekeles said. “My nose is stuffed. I’ve caugh
t cold. Maybe we’re wrong and part of the town is still inhabited.”
“We should go carefully.”
“We’re Imperial Ambassadors. What do we have to fear?” He started forward. “The power of the Empire of Belen is behind us.”
“The power of the Empire is far behind us,” Telea said. “Behind us and over a blocked pass. We have to be careful.”
“We are past caution.” Mekeles touched his chest where his gold ambassador’s badge was pinned. “They’ll know the sign of the lamp when they see it.”
“Please, let’s use caution.”
“Very well,” he said, waving her off.
They picked their way through the rubble-strewn streets. There was smoke, Telea was certain of it now. And then she heard noise. A woman screamed in fear or anguish. A man shouted commands.
Telea took Mekeles’s arm and held him back. “We don’t know—”
“We must look,” he said. He pulled his arm away and led her deeper into the ruined town. Despite her fear, Telea followed him. She saw a fire and then a large gout of flame. Mekeles led her into a ruined house. They climbed a pile of rubble and looked into an ancient square.
There were men fighting there. Two men in blue and yellow and bearing shields and maces fought a cloaked man in dark clothes. The cloaked man fought with a longsword held in both hands. Behind the cloaked man stood a boy of maybe twelve. On the ground a man in yellow and blue writhed in pain as he attempted to tear the helmet from his head.
To the right, near the fire, a woman knelt over a younger lady. The girl was still and pale.
One of the attackers sprang forward, swinging his mace at the swordsman. He parried the blow, but before he could recover his sword, the second attacker struck him in the head and he fell.
The young boy threw his hands forward and a ball of flame shot at one of the attackers. The man raised his shield, and the fire splashed off of it. Both men charged the boy.
Springing to her feet, the woman screamed in rage. She raised her hands over her head, and a whirlwind of flame sprang from the campfire and raced at the swordsmen.
“We have to help!” Telea said to Mekeles. “They’re elementars. That’s who—”
“I know,” he said. “I can take out two men.” He scrambled over the low wall, Telea right behind him.
The two men in blue and yellow retreated from the whirling flames but kept their shields high, facing the threat. The flames chased them but with every heartbeat they diminished.
“Bran! Run!” the woman shouted as the flames vanished. She spoke in the Language of Song.
Mekeles ran at the two men and launched himself into the Song of the Quaking Earth. The song struck them, throwing them through the air. Both landed hard.
The boy turned to run but cried out and fell as something struck him in the chest. Three crossbowmen appeared from a side street—two leveled their weapons at the Saladoran lady.
“Mekeles! Crossbows!” Telea shouted.
He changed to the Song of Stone just as the crossbowman shot. The bolts flew true, but then veered off as they neared the woman.
“Run!” Telea shouted to the woman, waving her closer. “This way!”
The woman turned, clearly confused at their sudden appearance. “My son!” she cried out.
“Now!” Telea shouted. She had no songs with which to help Mekeles. The two men he’d thrown down clambered to their feet as the crossbowmen respanned their weapons. They only had moments.
Mekeles intercepted the woman as she ran, not to Telea, but towards her son. “He’s dead,” Mekeles said as he took the woman by the arm and dragged her from the square. Telea jumped down from the rubble and took the woman’s hand.
“They’re coming,” Telea said in the Language of Song. “We must go.”
Mekeles hurled his song at the fire. Smoke, ash, and flaming brands flew at the crossbowmen. Their bolts flew wide. He turned to the two charging mace-wielders and struck them down with his voice. It should have killed them at such close range, but the men struggled to their feet.
There were flaws in Mekeles’s voice. His pitch was off. He’s sick.
“I can’t stop them,” Mekeles said. “Go!”
The woman, with one last glance at her son, allowed Telea to lead her down an alleyway. Mekeles’s footsteps pounded down the street behind them. Shouts told her that the soldiers were close.
The alley emptied into a broader lane. They paused only a moment before turning right and fleeing that way. They’d only gone a short distance when the two men with maces ran into the road in front of them.
“Turn around!” Mekeles shouted, but the moment they turned, the three crossbowmen appeared. Two shot their bolts, but Mekeles’s song turned the bolts aside.
This way,” Telea said. “Through this building.” They ran into the shell of a ruined home and scrambled over the broken back wall. A bolt ricocheted off a stone close by.
Telea led the Saladoran woman into the lee of a broken wall, and for a moment they were safe.
“I’m sick,” Mekeles said. “I can’t fight so many. My voice—“
“We must keep running.” Telea said.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. She wore a fine linen dress, much too fine for the wilds. Her hair was disheveled, and she had blood on her face and hands.
“Not now,” Telea said, speaking in the same tongue, although it was very strange to do so. “Can you use your magic to save us?” Telea asked.
The woman shook her head. “I’ve exhausted it. I have no strength for it, not like my poor… my poor….”
“Keep moving,” Mekeles said. “They’re close.”
They turned and fled, stumbling through the ruins. Telea heard their pursuers behind them, calling out to each other. “The forest is this way. Maybe we can hide there,” Telea said.
He shook his head. “We can’t get away.”
Still, he followed her as she ran. The rain had stopped, but clouds still filled the night sky. They slipped and stumbled as they ran. A crossbow bolt struck a nearby stone with a loud crack. Without the song, there was nothing protecting them except the darkness.
They ran further and suddenly found themselves outside the town. Mekeles ducked behind a wall, gasping for breath. “I can’t do this. You have to go on.” The Saladoran woman was gasping for air as well. Telea had half dragged her through the ruins.
“A little further! We’ll hide in the woods.”
“No. They’ll find us.” Mekeles pulled off his gold ambassador’s badge and pressed it into her hand. “Take this and finish our mission. Save this woman. Find the king.”
“Come with us! I can’t leave you.”
“Go. I will hold them while my voice lasts. I can’t run.” He pushed her hard, and she stumbled away. “Run!”
She ran, dragging the Saladoran woman with her. As soon as she turned her back, she heard more Saladoran shouts and then Mekeles’s Song of the Quaking Earth. Telea cursed herself as she ran, her betrayal tearing at her. She should have stayed and supported him with her own song.
The singing stopped. Telea couldn’t help herself and turned to look, thinking Mekeles had been killed. He still stood. His voice had broken.
Run!
It was hopeless. There were too many Saladorans near him. Two were down, broken by his powerful singing. Three more closed on him, though. One raised a crossbow and shot Mekeles. The big man stumbled, but instead of running away, he charged. Another bolt struck him, but he managed to tackle the shooter.
The Saladorans descended on Mekeles with daggers and swords. Telea watched, horrified as they cut him down. Then, as if through a fog, she remembered her own danger.
She turned at a sound as two horsemen charged out of the darkness. For a moment Telea stood, frozen at the sight. The woman cried out and sagged, pulling Telea down atop her.
Telea threw her arms over her head as the horsemen thundered closer. But then the horsemen passed, and she was untouched.
&n
bsp; She raised her head to the sounds of combat. The horsemen were among her pursuers, cutting them down with their swords. The fight lasted only moments. When it was over, one of the horsemen rode back to Telea.
“Where are the others?” he asked. He also spoke in the Language of Song. “Where are the baron and his children?”
“Back in the village,” Telea said. He could only mean the people she had seen slain. “They were killed. There are only the two of us now.” She glanced down at the woman they had rescued, but she was dead, a crossbow bolt in her back. Telea thought the woman had tried to pull her down for safety. It wasn’t that at all. One of the Saladorans had shot her. She’d died without a sound.
“And who are you?” the man asked. He leaned closer for a better look in the darkness.
“I am Teleana Telas Tarsian, an ambassador from the Empire of Belen.” She cautiously proffered Mekeles’s ambassador’s badge.
“From Belen? Across the pass?” He pointed up towards the mountains.
“Yes. We have—“
The second rider approached. “There were only five inquisitors here,” he said to the first rider. “There must be more around.” Telea thought these men must be the Saladoran Knights so many tales spoke of. The men wore heavy armor and tall helms. Both held shields, painted white with black smith’s hammers crossed upon them.
“They’re dead, or severely wounded,” Telea offered. “Back in the square with the baron and his children.”
“I’ll check the square. What do we do with her?” he asked, nodded towards Telea.
“She says she’s an ambassador from Belen. Take a good look at her.”
The second rider leaned closer, frowning as he gazed at her. “Truly, you’re from Belen?”
“I am. We came to see the King of Salador. It’s an urgent mission. We came upon these poor people and tried to help.” She motioned to the woman lying dead at her feet. “There was nothing we could do. My companion lost his voice and could fight no longer.”
“What losing his voice has to do with it, I don’t know,” the second rider said. “It’s a shame he couldn’t have fought harder.”