Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2)

by Chris J Edwards

  “Meet where?” Majira asked. “Valethucia?”

  Bram Tan Heth rolled onto his stomach and looked up to Majira, chin on his hand.

  “No, too dangerous there. Head toward the rising sun and I’ll meet you on the way… or the setting sun. It really doesn’t matter to me,” he said wistfully.

  I frowned. I wasn’t too sure about this Magus Bram… he seemed a bit too crazy. Quirky was acceptable - but this was downright insane.

  “No. No, we’re heading to Valethucia, Bram. And you’re going to meet us there. I need your help. You promised me, a long time ago, that all I had to do was ask and you would always help,” Majira said, desperation edging into her voice. “Please. Can you meet us in Valethucia? For me?”

  “Mmmmm… no,” he said, pouting like a child. “Valethucia is too dangerous. They killed Avaxenon…”

  “Then where, Bram? Where?” She asked, frustration mounting.

  “I’ll figure it out later… you don’t understand. It isn’t a matter of travel. It’s a matter of movement. And time,” he said. “Head anywhere. I’ll meet you on the way. And that’s that.”

  “Alright, fine,” I cut in, eager to resolve their quarrel. “So you’ll be my mentor? And we’ll meet face to face, when you’re ready?”

  “Yes. Precisely. You’re a clever student, clearly. And I’m the greatest seer to ever live. We’ll get along just fine,” he said, leaning back against the rock with a giggle. “Now, I highly suggest you leave. Don’t attract them here; if they find me like this, surely I will die.”

  “Goodbye. Don’t forget your promise,” Majira said, and walked away without a second glance.

  I knelt down next to Bram Tan Heth. He didn’t look at me. A shuddering laugh wracked his body; he choked it back down.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” I said softly, touching his arm. “And thank you for helping me.”

  He still didn’t look over, just kept smiling with closed lips. But I watched his eyes grow wet; a tear ran down his face. He didn’t move to wipe it away.

  Just as I moved to stand he spoke up.

  “Witches. The Witches are coming; they will be here any moment. The Disciples are close behind. If you’re quick, you’ll be fine. Take Majira. Keep her safe. Keep the both of you safe,” he said in a low, sober voice. “Good luck, Princess Dawn.”

  I stood up. Bram Tan Heth faded into dust. Then I turned and ran.

  Majira was standing farther off. As I ran, the desert shrank; the dunes shivered, melted away. Soon we were alone again in utter nothingness.

  “Majira,” I said, regaining my breath, “we need to go. Bram said the Witches are going to be here any moment!”

  “Here? Here doesn’t exist, Dawn,” she laughed. “But how are you feeling? How are your reserves? Probably fine, no?”

  Her carefree mood was very inauthentic. I could tell she was unhappy.

  “I’m sorry about your friends. About both of them,” I said.

  Majira didn’t respond. She just stood there, looking off into the dark. It took her a few moments to regain her voice.

  “I don’t know how Avaxenon died. I’m – shocked, to say the least. It hasn’t sunk in…”

  “And Bram?”

  “He looks sick. He’s hurt… he used to be so strong, so full of vigour…” she said in a quiet, contemplative voice.

  Majira absentmindedly took my hand. We walked forward; the darkness shifted and a meadow appeared, the grass sprouting with every step. On a gentle slope rose grey stone buildings, all topped with domes; beyond that, an ocean sparkled. Sea birds wheeled in eerie silence above the structures.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  Majira was looking dead ahead, entranced.

  “The College of Valethucia… Avaxenon and I both studied here. It’s where I met Bram…” she said wistfully.

  Her eyes swirled with melancholy. She was lost in a memory.

  “Majira… Bram said the Witches are coming… shouldn’t we go?” I gently warned.

  The meadow spread wider by the moment. Far away, on our left, a city bustled. The ocean ahead, beneath the cliffs of the college, touched a distant horizon that I could not see. Majira kept walking forward; her grip remained firm on my hand.

  I pulled her arm.

  “Majira. We need to go. This isn’t real. We’re in the dreamscape,” I said. “The Witches are coming.”

  “I just…I have to know. I have to know who killed Avaxenon. I want to see Bram again. When he was young, when we were in love…”

  Something bubbled in the darkness in the corner of my eye. I turned to look.

  A puddle of shadow writhed in the meadow; sickly tendrils of oily black smoke coiled out through the grass.

  “Majira! Come on, Majira! Take us back!” I shouted, tugging on her arm.

  Suddenly the shadow burst.

  A skeletal head rose from the dark blotch and long, sickly limbs followed after it, tall and looming. Ragged strips of mouldering cloth hung from a spindly frame; in one hand a smoking censer swung, fumes billowing out thickly. Everywhere cords of rope hung unnaturally from its awful body.

  But its eyes – its eyes fixed me in place. Orbular and uncanny, made not of flesh but of some substance I could not comprehend, with thin pipes jutting out, staring straight into me.

  Somewhere someone screamed - it was me. I was screaming.

  The aspect of nightmares strode forward, skull face grinning; its jaws opened and a soul-wracking noise came out. The sound of a thousand pained inhalations screeched inside my mind; I clasped my hands to my ears.

  “Majira!” I screamed, “Take us back! Please!”

  She stopped her march toward the college and beheld the monstrous Witch galumphing through the meadow. Her face fell, eyes wide.

  She grabbed my hand and ran, pulling me along with her.

  “Why aren’t we going anywhere?” I gasped. “Why can’t we move like we did before?”

  We ran up towards the college, hiding behind a stone wall. The Witch was close behind.

  “I’m not sure!” she exclaimed, voice shaking. “It might have us trapped in its field. You’ll have to tear your way out of its bind!”

  “How? How do I do that?”

  “Channel your reservoir right at it. That’s all I can think of. We can’t outlast its hex. And I don’t think we can outrun it.”

  From out of sight the Witch screamed again; we covered our ears. I grit my teeth, trying not to cry out in pain. It was looking for us.

  We ran along the wall, keeping low. Then we hooked back around and down into a shallow gulley at the foot of a round tower.

  I noticed the horizon shivering; the very walls of the college wavered, rippling like the reflection of a glassy pond. The world was rolling back, disintegrating from the outside in.

  “It’s trying to break down the dreamscape!” Majira exclaimed. “Once we’re back in Void-space we won’t be able to escape it!”

  “I can just channel my reservoir at it, right? That will let us escape?” I asked, stumbling over my words. “How do I do that?”

  “You just open up your soul, Dawn. Like casting a spell, but with no focus, no intention. You just need to flood it with so much energy that you break its hex.”

  I grabbed Majira by the arms and looked her in the eye.

  “But I’ve never even cast a spell! I rarely even command a plant to grow in my own kingdom!”

  A mephitic, black vapor wriggled down the slope from the college. I looked up; out from around the corner leered the Witch, gaunt and horrid. It saw me.

  “Run!” Majira screamed, grabbing me once more by the hand.

  We ran back out into the meadow, where boulders were strewn amongst the grass. I looked behind me to see the Witch gaining ground with its steady gait; those long legs, as long as I was tall, made short work of the distance. Smoke trailed behind it from the puking censer.

  Then, all
around the dread form of the Witch, the air rippled; something else was taking form. Many things were.

  From nothing suddenly appeared an unman, dropping from one of the ripples in the air. He was covered in strange armour that shimmered like mercury; that shimmered like the blood of Bram Tan Heth’s soul.

  Then, from another ripple, another armoured unman appeared; and another. And another.

  Soon there were six, all covered in the shimmering armour; five bore pikes with tips blacker than the night sky. The sixth held a great obsidian axe.

  My heart sank. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about…

  Majira and I hid behind a boulder. The Witch screamed again; I peered around to see how close it was.

  To my amazement it was no longer pursuing us; it turned its vile attention to the unmen.

  They circled the Witch, each pike-bearer corralling the wretched thing. The axe-bearer circled behind them, keeping his weapon low.

  “Are they… Majira, they’re fighting the Witch!” I exclaimed.

  “They won’t be for long,” Majira said darkly. “Whoever wins will come for you next. We need to leave now.”

  I watched the unmen give battle to the Witch. With gangly limbs it swung the censer, knocking aside a pike, trailing sickly smoke behind each strike. Every time it knocked one pike aside, another took its place, keeping it pinned.

  “Alright,” I said, grabbing Majira’s hand. “Use my reservoir. Get us out of here.”

  “Get ready…” Majira said and closed her eyes.

  Just as I felt the magick course through me and into her, the Witch screamed. It snapped its gaze back to us and charged headlong, pushing past the pike-bearing unmen as if they were just stalks of wheat. The axe-bearer stepped in valiantly but was knocked aside with a savage swing of the oversized censer.

  “Majira, it’s coming! Get us out of here!” I shouted.

  “I can’t!” she shouted back, eyes screwed shut. “The hex hasn’t broken!”

  The Witch bore down on us; I grabbed Majira and tried to run. But it was too late.

  The Witch slashed out with a long, spindly arm; its needle claws raked into Majira’s flesh. I screamed; Majira screamed.

  No blood came from the wound; only a wisp of mist drifted away, as if the Witch had cut into fog. Majira fell back, clutching her ribs, agony on her face.

  “No!” I cried, reaching for her.

  The Witch towered over us. Its censer billowed thick smoke; it crept toward Majira. I grabbed her under her shoulders and tried to pull her away, to get her to her feet. She groaned in anguish at my touch.

  “Do it, Dawn,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “Blow it away!”

  “I don’t know how!” I cried back, almost sobbing, dragging her away from the monster. “I’m so sorry, Majira, I don’t know how…”

  Suddenly the Witch screamed again; I dropped Majira to cover my ears. To its left a pike-bearer stood, his pike buried deep in the Witch’s side. The Witch swatted him away, knocking him down. Then it returned its gaze to me, raising its censer over Majira; the smoke puked out, wriggling toward us. Its skeletal face grinned mirthlessly as it prepared to bring the censer down.

  I stepped in front of Majira.

  I spread my arms wide and opened my soul.

  Exultation and horror; one moment lasted a thousand days. One thousand days beneath a sun brighter than the mind can imagine; one thousand nights in a darkness so complete the mind cannot comprehend.

  I felt the substance of my soul swell as energy coursed from my reservoir; not just my own energy. The energy of the whole Sacred place that I called home; I felt the blossom of every flower, the twist of every root; I felt the curling of the ferns and the swaying of the trees. In one second I felt it all – the full power of my noble blood, of my dominion. My soul – the soul of Céin Urthia – we were one. In that moment, that flash of light and sound, darkness and silence, life and death – we were one and the same.

  When time returned – when the moment finally ended after those thousand cycles – I saw nothing before me but an empty meadow, a black sky – and a meagre wisp of smoke.

  The Witch was gone. It was as if it had never existed.

  I fell to my hands and knees. My whole body shook; sweat began to bead on my skin.

  “By the Maker…” Majira said in a pained whisper.

  I sat up. The Witch was gone. Utterly gone. And I was exhausted; my soul hurt. It actually hurt; for the first time in my life, I felt the acute pain of an exerted soul.

  And yet – I was not empty. My reservoir was far from depleted, far from drained. It frightened me. All that energy… it wasn’t just mine. It was the Sacred ground of Céin Urthia; the hallowed kingdom of the Untouched Wood.

  Majira crawled toward me, still clutching her ribs. Her face was contorted in pain and yet she managed to smile. I tried to stand, to walk over to her, but my knees were too weak. I fell into the grass.

  “You did it. Dawn, you did it. And it was more incredible than I ever could have imagined…” she said.

  I looked around. Not too far away the unman pike-bearer lay, head cocked to the side unnaturally. His chest still rose and fell. The mercurial armour was dripping away, melting off as if liquid. He stared at me, eyes wide; his lips moved, but no sounds came out.

  I turned back to Majira. She was hurt; badly hurt. I could see it, and although there was no blood, I knew this wound was deep.

  I grabbed her by the hand. She smiled up at me. Her face was pale and sweat was forming on her brow.

  “Let’s go home,” I whispered.

  She closed her eyes. And the dreamscape disappeared.

  31

  Ortham

  After Herace’s triumph he went to sleep. It was still early in the evening, but he was drunk, exhausted, and injured. So I couldn’t blame him. Tibaron promised to send the prettiest healer that money could buy to his room, which he did.

  Frankly I was surprised at the outcome of the duel. Herace, drunk and unprepared, had managed to gain a victory over an Errant Nameless. Everyone there knew it was Herace who won; yet in another surprising turn of events, he announced to the chamber that since they were fighting to first blood, it was a draw.

  Herace could be quite clever when he wanted to be – and noble. Now honour was restored for both parties. And with business out of the way, the festive mood of the great hall returned. But I didn’t stay around for it.

  As silly as it is, I was eager to go see Dawn and show her my new clothes. I had never really bought clothes, not like this; it was a real novelty. And I couldn’t help but take a look into every mirror I passed by. I didn’t look like a farmer; I didn’t look like a Black Cohort mercenary. I looked like a court battle-mage. Like a personal battle-mage to a sylfolk princess.

  It had started as a joke, as a simple deception to get my room next to Dawn’s. But maybe it was possible. And everyone we ran into seemed just as impressed by me as they were of the four dau knight-princes. I had never thought of battle magick in a positive way, in an admirable way; I knew how brutish and sick it could be. I had smelled the burning flesh, heard the screams of the victims; watched the soul-rot of the casters.

  Yet then again, Herace and his friends had fought in wars; seen terrible things, maybe even done terrible things. And they were happier for it, proud of it. But then again, they had each other; they had the Guardians of the Amber Bower to remind them of their fraternity, a kingdom to fight for, honour to uphold.

  I did not. I was just a farmer who was taught fulgimancy, then cursed to soldier for money.

  But now I had a chance to be like them. To be like Herace and Lyrandor and Maeral and Tibaron. If I could really be Princess Dawn’s personal battle-mage, whatever that meant, then I would have something to fight for – I would have honour to uphold. I wouldn’t have to be ashamed of the past; I could use it as a pillar to lean on.

  And I would have an excuse to be w
ith Dawn. And I think she would want that too.

  So with my mind abuzz with hopeful, hazy thoughts (aided somewhat by that Safonian honeyed wine) I made my way up to Dawn’s room, slowing down beside each mirror I passed.

  I knocked on the door and waited. There was no answer, but I wasn’t too surprised. It was still evening; she could be anywhere.

  Then I remembered she had been practicing with Majira. So I headed down the stairs to Majira’s room.

  As I came to the bottom of the steps I saw a congregation of folk clustered around Majira’s door. Something wasn’t right. I ran over.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, pushing folk aside. “Dawn? Princess Dawn?”

  I got to the doorway. Inside the curtains were drawn; Majira was lying on the bed, atop the covers. A court mage was leaning over her, wiping her brow with a cloth. She was pale and her breath was shallow. Dawn sat in the corner on a stool, her face etched with worry.

  She looked up and saw me; we met in the centre of the room. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me.

  “Ortham! Oh, Ortham, Majira’s hurt. The Witches… it was the Witches, we were dream delving… it came out of nowhere…” she babbled, burying her face into my shoulder.

  “Wait, slow down. What happened? Is she going to be alright?” I asked, returning her embrace.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know…” she said quietly.

  I took off my cloak and draped it over Dawn’s shoulders. Then I led her back to the stool and sat her down. She was crying soundlessly, covering her mouth with a hand.

  I walked over to Majira’s bedside. Her eyes were half-open and dull. Her chest was slick with perspiration, her breathing laboured. The court mage was muttering something under his breath as he wiped her forehead and I didn’t know if he was performing a ritual or just nervous.

  “Can… can she hear me?” I asked him.

  He looked up and shrugged.

  “Not sure. She’s been hurt. They were dream delving,” he replied, then went back to muttering. “It’s her soul…”