She cleared her throat and set down her glass, then she spoke in verse, unable to sing well:
With bloody blade, the thirsty king did slay a host of men.
He cut them down, then faced the next, and did it all again.
He razed the towns, instilling fear, no end was there in sight
until a single lady friend happened upon him there one night.
Friends they were when they were young, meeting in a glade.
Parted then for years to come, while he fine-tuned his blade.
She begged of him to change his way and seek a greater peace
ensuring him a better way for him to find release.
The two were wed among their dreams of starting a new land
in which the populace would come to think was rather grand.
But how they sought that foolish wish could not have been more wrong,
for in the end the two of them simply could not get along.
The children born within those years were scattered now between them,
with an angry borderline that tore apart their kingdom.
The girl went with her saddened mother to hone her magic gift
and so a war was rashly fought to ensure their family’s rift.
The boy, left with his father, rode at his father’s side
so he was there that very day, the day his sister died.
A mage, she was, thus casting spells gave her a greater strength
and so the nasty king did tear her down at any length.
Horrified at watching his poor father’s butchery,
The little boy left him then, seeking sanctuary.
He hid for years, grew to a man, gave birth to many sons.
Most of those did die in wars, except the peaceful ones.
They carried on their lineage from times so long ago,
where their blood did soak the lands, with nowhere else to go.
So who among those children lived to carry on and strive?
Perhaps that is the answer to the Long-Forgotten Tribe.
“So you’re saying,” Gabrion spoke at the end, “that a descendent of Kallisor and Hathreneir is still among us today?”
“Oh yes,” Sharice agreed. “But good luck figuring that one out. It does trace back quite a few years.”
“You’re not suggesting that Dariak is descended of the line?” Gabrion asked. “You said he was a conduit for the jades and all.”
Sharice laughed. “Dear me, no. Were you not listening? The line of the Forgotten Tribe is loaded with cowards! Dariak is no timid child. Well, it’s all fantasy anyway, passed down through the years with no way of finding out how much might ever be true.”
“Yet you bothered to learn it,” Randler commented.
His mother chortled. “With all the times your grandfather sputtered such nonsense, how could I not?” Randler’s seething seemed to delight her. “Now, there was a point to telling you that in any event. Bloodlines matter. If you, young mage, have a link to the jades, then you must be connected to their past.”
Dariak withheld the information that his father was the mage who had summoned the colossus in the last Great War, though part of him wondered if she suspected it anyway. “Perhaps that could give me an edge,” he said instead.
“Certainly so,” she said, disappointed with his vague response. “With your gifts, you would do well in the Underground.”
Dariak nodded and rose to his feet. “That may be, but as I said earlier, I would rather not have to. In any case, we need to be moving on.”
Sharice pouted. “Come in, swipe my jade, and run off without so much as a thank you. Such poor manners.”
“Because attacking my friend was mannerly!” Randler shouted. His rush of anger caught the room off-guard, but Sharice laughed at the outburst. “Come on,” he said to the others, heading for the door.
With a shrug, Sharice lowered the defensive wards, which allowed them to depart unhindered. “Good luck, little boy,” she called out to Randler. “Once your task is done, do bring ma-ma the jades, won’t you, dear?”
It was an awkward departure and Randler stalked off angrily, chased by Dariak, whose body ached thoroughly despite all the healing. “Where to now?”
“Ha!” the bard barked. “Got one shard, off to the next!” He shook his head. “Is it a hunger for you mages or what?”
Dariak’s tone was cold and his eyes unflinching. “I was rather thinking of a place to spend the night, but if you’d prefer heading right off, I can manage.”
Randler turned to look at Dariak. “It’s—I… I’m sorry.”
Kitalla stepped in and shoved the two of them apart. “Enough of this nonsense, you two. Get me to a place with some ale.” She winked back at Gabrion. “Do you feel up to putting on a show tonight?”
The warrior thought back to his role as jester in Warringer and he chuckled. “I think I’ll pass. It’s not like you’ve been practicing your throwing lately.”
“True, true,” she said, grabbing Randler’s arm and dragging him from the spot. “So, maybe you could help me with some new music. The ones I play in my head need more tempo. I was thinking something along the lines of this…” She made fast clucking sounds as they stepped away.
Gabrion patted Dariak on the shoulder. “He’s upset. He’ll be fine.”
The mage sighed. “I suppose. When you see how the power turned her into something wild and hungry, it’s not hard to imagine why he’s worried. You should have felt the amount of energy wrapped around her house and how she pulled force from all directions during our battle. I couldn’t beat her without the jades. I needed all three of mine to keep up with her, and she was barely using hers.”
“She’s had more practice.”
“Yes, but what will become of me once I’ve had that practice? Would I let a foe walk away so he can become stronger, in the hopes of facing off against him someday and defeating him? Will I become someone just living to become more powerful?”
Gabrion stopped and turned Dariak to face him. “You might. If you were alone. But you aren’t. We’re with you, Dariak, and we’ll keep you in check.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
“You’re conflicted about it, so you have a conscience. I’ll keep reminding you of that.” He nodded toward Randler up ahead. “Besides, I think his opinion matters enough to you that you’ll be more careful than his mother.”
Dariak took a deep breath. “Thanks, Gabrion.” He eyed the warrior warmly. “You know, Mira’s a lucky girl.”
Chapter 4
En Route to
Randler’s Hideout
The battle against Sharice left Dariak feeling terribly weak. They remained in Vestular only for a few days, avoiding further contact with Randler’s mother, then heading off again for the next piece of jade. Randler promised Dariak to lead him to the other shard he had claimed, which was resting in his hiding place to the southwest, where the innkeeper in Warringer had tried directing Dariak long ago.
“It will only take us a few days to reach it,” the bard promised.
Dariak nodded, holding firmly to the words. He needed Randler to be on his side now more than ever before. His whole body was disobeying him and he wondered if he hadn’t permanently harmed himself in his battle with Sharice. “We’ll get there,” he said simply.
Kitalla was also fighting against her pains. Though she had received an unprecedented amount of healing in Pindington, her body still raged against Grenthar’s tortures and her efforts against the ursalor. It irritated her endlessly, and seeing Dariak in a similar state both angered her and gave her solace. Her impatience with herself occasionally manifested itself in outrages against Dariak’s whimpers. Yet other times, she was the most nurturing of the group.
Gabrion, meanwhile, pushed ever onward with a vacant look in his eyes. “Mira is gone from me now,” he had confided in Randler one day, “but I would seek her anyway, to know for certain where her end came.” Beyond that, the warrior said
little.
Rain had come and gone, tamping the dirt down firmly and giving the horses a solid ground to tread. The foursome made respectable progress toward Randler’s hideout, until Gabrion called an alarm. “Reptigons approaching.”
“And more,” Kitalla added with a nod toward the west, where a pack of firegnats swarmed in. The tiny fliers were practically impossible to stun or avoid and their bites were laced with a mild venom that wasn’t overtly poisonous, but caused the sensation of severe pain in the area of attack. They were more of a distraction than a threat, but with the fierce lizards nearby, they were a distraction that couldn’t be afforded.
Dariak, twitching and cursing himself for it, swept his arms about, calling forth to the earth jade in his chest pocket. He drew the spell around himself and then projected similar blocking shields around his companions. Though he didn’t feel much up to the reptigon attack, at least the Shield of Delminor would protect them from the firegnats.
Randler’s bow sang with arrow flight. Deadly projectiles soared through the air, reducing the imposing threat before any melee could even begin. His prowess with a bow was impressive indeed, and he attributed it to the strength of his fingers from years of strumming his lute. A constant rain of arrows fell from the sky, as Kitalla and Gabrion dismounted and readied their weapons.
Kitalla’s recent success with her dance patterns filled her with a longing to use the power again. Yet the attack against the ursalor had left her whole body aching with tiny pinpricks. She wasn’t ready to try such an attack again, and reptigons weren’t known for their intellect, so she figured her other moves would be useless against them. Daggers in hand, she crouched low as the reptigons hurried closer on their speedy legs and prepared to pounce.
Gabrion slashed out with his long sword, beheading two of the slithering beasts with one attack. The wiry bodies kept wriggling forward as if denying the death that awaited them. Dariak called out and warned him not to touch the ichor that oozed from the wounds, for it was highly acidic. The mage still had the super-condensed venom in his robes from his experiments in the Prisoner’s Tower. He hadn’t yet decided upon a use for the serum, but he knew well that the blood of the reptigon was not to be carelessly tampered with.
The horses were becoming more accustomed to battle, but Dariak took the reins of the others to ensure they didn’t bolt. Gabrion’s horse, however, seemed to feel that its master was more important and it stalked away to remain near the warrior, which unfortunately put it in line with the incoming firegnats. Seeing the plight, Dariak cast another Shield of Delminor around the horse so the insects wouldn’t bite it and cause it to start thrashing violently. Much to Dariak’s surprise, however, the firegnats were easily able to breach the protective spell and the bites sent furious pain into the equine friend.
The horse’s cry of terror rent the air and created panic among the others. It was all Dariak could do to keep his horse calm and not lose the reins of the other two beasts of burden. He tried weighing the horses down with the earth jade, but he was simply too weak to pull the energies forth properly. He cast his thoughts to the other jades, wondering if water would soothe the bites of the firegnats. With a sweep of his hands, he called to the humidity in the air to condense around the afflicted horse, and to his surprise, the horse was doused with water. He didn’t have time to contemplate the effect, for the other horses were pulling away. Randler intervened, running over and grabbing his mare and soothing her, then taking the reins of Kitalla’s mount. With deft hand strokes, the bard was able to calm them almost immediately.
Kitalla, heeding Dariak’s earlier warning, dipped low under a leaping reptigon and batted it toward Gabrion with the flat edges of her daggers. The warrior sidestepped and swung his arms down, knocking the creatures away from the group. Only a few remained, and it wasn’t much later that the team was able to regroup and continue on their way.
The firegnats followed them relentlessly for the next few hours, nipping forcefully at the horses and the humans. Dariak’s protection spells were all but useless against them, and as the failures piled up on his conscience, he sank into a sullen mood that he could not shake. Of all the spells to fail him, his father’s own shield spell was the most painful to endure. His randomly twitching muscles didn’t help matters, and he feared he would have to return to Sharice to seek treatment from their battle. He figured she was the most experienced mage in all of Kallisor and so she might have some sort of answer, though he would probably have to battle her for it.
But it wasn’t an option at the moment. The team progressed to the southwest and, though the firegnats were constant companions, they weren’t taking any detours unless absolutely necessary. It helped that Dariak knew the lore of the firegnats and that their stings were only temporary and brief. Of course, that didn’t stop the cries of pain when the little creatures hit their marks.
Thinking of Sharice, Dariak turned his mind toward the wind shard he had claimed from her. He called to it and twisted his fingers into the air to create a small whirlwind that would distract the bugs, but he hadn’t spent any time communing with the jade, and the need wasn’t so pressing that it would offer its strength to him on its own. The amateur puffs of wind were no more than useless zephyrs, and Dariak wondered if the firegnats merely laughed at his attempts.
As the day wore on, even the firegnats grew bored, or at least enough of them had eaten from the team’s flesh that the swarm moved on at last. The four of them rode on a little longer to ensure they were clear, and then they set up a much-needed camp. It had been an annoying ride all afternoon and the chance to relax was a welcome one.
Gabrion and Randler went off for food while Kitalla and Dariak arranged wood for a fire and prepared the cooking utensils. “What are you doing?” Kitalla asked.
Shrugging, Dariak kept striking flint to stone. “Starting a fire.”
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “But you can do that by twiddling your thumbs, can’t you?”
“It’s more of a flourish of the fingers,” he corrected solemnly, “but I don’t know that I can do it today.”
“You live and breathe that fire dart spell. Why stop now?”
He lowered his head but didn’t answer.
She saw his distress and she lowered her voice to ask, “Something wrong with your magic?”
He nodded imperceptibly. “The magic I have the most experience with and knowledge of, and I couldn’t do anything with it all day.” He looked at her confused expression. “Those firegnats should have bounced right off of us.”
“I figured that’s what you meant,” she frowned. “I wonder why.”
“That… fight. Against Randler’s mother. Something happened to me there. I became this wild ball of energy. It’s put my whole self off. I keep twitching and feeling numb at odd times, in random places. Like, this spot right here is suddenly numb,” he said, pointing to the center of his forearm. “I think I overdid it back there. I mean, what if I don’t recover?”
Kitalla growled and shoved him hard. “Shut up! You’re an idiot if you think you’re done for. And if you are, then roll over and die right now! I have no use for you, pathetic scrap.” She paused, realized what she was saying, and grabbed her head uttering a deep groan. “No, no. Not what I wanted to say.”
“True enough, nonetheless,” he admitted. “Enough self-pity for me. I have a job to do anyway, don’t I?”
She eyed him for a moment and then nodded. “Assemble the jades? Save the world?”
“That’s the one.”
She smacked him again. “Ha!” she barked. “You’re only alive because you have more to teach me. Quit now and I’ll kill you myself.”
He bore into her eyes and realized that though she was teasing him, part of her was serious. “So what’s your deal anyway? Why the lust for power?”
Kitalla’s answer was to hit him a third time and stalk off, leaving the mage to his own thoughts. He poked at the timid fire, feeling its energy pulsing within the sticks and
twigs. His disappointment from the day kept him from considering the jades at the moment. He wanted control over his twitching, numbing body, pulling himself together to keep from falling apart. He had been questing for so many months now that he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what he wanted anymore. The sovereigns ruled their lands in ways they saw fit. Did it really matter if magic was never freely used in Kallisor? Wasn’t Hathreneir a good enough place for mages? Weren’t there plenty of opportunities for mages to wield their craft in his homeland?
It was the endless warring that was the problem, he reminded himself. Though the people of the land had apparently spawned from the ideals of two royals centuries ago, if Randler’s tales were true, they couldn’t abide each other’s company. He needed to finish his father’s work, to assemble the jades, and to remove the need for war.
Yet Randler’s arguments were right, as well. Force wasn’t going to fix things. Summoning the colossus wouldn’t be the end of the matter. He needed a means of making the two kingdoms respect each other. Months ago, he would have scoffed at the idea, feeling that Kallisorians were all worthless and needed to succumb to great Hathreneir. Yet working with Gabrion, Kitalla, and now Randler, he saw merit in their ways and he understood they were people, not any different from those in his own land.
He thought then of the team’s dynamic. Where he bolstered the team’s offense and defense—when his magic didn’t fail, that is—Gabrion went in with a pure heart and sheer force. Kitalla’s cunning and agility, plus her mystical dance skill, gave them all an edge he couldn’t match on his own. He knew full well that her actions had protected and saved them all during various battles. Then there was Randler, adding his knowledge of lore to the group and proposing alternate ideals to his own. His skills as an archer and an entertainer helped keep them in high spirits, for not only did they sing and clap at camp, but just as with the reptigons that day, the bard managed to weaken the enemy forces before they needed to engage them at all. Not to mention, he smiled to himself, the man was extremely alluring.
The Shattered Shards Page 5