by Mark Eller
Shocked, Calto took in the panicking refugees as they realized those they thought had come to protect them were powerless to do so. It was up to him, he had to act. But how when Ani sat behind him. She was too precious, too important, to risk in this encounter.
Ani's voice began to crack under the strain. She was running out of nearby roots to call forth against the demons. She was too weak from lack of sleep and food to bring in those further away.
Then came the thunder of horses, the cries of men, the call to battle.
"Heeeyyyaaa!" A woman dressed in light battle armor charged forth, sword drawn. She and three men came down upon the demons, hacking at them from all directions. It appeared terribly efficient but, laughing, the demons only struggled harder against Ani’s song.
"Bring me the salt. Now!" The woman screamed. In moments, five men, each carrying a bucket full of what looked like finely crushed salt, came hurrying forward. They threw handfuls of the salt on the demons.
No longer laughing, the Hell creatures cried out in agony and began to convulse as the salt ate away at their skin, devouring it like so many hungry mouths. They clawed at their bodies, tearing flesh from their bones in their frantic need to rid themselves of the salt, but to no avail. Soon, nothing remained but black puddles of bubbling ichors.
"That was good. You were ready and responded well," the copper-haired woman said to her people. She cast a scathing glance at Calto and the others in his group. "At least most responded well."
She rode up to Calto and Anithia, tall and proud in her saddle. As she passed through the crowd of frightened refugees, all bowed to her.
"I am Queen Elise of Yernden. I welcome you, strangers, to my army. By what names shall I call you?"
Anithia gasped. "My Queen, my protector assured me it was not true but I feared you were no longer alive. It is said outside of Grace that Belthethsia had you hung for murder."
A corner of the queen's mouth quirked upward as she coughed lightly. "I fear the Hell bitch only wishes it were true. Fortunately for me, she failed in her attempt. Now, again, what is your name woman who sings demons into submission, and that of your companion?"
Furiously blushing, Ani bowed her head to the queen. "I am Lady Anithia Marsia Morlon, High Priestess of Omitan, and this is my brother-in-law, Lord Calto Almir Morlon, High Warrior Priest of Anothosia, Lord of all Morlon Manor."
"Or what's left of it," Calto added somberly. “Hello My Queen. I pray your anger with me has lessened?”
The queen looked surprised. She narrowed her eyes at Calto. Recognition seemed to dawn on her slowly. “High Lord Morlon?”
Her saying his full title made him feel pathetic; a disappointment to his family’s heritage and a failure in his leadership of the nearly destroyed order of Anothosia. Calto knew he was not much of anything anymore. His lands were gone, his charges murdered, his goddess missing. What good was he to anyone? And the fact the queen did not recognize him only hit home how much he had changed. He could not meet her eyes. He was a mess. A full beard, a tangled braid, clothing and body filthy, and he likely smelled worse than sour. True, all of the camp looked an equal mess, but Calto of all people should have looked better groomed than the others.
Ani cleared her throat and nudged him with her leg. Elise frowned.
"Please pardon him your majesty. Lord Calto has been— I mean— we have all been through a bloody and costly battle, as I am sure you are well aware. We had to fight our way through demons to get to your camp, and it’s taken us a few weeks to return to Grace after giving up our search for my daughter.. Each week— each day— has been a struggle to remain undetected, not always with success. We could all use some rest."
The queen opened her mouth to reply, then seemed to change her mind. Instead, Elise took a deep breath and spoke to Ani.
"Yes. I'm sure you are well worn. Go ahead and set up your camp near the edge of the woods. When you and your people are settled in, I would ask that you, Lord Morlon, and any other head of their orders, join me in my tent. I wish to discuss strategy with you as well as what you may or may not know about the situation as it now stands." Her Majesty looked once again at Calto, an uneasy stare, and then rode away.
Watching her, Calto could not help but feel beaten. Where he was on his last reserves, tired, beaten, wanting to quit, Queen Elise seemed only determined and energized.
Ani tapped his shoulder. "Calto, I don't know what else to say other than get a hold of yourself. These people are counting on you to tell them everything is going to be okay. They need you to show some leadership. So far, that hasn't been happening."
Quick and easy, Anithia swung down off the horse and looked up at Calto. "Whatever questions of faith you are having, you need to keep them to yourself. You're lack of faith diminishes us all."
Calto watched as Ani turned and walked away, anger building in his belly. Who was she to tell him to 'get a hold of himself'? Who did she think led the group this far? Who had saved her from total despair and near annihilation back in Yyles? He had! He led them. He fought for and with them. He had given her back her strength to fight on. She had no right!
Dismounting, Calto followed after Ani. He was going to put her in her place, tell her what her thought of her self-deluded illusions of importance. She was a nobody, and he was going to let her know it.
But before he could get to her, an old man stumbled in his way.
"Oh, I'm so sorry young man. In a hurry are ya'?"
Calto glared at the man and made to sweep around him.
“Oh,” the man winced in pain. “I think I hurt my leg. Could you at least stop long enough to heal it?” The man stared at Calto with steady eyes and tried to keep his balance on one leg. “I mean, you are the High Priest of Anothosia aren’t you?”
Calto’s anger froze in his veins. How did this old man already know who he was? Yes, his identity had been revealed to Elise, but only moments ago, and just a few had been nearby. This man had not been one of those. Was he a demon or a devil? No, he could not be or he would have been caught by Ani’s song. So, probably someone looking for fifteen hundred gold pieces?
Calto searched the man’s ancient blue eyes, searching for something that would allow him to tell this man from friend or foe. All he saw was his own fear reflected back at him.
The old man straightened. “Zorce has already won this war in your heart and your soul, hasn’t he?” His voice grew sharp with rebuke. “And instead of channeling the fear and anger inside you to fight for your goddess, you’re using it to pick fights with people who can’t or won’t fight back.”
Calto’s mouth was suddenly too dry. He stood there, motionless, not believing what the other was saying. How did this man know what thoughts and doubts lay inside his head?
Calto raised himself up to his full height and swallowed hard. He towered over the man. “How dare you speak to me that way? Yes I am Anothosia’s High Priest. You will address me with respect or pay the price.”
The old man narrowed his eyes and gave him a hard look. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t offer respect until you act like you deserve it.”
Calto raised his hand back to strike the man, then stopped. He could not believe what the man was doing. Instead of cowering or taking a fighting position, the old man raised his chin to Calto in challenge, spreading his hands wide. This old fool was daring Anothosia’s priest to hit an innocent, unarmed man; daring him to break one of Anothosia’s most sacred of laws.
Look upon my people with forgiveness and raise not your voice or your hand to an innocent. As I have shown you compassion, I ask you do the same for others. This law I give to you as my most sacred and first command.
Calto swallowed. The man no longer looked helpless or feeble. Calto’s eyes grew wide with recognition. He knew this…person. He was one of the palace guards, specifically the guard who came to King Vere’s aid when Calto wanted to smite the fat slob. This was the guard with the aura of power about him.
Turning, the old man
walked away from Calto without a limp, leaving him feeling stunned and ashamed.
Calto lowered his hand and then brought it to his face, covering it. Too many emotions roiled inside him, threatening to drown him in their complexity, each wanting to take control of him, bend him to their will. But above them all rose his fear, like a serpent, poisonous fangs at the ready, eyes filled with the knowledge of his weakest parts— ready to strike; a snake devouring him from the inside out.
* * * *
They all sat in the queen’s tent on whatever they could find. The accommodations were sparse. There was a table, a few stools, two chairs, and a cot with several blankets on it. In the same corner as the cot was a small cook stove for warmth, and the ground was partially covered with a threadbare carpet.
Calto sat in one of the few chairs and stared at the tent wall, unwilling to meet the queen’s eyes. She had tried unsuccessfully to garner his attention, to steal a look from him or brush a hand against his arm; he had avoided all of this. He had made sure to arrive late and take the farthest seat from Elise as he could. The last thing he needed now was for her to glean from him the source of his somberness. How could he look his beautiful, faithful queen in the face and tell her again that he had abandoned her in Grace to search for a child he could not find? How was he going to tell her the goddess they had both believed in and devoted all of their faith to was probably nothing more than a memory because Missa was dead, taking a large part of Anothosia with her? How could he explain that both the sword and staff of Anothosia had disappeared? That last he still did not understand. It was as if the weapons had dissolved into thin air. He knew hellkind had not gotten them…the creatures would have burst into flame or screamed agony at even a touch. With Anothosia’s gifts disappeared, he now carried Ani’s sword. It worked against demon kind, but it did not feel like it belonged to him.
Calto sighed. He could not bring himself to even look upon Elise for fear she would read his emptiness. He did not have the heart, or more appropriately, the soul, to tell her such blasphemous things. Just because his faith was gone did not mean he had to suck out hers as well.
Elise finally gave up trying to make eye contact and addressed what was left of the righteous. “Joss, if you please, there is some wine under my bed…please fetch it.”
Joss nodded once, bent, and pulled the bottle and a corkscrew out of the crate beneath the bed. He uncorked it “Sorry, no glasses, but it is excellent wine.” He gave them a sheepish grin and tried to catch Calto’s eye.
Calto casually turned his gaze away. He did not want to look the kid in the face, either. The boy had once admired Calto, thought him miraculous, until Calto tore his adoration up by showing himself to be a cocksure show off. He had made a special effort to look larger than life to the boy when Joss acted as his spy, had used the kid’s hero worship for his personal advantage, and if the truth be known, Calto had enjoyed the lad’s attention.
Thou shalt not have false pride in thyself or others. Anothosia’s commandment echoed dully in his head. How many times had he preached her words, yet heard them not?
Calto closed his eyes. The same feeling of shame he had experienced when he had nearly struck the old man washed over him again.
No, right now, he wanted as little attention as possible.
Shuffling over to Calto, Joss stood in front of him.
Calto swallowed hard. He cast his eyes sideways and up. Joss still waited with a bottle in his hand, looking deep into Calto’s eyes.
“Here, you should really have some. It will warm you up inside.” Joss handed him the dusty bottle.
Calto took the bottle and nodded once in thanks. It was then he noticed that everyone’s eyes were on him, staring as if they expected something more from the exchange. Ani nudged him and mouthed the word ‘blessing.’
Calto became ridged. They expected him to bless the bottle of wine, take the first drink, and then pass it around. Holy Anothosia. How many times must he prove himself unworthy?
The words of the blessing fell from his mouth haltingly, almost as if they should not be coming from him at all.
“By-by the grace and goodness of Anothosia’s-Anothosia’s eternal light, may we all be thankful for-for her blessings upon this which— which we are about to receive.” He pressed his fingers to his forehead, briefly touched his lips, and then placed his fingers momentarily on the bottle.
Nothing happened. No warmth, no presence…just nothing.
Casting a quick glance around the room, he saw many eye him suspiciously. Only Anithia gave him an encouraging smile. He brought the wine to his lips and took a small drink, and then handed it to a lesser priest of Omitan, one who had appointed himself Ani’s assistant, much to her irritation. The man was annoyingly particular and apparently felt a constant need to correct her.
The round shouldered priest took the bottle, drank, and then passed it on.
“Well,” the queen cleared her throat, tearing her worried gaze away from Calto. “Let’s see. Why don’t we first introduce ourselves so each of us knows with whom we are dealing?”
Elise nodded for Calto to start.
Calto’s jaw involuntarily clenched. It had to be obvious he had no desire to speak yet the woman deliberately started with him.
“I think everyone here knows me.” Calto muttered.
“No…I don’t”
“Neither do I,” said a man Calto despised. His name was Lucwick or Lidwack or something like that. Either way, a disgraced noble and so worth only contempt.
Calto closed his eyes in angry consternation, resentful, frustrated at the idiots who did not have enough sense to know his name.
“Then let me enlighten you.” There was a churlish sound to his voice. Anithia winced; he didn’t care though and continued on in the same tone. “I am Lord Calto Morlon, High Warrior Priest of Anothosia.”
“Warrior Priest? You look more like some aristocratic pansy trying to hide your moneybags inside too many layers of clothing. Shall we see if you’d like to share?” A thick, heavy-handed man, a heretic of Nedross named Harlo, sneered at Calto.
Calto quickly stood, sweeping his cloak aside to reveal his weapon. “No problem. Like a sample of the ‘treasure’ I’m hiding?”
“That’s enough!” Elise’s voice rang cold and clear. Rising, she stepped out from around the table and glared at each man in turn. “Sit down. Save it for the enemy— boys.”
Calto glared at the queen. Who was she calling a boy?
Harlo smiled a little, seeming to enjoy the anger the slight had caused.
Neither sat.
“Are you disobeying a direct order from your queen?” She eyed them dangerously, fingering the sword at her side.
Calto shook his head once and stiffly sat down. Harlo blinked slowly at the queen and bowed to her.
“No, your majesty. I would never refuse an order from one of the most beautiful woman on the face of Terra.” Harlo smiled coyly and then sat.
Fuming, Calto began thinking of how many ways he could torture the overgrown lout while keeping him alive the maximum amount of days.
Elise gave an audible sigh, returned to her seat, and then continued having everyone introduce themselves.
There were nine in all. Anithia, Joss, Calto, Harlo, and the weasly nobleman whose name turned out to be Ludwig. Then there was Parkat Greentimbers— Anithia’s self appointed assistant and ousted head priest of Omitan. Coral Menton, a priestess of the fake god Nedross looked lost and somewhat confused. Franton Isles, a priest from Grace’s main temple did not look confused, and finally Low Emers, a similian priest of Omitan. The last gave most of them pause.
Low Emers was large and sinewy, with long dark green hair. He had a sculpted, sensuous features and a serene expression. His robes denoted him as a woodsman of Omitan. His eyes were large, green, and cat-like. Calto did not like him. Judging from the way Anithia eyed him, fierce and suspicious, she didn’t like him, either, and didn’t mind saying so.
“F
orgive me your majesty, but why is he here?” Anithia sat rigid in her seat, obvious hate seeping into her words.
“And your problem being?” Elise cocked an eyebrow at Anithia and crossed her arms.
Anithia squirmed under such close scrutiny, then seemed to overcome her nervousness. “Your majesty, may I remind you it was Sulya, a similian, who betrayed the order and stole my daughter— who is still missing. May I also remind you it is Sulya and her hellborn who drove us from Nedross’s temple several weeks ago after we battled many of her hellborn. Her hellborn have hounded us relentlessly for the last several weeks, attacking us on several occasions and killing a number of our people. Others have gone missing.”
The queen turned to Low, who now seemed shocked instead of insulted. She looked back to Ani. “I am sorry for your troubles, but you should know this man— this similian— used to be a scout for the castle until two years ago when the blubbering blob, who was my husband and your king—”
“Don’t remind us,” Harlo muttered.
Elise delivered him a brief glare before continuing. “—released Low from his service to the throne against my wishes.” Elise focused on Anithia with polite coldness. “Furthermore, since he is also a High Priest of Omitan in the order of Woodsman, he is rightfully supposed to be your new aide.” Here she paused to give Ani time to recover from the shock. “Now, if you don’t mind, shall we return to news of the war and planning our recapture of Grace?”
Ani opened her mouth to protest, as did the too thin Parkat, but one stern look from Elise quieted them both. For how long, Calto wasn’t sure. He knew Anithia well enough to know it would only be a matter of time, probably a very short time, before she stood face to face with the queen, telling her where to get off. However, it seemed Elise knew this as well.
“Lady Morlon,” Elise rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, looking tired and frustrated, “this is neither the time nor the place to be quibbling. I truly am sorry you and yours have had a difficult time, and I morn for your child even if I still question the wisdom of Lord Calto’s quest, but if you haven’t noticed, the rest of us have also gotten our collective butts royally kicked. We need to set our own differences aside and concentrate on the enemy,”