The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 3 From the Ashes

by Melissa Myers

  “It’s not a bad thing,” Valor murmured and returned to smothering her ankle in the foul smelling liquid.

  “Are you sure? Because neither of you seem inclined to tell me what it is. If it was something flattering, surely there wouldn’t be hesitation,” Jala protested, quietly biting back a yelp as he straightened her foot.

  “It has to be aligned to heal right. You don’t want to limp for the rest of your life. Hold still a moment. This is going to hurt like bloody hell,” Valor warned as he pulled gently on her foot with one hand and braced the bones of her leg with his other.

  White fire shot through her leg and she closed her eyes, reeling. “Oh gods, I hate you right now. Once my foot heals, I’m going to kick you for that,” Jala whispered through short breaths.

  “And when you don’t limp tomorrow, I hope that sentiment changes.” Valor replied calmly as he applied more of the tonic to the swollen, bruised flesh surrounding her foot.

  “How far do we have to go before we reach the city?” Jala asked Fiona, her voice still quavering a bit but she was desperate for something to think about aside from the throbbing pain.

  “We have to skirt around the Forgotten. That will take us at least two weeks. Then we will be in Trystan’s domain, which will require caution if you two want to avoid a fight. So figure another week or two there depending on how actively they are searching for you. That will put us on the outskirts of the city which is guarded by Davrian who we will most likely have to fight. I don’t see any way of getting around that particular bastard,” Fiona explained and then shrugged. “Pray he doesn’t injure you too badly though, because at that point there are no holes to crawl into for healing.”

  “What is the Forgotten?” Jala asked. None of the names Fiona mentioned meant anything to her, so starting at the head of the list for questions seemed the best option available.

  “The Forgotten dead, not even Death can remember who they were. Over the course of centuries everyone has forgotten who they were, including themselves. They are bitter and vicious. Even the demons avoid the Forgotten,” Fiona explained.

  “The Trystan you mentioned is Trystan Veyetta?” Valor asked quietly as he at last finished with her ankle and leaned back once more.

  “Yes, you are Hai’dia aren’t you? So that would make him, what, a cousin of yours?” Fiona asked. She glanced up briefly at Valor as she spoke but quickly returned to rummaging.

  “Uncle,” Valor corrected and looked to Jala. “He was a Shadow mage. We don’t want to fight him,” he warned.

  “What about Davrian?” Jala asked, looking between the two of them.

  “DavrianDelvayon I’m guessing. I don’t know many others with that first name.” Valor offered glancing at Fiona to see if he was correct.

  “Someone trained you well Arovan. DavrianDelvayon, a renowned Spellblade as well as an accomplished war leader. Father of RenDelvayon, the current ruler of Delvay. He fell against Nerath the red, consort of Queen Wilamere of Nerathane,” Fiona said, her voice taking on a scholarly note as she recited the history.

  “So, expect something like Neph from him?” Jala asked Valor who shook his head with a frown.

  “Neph is more spell than blade. A true Delvay Spellblade uses magic to enhance his sword work rather than just magecraft. Davrian will use his magic to make him faster or stronger as well as protecting himself from magic, but he likely won’t be hurling bolts of fire at us.” Valor explained.

  “Sounds easier than facing Neph,” Jala said with a shrug.

  Fiona laughed and looked up at her with a grin. “Easy for the mage to say. It’s the one carrying the sword that will suffer the brunt of Davrian. You ready for that fight Arovan?” she asked looking to Valor.

  Valor let out a long sigh and glanced at his ribs. “Not at this very moment, but I will be,” he said, though there was a note of doubt in his voice.

  “You don’t sound so sure about that,” Jala pressed gently.

  “Davrian was undefeated when he lived. It took a very large red dragon to kill him finally, and the dragon nearly died from that battle, if the books are to be believed,” Valor explained, then shrugged. “But then, as far as the books explain, he never faced a Stormlord so we shall see.”

  “Stormlord?” Fiona asked with another faint chuckle. “I only see two elements branded on your armor. That doesn’t exactly qualify you as a Stormlord now does it? Gusty wind lord perhaps. Your father has command of all of the Elements as well as the Paraelements. You are a far cry from him yet, pup.”

  “I am really going to hate traveling with you,” Valor sighed as he began digging through his packs with a disgusted expression.

  “Going to hate it even more when Davrian makes you a permanent resident of the Darklands and I am your constant companion,” Fiona chimed in bitter amusement.

  Valor glanced up long enough to glare at her and went back to digging through the bags.

  “Death can’t keep Finn and you can’t have Valor,” Jala cut in, causing them both to turn and look at her. She raised an eyebrow at them daring either to object.

  “Well said, I agree she can’t have me,” Valor mumbled and began digging through their bag once again, at last pulling free a small silver container and lifting it out with a triumphant smile. Pulling the lid free he carefully removed a cigar and grinned faintly at Jala. “Most people complain about their smell. Here I think it can only be an improvement.”

  “I’ve never seen you smoke those before, but by all means,” Jala agreed with a wave of her hand. Shaking her head she leaned back against the cave wall once more trying not to think of what might be coating the stones behind her.

  “I bought them for my brother, actually. I had planned to give them to him before he left the city, but I didn’t have a chance to see him before he left. So I’ve been carrying them around,” Valor explained and then smiled sadly as he tapped one on his hand and glanced toward her again. “It’s somewhat of a tradition my father started. After every victory you smoke one of these. Normally, Honor and I tease each other with it and give half-smoked cigars. He was going against the Blights when he left, though, so I bought him a dozen.” He fell silent again and then lit the cigar taking a long drag from it.

  “I’m sure he has already had more than one victory so you can save the ashes for him and give them to him on your return and thank him for winning. The smoke does smell much better than this cave,” Jala offered as she stretched her leg out before her. It was difficult to find a comfortable position to rest the ankle, without propping her foot on the pile of bones before her. She could feel the tingling of the healing though. Despite how foul smelling was the tonic Fiona had found, it did seem effective. She looked up to find Fiona still silently watching her with an enigmatic expression on her face. “What?” she asked after a long moment of the woman’s unflinching stare.

  “Nothing to discuss now,” Fiona murmured, shaking her head as if she had been deep in thought. With a last glance at them she went back to scavenging the cave in silence.

  Valor leaned back beside her and took a long drag from the cigar. Jala glanced over at him and smiled faintly. He returned the gesture with a weary sigh and nodded to her.

  “At the very least, we will never forget this trip,” Valor mumbled with a slight shake of his head. “It may not be fond memories, but I’m sure we will find something suitable to say about them when others ask.”

  Jala’s smile faded a bit and she nodded slowly. Turning back to Fiona she cleared her throat. The fragile pieces of a plan were forming in her mind and it was difficult to keep from growing too hopeful. “Fiona, are there those among the Forgotten that are like you. I mean strong undead such as yourself that have an actual form or are they all wailing banshees?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

  “There are a few among them that are formidable, their leader being the foremost in that. He is quite powerful. Not even I would care to fight him. That’s why it’s best to avoid them,” Fiona answere
d, looking up from a rotting bag that was her latest find in the bone heap.

  “I don’t want to avoid them, then. I’d like to go see them before we continue on,” Jala said with another faint smile forming on her lips. If what she had in mind worked, retrieving Finn was about to get a lot easier.

  “What do you have in mind?” Valor asked quietly. If he was at all concerned he didn’t show it.

  “Finding a suitable way to remember them,” Jala replied quietly.

  “This is their border. Are you sure you wish to continue in this? I don’t think they will listen to you,” Fiona said.

  Jala nodded slowly, her eyes roving over the terrain ahead. Tall black pines covered the ground as far as she could see, while heavy fog blanketed the forest floor. That, combined with the ever-present gloom of the Darklands, and it was nearly impossible to see anything in the Forgotten territory. “I still wish to speak with them,” she said quietly.

  “Your funeral,” Fiona said with a shrug and motioned a gauntleted hand toward the forest. “I will wait here for you. If you cannot return to this exact point, I will find you along the borders. If you return that is.”

  “Not coming with us, then? I do so hate to part with your charming company, Fiona.” Valor said sarcastically.

  Jala turned in the saddle to look back at him with a slight shake of her head. “Don’t mock the dead, Val,” she scolded lightly.

  “Especially when you are about to be one of them,” Fiona added dryly, offering a last tight smile to the pair of them as they rode across the border.

  “Is it just me or did the temperature drop another ten degrees once we entered the fog?” Valor asked quietly.

  “Twenty, you must not have noticed how severe the change was through all that metal,” Jala replied, pulling her borrowed cloak tighter around her.

  “So the plan is to offer them a name?” Valor asked, quietly his eyes roving the terrain.

  “Somewhat,” Jala agreed, not bothering to scan the area herself. She would have to rely on Valor and Valorous to spot anything approaching. Their vision was much better in the low light than hers and she had come to rely on them as her eyes in the past few weeks of travel. “I have to say, I don’t really mind the cold as much as I did when we first arrived. The cold seems to deaden the sense of smell and I don’t think I want to smell myself after countless weeks of travel and several days of sleeping in a cave with dead bodies,” she said softly. There was no real point to being silent here. Fiona had warned them that no matter how much stealth they tried to use, the Forgotten would know where they were once they crossed the border.

  “Don’t forget the demon blood that we have both been thoroughly doused in. I know I practically got a shower of it when we fought Nasurai,” Valor added with a sigh.

  Jala glanced back at him and smirked at his look of disgust. Valor was typically fastidious about his appearance and he was absolutely filthy right now. “I’ll pay the cleaning bill for your armor,” she offered.

  “There won’t be a bill on this armor. It’s too damaged already. I will be melting it down when we return to Merro. It’s something that should have been replaced before now, anyway. It is my father’s colors. I should have armor in your colors.” Valor said with a sigh, his eye still searching the forest.

  “That’s not important to me you know,” she pointed out quietly and fell silent as the fog ahead of them swirled. “Did you see that?”

  “And that.” Valor motioned with his hand to the left. “And that, and that,” he said again pointing to their right and then above them to the left. “I would imagine they are moving behind us as well,” he said, though he didn’t shift in the saddle to look behind them.

  And that, and that, and that. Mocking voices hissed from the surrounding trees. See the living, soon to be forgotten. The voices hissed louder. The words seemed to echo out of the fog.

  “I will never be forgotten. I am High Lady Jala Merrodin and I will be eternal in the minds and hearts of everyone that knows me,” Jala called back to the voices which fell silent at her words. Angry murmurs began to build from the fog in their place and Valor shifted in the saddle behind her.

  “Whatever you plan to do you had better do it. I wouldn’t simply taunt them and leave it at that,” Valor hissed in her ear.

  “I can make you eternal as well. I can make sure you are always remembered and never forgotten again,” Jala called, her voice pitched loudly to carry through the trees. “I’ve come to make an offer to you; an offer that will ensure you will always be remembered.”

  “This is a first. Would you have me believe that you didn’t simply wander into our lands? That you actually sought us out?” a man’s voice called from the fog louder and clearer than the rest had been.

  “It is the truth. We have come here seeking you, though our guide bid us to go around,” Jala replied. “Are you the leader? The one that holds the Forgotten together?” she asked loudly.

  “I am the one they follow,” the man replied as he stepped from the mists and regarded them. In life he must have been impressive. In death he was terrifying. His skin was bleached as white as old bone, while his eyes remained sunken and black. Large spikes extended from the armor on his shoulders with skulls impaled upon them. Most were simply bone, but others still had traces of flesh clinging raggedly to them. Had Valor stood before this man, the Forgotten Lord would have towered over her knight companion and the axe he held looked as though it could shatter any sword.

  “Then I name you Axis, for you are their center and thus I will remember you,” Jala said calmly, hoping her plan worked.

  The man froze, his expression filled with distrust. “You cannot simply do that. You cannot simply name a man, and say that it is his,” he began, though there was a note of hope in his voice.

  Jala tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at him. “Can I not? I was once told by a dear friend that we have three names in life. The first is given by our mothers when we are born, the second is a nickname that is given by friends, and the third is earned through our deeds. In my eyes you have earned your name by leading your people. Thus I grant you a name and promise you will no longer be forgotten.”

  Murmuring filled the fog though it was no longer filled with anger. In places, the mist parted enough for her to catch a glimpse of another figure. Here a woman watching them curiously; there a small child.

  “Step forth and tell me of yourselves, so that I might remember you all,” Jala offered, her eyes locked on the small blond haired child watching them from beside a tree. In life the girl had likely been adorable. In death she was a mockery of innocence. Her small pursed lips were blue and her skin was the color of a fish’s belly. Her eyes were the most disturbing, however. Unlike the other dead Jala had seen, this child’s eyes retained their original color of pale blue. There was no childlike light in them, however. They were cold and held nothing but hatred.

  “Why would you do this?” Axis demanded loudly and the murmuring ceased at once.

  “Because I need your help,” Jala replied simply and truthfully.

  Axis laughed a bitter cold sound and swept his gaze over his people. “The living High Lady wishes the assistance of the lowly dead,” he called in a mocking voice.

  “The living High Lady requests the help of the Forgotten,” Jala corrected. “The ones that are so feared in the Darklands that my guide refused to cross their borders. The ones that even Death’s demons will not approach.”

  Axis’s expression changed a bit with her words and he took a step closer, his head cocked to one side in a parody of her own. Jala straightened in the saddle and felt Valor tense behind her. “For the love of god don’t draw your sword,” she hissed to him.

  Valor let out a long breath and nodded though it was obvious he didn’t want to agree with her. “I trust you. If you believe this will work, I will have faith,” he whispered.

  “Don’t have too much faith. If he raises that axe, draw your sword,” Jala replied quickly in a h
ushed voice as Axis continued to advance. He moved with quick bursts that seemed unnatural to watch and Jala could well imagine what he must be like when fighting. His simple walking was covering twice as much ground as a living man would.

  “Who is your guide who would not cross our boundary?” Axis asked, his voice low. He had stopped walking several feet back from them and seemed more curious than hostile at the moment.

  “Fiona Veirasha, a legend among the people in the sunlit world,” Jala replied loudly, so that all that were gathered could hear. “If Fiona Veirasha fears you, how could I possibly fail to remember the Forgotten? Even if you choose not to help me, I will remember you all.”

  Axis shifted where he stood and gazed around at his people once more. “Axis.” He breathed the name, almost seeming to savor the sound of it. Slowly he looked up at Jala again and the same distrust as before crossed his features. “What would you have of us?” he asked.

  “I go to face Death. I confront her for her corruption. I ask that the Forgotten help me breach her city. I do not ask you to face the Dark Lady herself. That is my task. I ask only that you help me with her minions that guard her. The demons that already fear you.”

  “I think had you asked for anything else I would have let my people rip the flesh from your bones and added your skulls to my armor. For this though…” Axis paused and gave her a hideous parody of a grin that stretched his gaunt face horribly. “For this, the Forgotten will help. Death has wronged many here and we will gladly pay her in turn,” he hissed and hatred filled his voice. Turning away from her, he held his arms up and turned in a half circle. “Come forward and tell your story, the High Lady has a name for you all she says,” he called in a loud booming voice that seemed to shake the trees around them.

  The mists parted revealing hundreds of forms. Most were ghostly and translucent, but some held the solid form as Axis himself did. They moved forward quickly swarming around the horse and all began speaking at once in a range of voices from yells to harsh whispers.