Sanctuary

by Nally, Fergal F

  Unite the Seven and take the fight to the Magisters.

  Perhaps then she could rest, perhaps then she would be allowed to die and be at peace.

  This thought gave her strength. She pulled herself up from the bed and put on a woollen cloak. Her bruises screamed, a sickening wall of pain mocked her. The room spun, she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Sheer force of will brought her to her feet.

  She nodded at Moose. "Take me to this Ducet. We'll talk."

  Moose breathed a sigh of relief. Luana was back, albeit somewhat weakened for the moment. They went above deck; Luana saw she was on the larger of the two vessels. The slaver ship followed a short distance behind.

  "What happened to the slaves?"

  "They were to be put ashore at the towers, but after what happened they decided to stay on their ship. They're now coming to Echo Island."

  "Perhaps they'll join the pirates…" Luana said.

  They arrived at the stern and the captain's quarters. Moose ushered Luana in; Ducet sat at a large map table. Luana met the other woman's gaze, taking her measure. Slim build, short blond hair. Blue flashing eyes, a fine scar ran across her left cheek. Ducet held dividers in her right hand and was plotting a course on the map.

  "Come in, welcome aboard. Can I get you a drink?"

  Luana nodded.

  "Sit, please sit. We have a lot to talk about, you and I. People, places, business. Moose take a seat, you're welcome to stay."

  Moose shook his head. "If it's alright with you captain, I'll go check on Elias. I'll come back."

  Ducet flashed a smile. "Of course."

  Moose took his leave. Ducet gave Luana a glass of port.

  "Moose told me of your adventures. You're lucky to be alive. Someone's looking out for you."

  Luana sipped the port. It was strong. She did not care for caution and took a deep draught of the aromatic drink. She allowed it to fill her mouth with colour, spice and berries. All she had been able to taste for days was barren ash. She swallowed the port, feeling it caress her throat and fill her stomach with warmth. Her shoulders relaxed.

  Luana closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift for a moment.

  "Lucky to be alive? I don't know about that. Someone told me I was dead. Part of me believes this, the other part doesn't. It's allowed me a certain…recklessness. I've done things I'd not normally do. Taken risks. So… lucky to be alive? I'm not so sure. I'm not sure of anything any more."

  Luana snapped her eyes open and looked straight at Ducet.

  "What do you want captain?"

  Ducet smiled and raised her glass. "I like that, directness it is then. I'll take you to Echo Island to find your angel. In return, I want you to help my brother, Fingal. He's in Stedfastgate; our base. He's neither alive nor dead, he's…somewhere in between. He's been that way for months, ever since the Magister ship used thrall magic on him. Once he's at peace, either in this world or the next, I'll show you to Angel's Landing. It's there you may find your archangel. Do we have a deal?"

  Luana closed her eyes and let Ducet's words sink in. The port was working it's magic.

  "Yes. If I can help, I will. But… no promises."

  "That's good enough for me Luana. Come let's eat, I think you should line your stomach before the port takes you away."

  CHAPTER 12

  Raven Heart

  The massed ranks of the Magister army stood on the Raven plains. Eleanir lay to the east, just out of sight. Scouting parties were sent to gather intelligence and returned with news that was both alarming and pleasing to the troops.

  Word spread amongst the soldiers of a massacre at Eleanir. The city and citadel walls had been razed by a monster of untold strength. All had been directed by Magister Nix, from Numibar. The soldiers were there to claim the city and occupy Raven territory. Maps would be redrawn; Magister flags would fly from the city. Victory, the spoils of war would be theirs. They would be given land and the slaves to work it. Their hearts filled with anticipation and greed.

  "She wants the Raven Heart," General Kaur said to his officers.

  "What's that?" Lieutenant Farrar asked.

  The general paused. "It's the Raven high stone. It's supposed to be enchanted and is part of the king's crown. They'll have hidden it well. Our job is to find this Raven Heart and bring it to Magister Nix. Failure won't be tolerated."

  "We need to send scouts in ahead of the main force," Farrar replied.

  "Choose men for the job, choose wisely; your future and mine depend on it."

  "I'll lead the scouts myself, I'll pick a few men I trust, good men. Give us two days before you bring the army to the city."

  "We'll encircle the city for the time being. The golem she used has long gone; she sent it back out west, into the desert. I understand it did its job well. This thrall magic is formidable…" The general's words trailed off.

  General Kaur was ambivalent about this kind of warfare. He was a soldier and defeating an enemy by magic was not honourable to him. Still, he would follow his orders from Numibar.

  Farrar saluted his general. "We live in interesting times sir. I am curious to see how it'll turn out."

  Kaur nodded. "Our job is to serve, not to ask questions. We all have families, remember that. Good luck on your mission… dismissed. The rest of you gather round, we'll coordinate our grip on the city."

  Farrar left the command tent with mixed feelings. Here was a great opportunity; leading the scout party to find the Raven Heart at the behest of Magister Nix. This was a great honour for him, for his men.

  It was also a poisoned chalice, as failure to find the stone would mean certain death. Farrar was a soldier; his life was forfeit anyway. What did he have to lose?

  He went to his unit and selected five men, men he trusted and had fought with. These soldiers would fight for him and each other. He briefed them but did not reveal the mission's true objective. He was not far from the truth in telling them they were after the Raven king's head. This, they could understand.

  They set out under cover of dark and travelled light. They were a few hours walk from Eleanir and would easily make the city in that time. They were to penetrate deep into the citadel as fast as possible. Any residual resistance he would avoid, concentrating on stealth instead. This was his time, his moment. All eyes were on him.

  They made good progress under the starry sky. A chill wind blew across the plains and the ground crunched beneath their feet. As they neared the city limits Farrar could smell burning and something else. Death. He was used to death, it comforted him; a soldier's constant companion, his shadow.

  The others in the squad sensed it too; a sense of urgency filled them. They pressed on and crossed the outlying districts of the city an hour later. It was cold; their breath frosted the air. Somewhere a dog howled, otherwise, there was silence.

  Farrar did not have a map of Eleanir, the Raven were not known for their mapping skills. He knew he had to head for high ground.

  They went deeper into the city and were soon in amongst a maze of streets. Many buildings were still on fire. Bodies lay scattered, some burned, some crushed. Men, women and children had succumbed to the vicious attack meted out by the golem. The living, if any were left, seemed to have fled the city.

  Still, Farrar and his men were careful. They kept to the shadows, their weapons ready. After twenty minutes of pushing forwards through the slums, they came to a wider road, which plunged into the heart of the city. They followed it, Farrar noticed with some satisfaction it led up towards a dark shadow in the distance. His heart leapt; the citadel lay before them. He would find the royal palace, and take the Raven Heart.

  Farrar proceeded unchallenged through the ruins. Dogs roamed the streets and were having an easy time of it, feasting on the dead. The stink of death was all around. Farrar stopped and took out his lavender salve, which he smeared under his nose to abate the smell. His men did the same.

  He turned and looked around. They were through the citadel walls. He had not
noticed until now. He let out a low whistle. The destruction of the gates and walls in this sector was absolute. He could see by his men's expressions they were impressed.

  They used hand movements to communicate. Farrar gave the signal to spread out and advance. He knew they were nearing his goal; speed and caution were required. He led the squad. A huge swathe of buildings had been razed going up the hill, obviously the path of the golem. They followed the trail of destruction and reached the palace buildings, or what was left of them.

  It was here the Raven had made their last stand. He saw many of their soldiers' bodies crushed and burned. Hundreds in this area alone. He ignored their staring eyes; their mangled remains and went deeper into the royal complex. They came to the palace gardens. Farrar was surprised to see trees and shrubbery left intact. Fountains and a large lake were untouched. It seemed the golem only had an eye for stone and rock.

  They walked through the fragrant gardens. So much life amongst so much death. Fig, lime and cherry trees filled the gardens with their soft whispers. Fish swam in ponds and pools near the lake. A small island lay at the centre of the lake; a boat moored at a small landing. This struck Farrar as odd and he stopped to look.

  His men waited for him. He did not need to talk; they were all trained in silent reconnaissance. Farrar's mind returned to the task in hand. He nodded at his men and they continued their sweep of the palace grounds. They spent the next few hours combing the ruins and royal quarters. They found various precious things amongst the rubble, but not the king or his crown.

  Farrar knew the citadel had been built on an upsweep of rock. There would be no significant subterranean complex to this citadel. There might be a few rooms hewn out of the bedrock. The sky brightened, morning was fast approaching. He knew he was close; this was the time to be vigilant. He signalled a repeat sweep of the grounds looking for hidden rooms.

  There was so much rubble, it was impossible to ensure a complete search, nevertheless one of his men came across steps leading down into the bedrock. Farrar descended and lit a torch. They found a warren of corridors, rooms containing food and servants' quarters.

  Farrar began to feel alarm. There should be some sign of the king. He was looking but not seeing. He thought furiously, it hit him. The island on the lake, the boat tied to the landing. It all added up. He swung round and led his men back, out of the underground complex.

  When they emerged it was morning. The early hues of the sky were deepening. A chill held the air. Birdsong began to pepper the streets; a familiar sound but in this ghost city so wrong. Farrar signalled his men to follow. They returned to the lake in the palace gardens.

  They found a second boat moored on the near side of the lake. It was large enough for three men. Farrar and two others took it across the lake, the others stayed behind. The water was deep and once or twice Farrar thought he saw movement below the boat. He felt uneasy. Fish were not the only thing in this lake.

  They made it across to the island and stood on the shoreline. Set back in a clearing amongst the trees was a shrine of some description. Farrar signalled his men to fan out. He approached the shrine; something was wrong. He could not place it.

  Then it struck him. There was no birdsong on the island. The rest of the gardens were alive with birds but not here. The light was different too. He was sweating profusely; the grip on his sword slick with moisture. He blinked as a drip of sweat stung his eyes.

  He pressed on and saw the blurry outlines of his men ten feet away on either side. As he neared the shrine, he looked up into the trees and froze. There, watching them, were scores of ravens. They looked on, unblinking. He felt his nerve waver, he had to act. Those razor sharp beaks could tear him and his men apart. He darted forwards into the shrine.

  There, upon a raised dais was the king's crown; the Raven Heart. He neared the dais; his two men took up positions at the entrance to the shrine. They glanced nervously at the trees. Farrar picked up the crown; it was too heavy for him to bring back to the boat.

  He looked at the Raven Heart and thought he saw movement in its depths. He snapped his gaze away from the stone and shivered. These Magisters could keep their enchantments as far as he was concerned. He preferred the real things in life.

  He made a decision; he would need to remove the stone. He examined the crown's settings and chose one. With his dirk, he forced the setting and was surprised to see the metal claw release its grip as if it sensed his intention. The other settings did the same and he soon held the Raven Heart in his hand. He put the crown back on the dais and turned to look at his men. It was time to leave. He nodded at them and went to the shrine door.

  Farrar looked across the clearing and up at the trees. The ravens had increased in number and now well over a hundred waited in brooding silence. He wrapped the Raven Heart in cloth and put it into his belt pouch. He touched it as if seeking reassurance. The ravens stirred restlessly as he did so.

  Farrar gave the signal to leave. It was best to move fast, in tight formation back to the boat. His hand signals were clear, his men understood. They walked out from under the protection of the shrine's portico.

  The ravens struck, hurling themselves from the trees at the three men. Instinctively, the soldiers retreated under the portico, swords drawn. The ravens wheeled and swung in a flurry of wings inches from them. Their beaks slashed and tore at the air. The men took another step back and watched. The air ahead was alive with death.

  For some reason the ravens did not enter the shrine. While the men stood in its shelter, they were safe. Farrar's mind raced. At last he spoke.

  "This is sorcery. These ravens are guardians. We've got to find a way back to the boat."

  One of his men nodded. "I heard Raven priests could shape shift. Do you think…?" The soldier left his question unfinished.

  Farrar ignored him. "Look around, see if you can find anything to use as a shield."

  "Armour would be the only thing to stop those birds," the other man declared.

  They searched the shrine and found nothing of use. Then Farrar noticed scratch marks on the ground behind the dais. He knelt down and examined the floor. He found a half moon pattern, as if something had been dragged across the floor. He looked at the dais and understood.

  "Here, look. The dais has been moved. There must be a passage or chamber underneath. Help me find the switch, there must be a hidden trigger."

  Farrar and his men scrutinised the dais searching for a concealed switch. After a few minutes, Farrar found a small indentation under the support, where the crown had sat. He pressed and heard a deep rumbling beneath his feet. He noticed quiet had returned to the clearing outside. Expectation filled the air.

  The dais swung aside revealing steps leading down to darkness below. One of his men had brought a torch, which they lit.

  Farrar gave the signal and they descended into the gloom.

  CHAPTER 13

  Serpent of Chaos

  Jotkim looked at Travin. "We can muster a thousand mammoths. Mostly male juveniles, they'll follow the matriarchs. There'll be thirty of them. They'll be battle ready in two weeks. The clans can muster ten thousand warriors. They'll march under my banner, but will answer to their houses under battle conditions. It's our way. We'll use the mammoths to charge and terrorise the enemy. Even if they use enchantments, there'll be too many targets for them to handle."

  Travin waited for Jotkim to finish.

  "What about the thrall magic the Magisters use? It defeated the angels; Satkir and his cohorts were captured and enslaved by the Magisters. Thrall magic is a powerful force. Who knows what else they'll have by the time we strike. Is there no way of readying your force sooner?"

  Jotkim looked unconcerned. "The mammoths need to be brought in from the tundra. It's a huge area to cover. Already my messengers are sending out the call. It'll take two weeks to muster our army. Unless you want to split the force?"

  "No, no. We'll only get one strike at the viper's nest. We need to deal a killing blow, v
ictory has to be absolute, surprise is our only ally. They'll not be expecting a hammer blow from the north. Timing is everything. The bulk of their armies are in the east striking at the Raven. Their reserves and rearguard are strong but if we can rout them… then we can take the main force by surprise and weaken them by cutting off their supply chain. Then we can crush them once and for all."

  "It's settled then." Jotkim stood. "The frost giants will at long last reclaim the frontier lands from the Magisters. What will happen to the southern lands once you have destroyed the magic users and their armies? Who is there to take up the reins of power?"

  Travin sighed. "That's a good question my friend. When there's a vacuum, the strong rise. I hope to oversee an orderly transition of power in the time after the Magisters' defeat. It may take time, the royal houses are gone, but I'm hopeful. There'll be those men and women who remember what life was like before the tyranny of the Magisters. It wasn't perfect, but then nothing ever is, it's the nature of things."

  The giant and the angel looked at each other. Their path was clear, their destiny intertwined. The bond between them was deep. Travin knew Jotkim was his champion to the end. Travin did not entertain the thought of failure. He could not give defeat any energy, any consideration.

  Travin spent the next few weeks watching Jotkim's forces gather in the plains. It was an impressive sight. Winter's grip on the land was absolute; ice ruled the plains. However, the frost giants and their mammoths were superbly adapted to the hostile conditions. They were immune to cold, to the fierce storms and lack of food. They were survivors; descendants from something ancient, something pure and elemental. They were of the Erthe and her spirit. He knew he had to succeed. The Magisters would fall.

  The time eventually came. Jotkim had been true to his word. Two weeks passed, his army was ready. One thousand mammoths and ten thousand frost giants were mustered on the plains.