Heart of the Maiden: (Lords of the Deep Hells Book 3)

by Paul Yoder

  “If it could be the Hyperium, then we have to try to make contact. Let’s at least get moving to do so. Kissa, Eilan, Gale, Jasper,” Reza called, the two elite guards coming to join the planning circle once hearing their names called. “You four, scout it out. Make contact if it is the Hyperium. Let them know we’re here. I fear we’d be too slow to catch them with some presently in our group.”

  “Try and keep up,” Eilan smirked at Gale and Jasper as her and Kissa took off sprinting down the sand mound they had camped atop of, slashing cuts in the sand dunes with their feet as they slid down to the hard desert floor.

  Even with their armor, Gale and Jasper sprinted off, just as quick, and Reza watched as the group of four bolted off to intercept the unidentified force, which still was not within her view.

  By the time Zaren was up, and not in a pleasant mood about it either, Reza and the others could easily see the large force moving out in the plains before them.

  Though there were more than a hundred in the band, only fifty or so were mounted, the other half were marching on foot, though their clip was swift.

  “Arie, mind telling us what you see?” Reza asked the haltia as she perched atop a small boulder, squinting, looking intently as the four small figures she knew to be Kissa and the others moved to intercept the lead of the mounted forces.

  “Kissa has made herself known to their leader,” she quietly said distractedly. “They’ve called for a halt now.”

  Zaren and Jadu hobbled up to join the group perched at the dune’s edge beside Terra and Cavok, Cavok taking the praven up on his shoulder as he used to do for Jadu to get a better look with the aid of a bit more elevation.

  “They are sending riders this way now, six of them. That’s the Hyperium all right. They’re coming to pick us up,” Arie announced, smiles easily coming to most in the group, grateful to see that the Hyperium had somehow weathered the terrible pursuit of Rochata-Ung’s horsemen.

  “They’re sending riders?” Zaren asked, his voice more crackly than usual. “Thank the gods. One more day of walking and I would have had to have delved into my transportation spells. Didn’t know I was signing up with such a rudimentary group.”

  “You can summon a mount?” Reza incredulously asked, glaring the old enchanter down once more.

  “I didn’t say a mount,” he bickered, looking up to give the statement some further thought. “Though I suppose I have a summoning spell somewhere in my book.”

  “Why didn’t you use it yesterday?”

  “My dear Reza, one does not simply perform magic willy-nilly. What happens when you truly need a spell? Conservation is the key to preservation—”

  “Enough,” Reza said, cutting off what felt like the start of a longwinded speech. “Don’t tell Kissa you could have done that all along. She’d kill you.”

  “Why are only half of the Hyperium mounted?” Cavok asked, his deep voice cutting through the bickering.

  No one ventured an answer directly, but Arie softly spoke, “We’ll soon find out,” as the approaching six Shadow Company riders rode up to the dunes in a sprint, the dolingers heaving from the exertion.

  “Get on,” the lead rider, Naldurn, ordered, Reza jumping on with her as the others partnered up, the six mounts starting back to the main body of the Hyperium, arriving within minutes at somewhat a slower pace with the extra weight than they had arrived.

  Naldurn rode up aside Hathos at the head of the company, the others filling in around as close as they could while the company started their march forward again on course for Rochata-Ung.

  “Our numbers were reduced last night, as you can see,” Hathos calmly spoke to Reza as they trotted along, answering the question that had been gnawing at her from the time she had come to realize the marching troops were Rochatans and not their own.

  “By half? Is Metus…,” she asked, not wanting to know the answer to the unsaid question if he had truly been slain.

  “No. The sultan, along with Bannon and seventeen injured are headed back to the Plainstate along with the enclave refugees. We suffered losses, but not as many as you see vacant in their ranks here.”

  “Then what’s the plan? With half the Hyperium and without Metus and Bannon, why are we returning to Rochata? They have a force large enough to easily slaughter us if they wish. And judging by what it looks like you did to their horsemen, my assumption is, they will wish,” Reza questioned.

  “I’m expecting them to. Hopefully they will come at us with their full force,” Hathos quietly said, Reza having to strain to hear the soft-spoken man.

  He did not meet eyes with her, but could feel her confusion at the seemingly suicidal path the group was on. He spoke to her, attempting to unravel the schemes he held.

  “Your extraction went better than planned. This bodes well with us. It seems the gods have cast us a considering glance.”

  Looking up to the rising sun, eyeing the distant speck that marked the sprawl of buildings and walls that made up Rochata-Ung in the distance beyond the miles of rising heatwaves warping their vision, he turned his piercing gaze and continued.

  “We fought and killed hundreds of their soldiers at the Enclave of the Unclean. This is an act of war. Though they started it, they will want to finish it. They will retaliate.

  “We deliver the prisoners of war back to them in a gesture of good will. It will not halt their pursuit, but it will slow them down. They wouldn’t simply leave exhausted and wounded troops to fend for themselves out here in the burning desert.

  “If we can find the arisen army, bring the Rochata forces to them for them to see the threat themselves, our quarrel might pale in comparison to the looming threat that the arisen lord poses. They may find that we are, as we announced from the start of all this, their allies, not their enemies. Let’s hope at least. If they continue their attack on us at that point, then they truly are idiots.”

  “Reza,” Naldurn uncomfortably scolded, adjusting in her saddle, Reza having subconsciously been squeezing her tighter and tighter around the waist as Hathos had been explaining his plan.

  “Sorry,” Reza offered, placing her hands along Naldurn’s hips instead, taking a few breaths as she attempted to wrap her head around the new direction their mission had taken along vastly more dangerous paths.

  “Where’s Nomad?” she asked after a moment, looking around the troops for signs of him.

  “He…escaped us,” Naldurn answered. “I tried to stop him, so did Henarus, but he was too wild for us to contend with.”

  Reza reflected on the news for a moment before Naldurn continued. “I sent Tris, one of our Shadows, to track him. We hope to link back up with her soon. That’s our only lead other than when he left, he was headed south.”

  “And Henarus? Is he alright?” Reza asked.

  “Yes. The prophet is battered, but lives. He is in our company with his priest,” Hathos answered.

  “Hathos, I see a force ahead,” Eilan cautiously called out, her partner moving their mount closer to the Hyperium Primus.

  “I see it too,” Arie confirmed, the two haltia’s eyesight penetrating a great distance beyond that of their human counterparts.

  “The army is large,” Eilan warned. “More than five hundred.”

  Hathos considered the information in silence for a moment before offering conjectures. “Perhaps a regiment of backup? Either to support Set and his cavalry, or to call his company home. One of such reckless command is sure to not go without the occasional censure and recall.”

  “A half force is not what we were hoping for,” Undine voiced to Hathos’ side. “The smaller the unit, the faster they will be to run upon us.”

  The morning light shone brightly off their leader’s breastplate, and the only consolation to Undine’s grim words from Hathos was his unflagging march towards their enemy that once again outnumbered them many times over.

  9

  Baiting the Strike

  The dark halls were only lit by a faint glow along the rit
ual braziers that let off a ghostly wisp of a flame, whatever magic still giving them life, seeming on the verge of flickering out at any moment.

  Denloth halted under a tall archway behind Sha’oul who stood, turning his head to look off into the dark beyond.

  “The eyes of a god are upon us,” the tall man said after a moment of pause.

  Denloth reached to sense the aether currents, feeling the strands and presences of all the influences nearby. He could feel most strongly his master’s aura, overwhelming and vivid in its pulsation. He could also feel the strangeness of the new creature Sha’oul had brought into their plane of existence, as well as the faint stirrings of the army of arisen beyond the temple walls. Behind them was the pounding of energy pulsations from the Sun Room, but beyond that, he was not sensing anything else.

  As if he knew that his companion struggled to sense the presence he spoke of, he offered, “Up along the cliffs, overlooking this canyon. Do you feel her? A…saren. A strong one. One close to her goddess.”

  Denloth immediately refocused his attention, searching far out past the canyon, trying to feel for the one his master spoke of.

  “I cannot detect her,” he finally admitted, frustrated at the strain which had begun to give him a headache.

  Sha’oul smiled, considering his student’s failure. In this area, tasting the presence of another’s essence, he was well matured, more perhaps than any he knew. Knowing the location of his enemies, and allies, had served him many times over the years, costing those that would have ruined him their victory.

  After the display in the Sun Room, he had begun to worry slightly of Denloth’s reach and potential. The display had been impressive to say the least—worrying at most. If the student had the potential to outgrow the master—what need was there for a master then? He recalled what he had done to his master centuries ago.

  “You have no former dealings with Sareth, have you?” he asked at length, probing Denloth’s gaps of experience.

  “No, not intimately,” Denloth confessed. “I have studied her in tomes, but rare is it that I have even seen a saren.”

  “We will soon rectify that. I’ll make sure you have the chance to get very intimate with one of her chosen,” Sha’oul grinned, savoring his thoughts of the schemes already hatching to snare the holy one overlooking them in their dark temple corridors.

  Sha’oul picked up his pace now, Denloth curiously in tow, seeing that his master had an immediate purpose about his heading.

  They walked into the torchlight at the end of the corridor where the torch-bearing skeletons waited, along with their new dark friend, the wendigo.

  Sha’oul transitioned to the foul language that Denloth lightly knew, listening carefully as his master talked to the beast.

  “Child of ash, what is your name?” the tall man demanded, standing shorter and smaller than that of the large beast, but imposing a much larger presence than the other in all other ways.

  “Lunt,” the creature croaked at length, eyeing his new master cautiously, already fearful as to what power it was giving away as it gave up its name, the one the Lord of Ash knew it by.

  “I have need, and you shall serve. Fail to perform thy duties, and I shall rip you from this existence and deliver you to Telenth-Lanor myself to pay for your shortcomings. This is his war, not mine, not ours. If you fail me, you fail him, and he will render all to ash who hinder his designs.”

  Lunt’s dead eyes strayed away from Sha’oul as he spoke, the fear of their god burning a hole in his soul as he was addressed. Even Denloth could feel something supernatural about Sha’oul’s delivery, as if he were using some sort of coercive magicks to drill the point home.

  “I shall serve faithfully,” Lunt agreed in its cutting dark language, cowering as his tall frame bent over, a fat stream of rank urine streaming out from its genitals, physically submitting before its master.

  “See that you do,” Sha’oul said, going on to issue his command. “Your task is simple. Command the arisen troops northwards, out of the canyon, then along the road south between the crags and take the fort at the trail’s end. The numbers there are a trifle, you will take it without much resistance.”

  He stepped forward, placing a palm on the beast’s cowed forehead between its antlers. Denloth felt a transfer of sorts, or an endowment of authority, pass to the creature, it standing up after receiving its new mantle, walking off out of the hall with the skeletons in tow, a new sense of purpose fresh in its gait.

  “You send away our army? Are we not going with him?” Denloth whispered, not certain of his master’s heading.

  “The one that sits up above along the canyon walls would not come down otherwise. Surely she has been there for some time surveying. She will notice I am not in the presence of my army. Perhaps she will think this is the opportunity she has been waiting for. A chance to strike at me when I am alone and vulnerable.”

  “And you would be, save for me. Why open your defenses like this? I still fail to see,” Denloth pressed, not liking how cocky his master was appearing just then, knowing that in terms of his own tenaciousness, he had lived thus far by playing the long game, being cautious, calculating, and waiting for the opportunities to come to him, not chasing too far ahead of his reach.

  “Will we be alone? How many Oathbound still beckon to your call?” Sha’oul casually asked.

  “Three,” Denloth answered.

  “Two less than you had before we left the mountains,” Sha’oul tossed out, reflecting upon the deduction in troops. “They still remain loyal to you?”

  “They do,” Denloth confirmed.

  “I did not relinquish command of my greyoldors. Seven of them I also have at my command. The power I sense along the cliffs, though potent, is not numerous. A small force at best. Our ten abreast us will be more than sufficient to deal with this annoyance. Once she is taken care of, we will have one less god to worry about to oppose our march on Tarigannie. I do not want a threat floating over our heads as we make our move. For now the moment of weakness is planned of our own doing, but if not dealt with, later that weakness could be legitimate. That is not the time to have a god eyeing us,” Sha’oul finished, walking out of the hall, his tattered cloak rippling in a smooth line as it followed his movements.

  “Then we must prepare for battle with this woman,” Denloth said, consigning himself to the direction his master had taken them, following him out of the hall, headed towards their reserve guards.

  “No, Denloth,” Sha’oul grimly said, his face stern as they turned to the corrugated chatoyant sandstone-lined room that was littered with seven hair-like pods hanging from the roof, gleaming eyes of seething hatred staring out at the two as they entered.

  “We must prepare for war with a god.”

  10

  A Dire Gambit

  The night they had arrived at the overlook, overshadowing the temple a hundred yards below, they had hopes of a swift assault; but the arisen army had moved very little, and with such a force guarding the entrance to the temple, they had seen no opportunity to gain entrance to the lair.

  Days had gone by, and the camp of saren was beginning to want for rations and fresh water, as with Fin’s encampment.

  Most of the saren were performing tasks: hunting, looking for natural cisterns to water the horses, or keeping watch on the arisen army. Only a few were still at camp with Lanereth, Fin, and the others.

  Wyld and Yozo languidly were gathered in their lean-tos, conserving their energy while they waited for the order they had all been waiting for from the start.

  Malagar and Fin sat along a shabby tree line of cedar trees that provided the only natural shade along the desert plains canyon shelf. Lanereth beside them went over yet another plan she was considering for infiltrating the temple far below at the canyon’s floor.

  “A trip around the canyon may take a day, two at most. Maybe there’s a topside entrance to that temple that we can’t see from over here,” she suggested, Fin shaking his head
, not liking the plan.

  “If there’s not, then we’d be stuck with another day’s journey to come back around. There’s no route down into the canyon from the east side of the crags. I’ve looked. It’s a sheer cliff face. At least with this side there’s a route down in. If the arisen made a move while over there, we would miss our shot at getting to that temple in time,” he said while drawing a rough sketch of the canyon in the sand.

  “I agree with Fin. Patience is the answer. They will not stay put in there forever. They can accomplish nothing in the bottom of that pit, and Denloth is clever enough to know that. They will make a move soon,” Malagar spoke, sitting back in the heat of the sun, the scant shade the cedar tree was providing barely covering his head.

  Lanereth considered the two’s input, not enjoying the prospect of sitting around for who knows how many more days burning away under the Tarigannie sun, squandering their rations, waiting for their enemy to make a move.

  “We have enough food and drink left to last us two more days. On horseback, it’s half a day along this road to Fort Wellspring; almost a full day back north to Sansabar. We can wait only till then, then we must resupply and hope we don’t miss anything,” she said, more than a little beaten down at the long distance they had traveled from the Jeenyre mountains, only then to have to set camp under such harsh conditions.

  Everyone looked up as one of the saren knights ran back into the camp from the canyon lookout post. Wyld and Yozo peeked out of their lean-tos to listen in on the report.

  “Something large, all covered in shrouds, came out of the temple. All the arisen are following it. The army is mobilizing,” she hurriedly rushed out, catching her breath from the sprint.

  Lanereth stood up, looking to Fin and Malagar as they went to join the remaining saren still at the lookout a few hundred meters out. She ordered the knight to go and find the others and have them report back to camp before she ran off after the two men.