by B A Vonsik
The antaal’sahkal at first looked surprised at the words, then amused. The rest of the guardsmen in the intersection took to looking at each other to confirm they heard correctly.
“Would you put your advisor in his place,” ordered the antaal’sahkal of Irzal.
“He . . . is not what you think . . .” Irzal’s shaking voice cracked.
As the antaal’sahkal started to raise his hand to give an order that would not be favorable to the Farratum Tusaa’Ner, Ezerus felt the Power lash out from the Shunned and grab the Seb’Ner commander. Barely visible to his eyes, a vaporous tendril wrapped itself around the Baraan, lifting up out of his saddle into the air, then smashed him to the ground. Everyone stood in shock at the violence of the attack. The commander’s limp body lifted into the air and again was smashed violently to the ground where he lay unmoving and broken.
“You chose the wrong side,” Ezerus spoke to the antaal’sahkal.
“Guardsmen!” Another Seb’Ner officer, likely the sakal, took up command. “Atta—”
The Seb’Ner sakal’s words cut short by the vaporous tendril wrapping itself around his chest and throat, choking him lightless. A stir among the Seb’Ner turned into a ripple of orders as the well-disciplined guardsmen all drew arms and took up defensive and offensive formations as each thought best, all under a sky with darkening cloud filling with thunder. Darvaar and his Tusaa’Ner bolted in several directions, leaving the Seb’Ner to fight the battle and the Power by themselves.
“Tusaa’Ner!” Ezerus found himself yelling at the top of his ability. “Defend the Za and her aide and cut down any who attack.”
Ezerus watched as Luntanus Alum dismounted and started walking toward the bridge. As individual Seb’Ner guardsmen rushed him in attack, the Shunned struck them with bolts of lightning or lashed them with that vaporous tendril, now looking more like a nimble, flaming, whip like rope of great length. Regardless, the results were the same . . . lightless guardsmen, either by burning or from severing their parts. A volley of arrows arced at the Shunned from the Seb’Ner on the bridge—all deflected away as if blown on strong winds. Pieces of stone walls and tiles from roofs went flying when his burning whip slashed the hardened structures to get at guardsmen seeking protective cover. Small fires ignited everywhere from the dried wood, tinder, and clothing that touched the flaming whip. The Seb’Ner and Anza’s Tusaa’Ner gave no heed to Farratum’s Tusaa’Ner as Luntanus Alum slaughtered all before him as he strolled the cobblestone street.
Ezerus stole a look at a pain-stricken Dajil, finding her eyes now fixed in awe on the wrath of destruction in the street. Not certain how she would react, he gently tapped her shoulder with a long reach from his sarig. Dajil snapped out of her daze and recoiled from Ezerus causing her intense pain and whimpers escaping her lips.
“Order the guardsmen in advance,” the ar’seergal calmly commander her. His seergal looked at him oddly, not seeming to understand who he was for a long moment. Her eyes then focused on him holding an anger that wanted to be unleashed.
“Tusaa’Ner!” she screeched loudly with a grimace. “Battle formation. Advance on the ar’seergal’s decree.”
The Seb’Ner gave up on their attacks against death walking toward them, deciding to retreat to the bridge using orderly formations of three and more. There, they took up and stood in a royal blue line of defensive . . . a wall of guardsmen with shields, swords, and spears bared. Little help that will do against this Shunned, Ezerus thought. Luntanus Alum just kept at his casual pace, slicing and slashing everything in his path. Ezerus thought of the useless loss of guardsmen taking place that could otherwise be consumed into his Tusaa’Ner. He waved his arm in command for the column to move forward with him. The Farratum Tusaa’Ner advanced.
Chapter 34
Blood Bridge
The underground passages followed a main tunnel with several side tunnels too deep for torchlights to penetrate. Everyone ignored them as they followed Daluu’s guardsman. He noted the walls and mostly even floor of the tunnel to be dry and not musty, as he expected. These tunnels must be used quite often. Counting his paces at sixty-six, the four of them stopped at Esizila’s raised left hand. He and Rogaan peered right around a turn in the tunnel. Esizila tossed his torch to the tunnel floor, then kicked dirt on it to extinguish. The tunnel trembled. Everyone looked above to see if the earth was to bury them. Satisfied the tunnel was solid, Esizila motioned for the same to be done with the second torch Aren now carried. With both torches dark, Aren saw that the tunnel around the corner was dimly illuminated with natural light. A wave of the guardsman’s hand put them in motion, the guardsman, followed by Rogaan, then Daluu, and Aren following at the rear. When Aren cleared the turn, he had to shield his eyes from the glare of the tunnel opening ahead. As they slowly approached the tunnel opening, Aren’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, allowing him to see it led to a long bridge made of great slabs of gray stone left and right reinforced and locked together with their shapes and metal braces that had knobs spread across them. The knobs looked similar, though much-larger versions, to those of Rogaan’s bow. In between the stone sides laying across, at their feet and also some three strides above, great timbers that must have been cut from large trees, all fitted carefully, making a strong structure that would sway with the shaking of the ground, which happened often . . . More often than Aren was used to or felt comfortable about.
Stealing a look around the others down the length of the bridge was found a hallway like appearance with vertical windows evenly placed along it, letting in the morning sun from the left. A very long bridge, Aren thought to himself. It made him nervous, a set of spans so long. How has it stood since all this time? At a distance . . . Maybe more than eighty strides stood the circular large stone walls of the tower he observed above when he was taking in Anza from their temple garden perch. The tower had an arched walk-through opening on this side and on its opposite side where it led to another long span of bridge completing the distance across the ravine of Anza. Even longer than I thought. Aren felt even more nervous about being out on this bridge.
“The path looks clear,” the eur-clad guardsman with his deep voice motioned for them to get moving.
As they stepped onto the timbers, each made a test of sturdiness with small hops to ensure the bridge would hold their weight. Aren thought their actions ridiculous but found himself doing the same to make himself feel better. They moved quickly after taking glances out the vertical slots they wished they hadn’t. Oh! We’re so high.
“How old is this bridge?” Aren asked, not knowing if he really wanted someone to answer.
“Since the time of the Ancients,” replied Daluu as if reciting a book.
“Tellen built,” Rogaan added. “It will hold up long after we are dust.”
“I’ll wager it’s Evendiir designed,” Aren added.
“Yes, on both accounts,” Daluu confirmed with a questioning tone. “How did you . . . your fathers have taught you well, Roga of the Blood An and Ar of the House En.”
Rogaan turned and looked at Daluu with scrutinizing brows. He seemed to be studying, examining him as if he were trying to decide something important. “Why call me in that manner?”
“That manner is the formal title used by the Old Blood,” answered Daluu.
“You sound as the Vassal,” pried Rogaan while intensely staring at the Kabiri.
“I don’t know of him,” Daluu replied.
“You certain you are not keeping anything from me?” Rogaan challenged.
“Yes, I am.” Daluu stared back at Rogaan. “Though nothing concerning this . . . Vassal.”
A long moment passed with each simply staring at the other. If he had been Baraan, the long silence might have bothered him, but as it was, Aren just pondered at his formal title while waiting for the two to see who would blink first. Shouts and footfalls above broke the silence as each looked to the others with a sense of alarm.
“Must get moving,” Esizila insist
ed in his deep tone before turning back toward the tower in a brisk walk.
Daluu made to go around Rogaan to join with his guardsman, but Rogaan turned first, then trotted after the eur-clad Esizila. Daluu and Aren followed closely. From the timbers above, many footfalls, muffled commands to take up formations, and terse orders to launch volleys of arrows filled their ears. The crackling of lightning and consuming flames accompanied painful screams of anguish followed as more yelling and footfalls felt as much as heard made Aren anxious at the unknown happening around him. Aren wrinkled his nose of the waft of burning flesh. He felt the Power being used, but the vibrations were slight or maybe distant. He hoped it meant Kabiri or those Kunsag were battling the Seb’Ner, instead of hunting them.
Their group almost made the tower when a large handful of royal blue-armored guardsmen poured from the arched entranceway. Everyone stopped, surprised to see one another. A guardsman with a red cape and blue-feathered helm shouted, “That be them! Take them!”
Almost in unison, the handful of Seb’Ner drew their swords and readied them alongside those pointing spear at the Ebon Circle guardsman and Rogaan. At the red cape’s command, the guardsmen started a methodical line abreast advance, making it impossible to get past without bloodshed.
“We’ll hold them,” Daluu told Rogaan. “Find a safe place in one of the side passages in the tunnels.”
A nod was all Rogaan managed before turning back the way they came, looking at Aren, then past him with widening, frustrated eyes. “You need to look that way, behind you.”
Expecting to see guardsmen with spears in his face, Aren turned. Relief washed through him. Though guardsmen were there on the bridge behind them, they were still at distance. Thinking of what he could do to stop them, he recalled the featherwing’s manifestation that shielded Rogaan from the leapers. He watched, heard, and felt in his memory the elements needed to re-create it. Then, calming his mind, he focused on making the shapes, sounds, and vibrations he remembered. He felt the Power sparking and waning . . . that sweet feeling surging through him, then gone, sparking and waning . . . surging, then gone. When he felt he had it, Aren swept his arms left to right anticipating manifesting a wall of fire in the place of his choosing. Bursts of tiny flames formed in the air across the walkway but then disappeared in small, black puffs. That’s embarrassing. Aren felt his face warm, and not from the fear of getting stuck with a spear. The three royal blue and two scarlet-sashed guardsmen stopped advancing. They looked at each other, hesitating at what they saw between them and their goal.
Again, Aren recalled his memory of the wall of flames made by the featherwing in the wilds . . . seeing and listening and feeling the composition of the manifestation. A blue object passed in front of Aren’s face along with the cracking ring of metal striking metal. When he refocused his eyes on the here and now, he found Rogaan standing slightly right and in front of him nocking an arrow as he drew his bow.
Yells of pain and surprise ushered from several of the five guardsmen. Aren felt confused as Rogaan had not fired but held his bow at full draw. Two of the Seb’Ner fell to the timbers bleeding out as the other three turned in surprise at finding a Tellen, dressed in Seb’Ner scout armor, swinging a one-handed ax at them, and alongside, a tall, lean Baraan with dark hair striking with a pair of daggers to another’s throat. Their strikes just missing their aims, Trundiir and Pax found themselves in a desperate fight with skilled swordsmen. Before Aren could call upon another manifestation, Rogaan released his arrow with a melodic metal ring. It flew true, striking the head of the scarlet-sashed guardsman about to cut down Pax with his blade after the half Tellen’s friend missed with a too aggressively made dagger attack. A dull thwack saw the arrow pass completely through the scarlet-sashed guardsman’s unprotected head, then clattered off stone further down the bridgeway. The guardsman collapsed lightless to the timbers with a thump.
Rogaan was already coming to full draw with a second arrow, then released it in another breath. The arrow flew as a low ringing melody filled Aren’s ears, the stone flint-tipped shaft passing through the guardsman’s neck who was swinging his large sword at Trundiir. Stopping his swing at the impact and passing of the arrow, the guardsman raised his hand to his throat, but not before large spurts of crimson started pumping uncontrolled from both sides of his neck. Gurgles emitted from the bronze-chested guardsman as he fell to his knees, now holding his throat with both hands as his large sword fell. The last guardsman about to strike Trundiir, a scarlet sash, let out a painful howl as his face turned to one of astonishment. He fell to the timbers. Behind him stood Pax with a wicked smile holding a pair of crimson-dripping daggers. A swing from Trundiir’s ax lodged itself deep into the Tusaa’Ner’s head. The Light in the Baraan’s eyes winked out. Trundiir put his boot on the Baraan’s chest to pull his ax out, allowing the limp body to join its companions. The last guardsman, a royal blue sash, wobbling on his knees, fell over lightless.
“A little help!” came the cry from behind.
Aren and Rogaan turned together, finding two royal blue-sashed guardsmen down unmoving on the timbers and Daluu grappling with two more while Esizila fought desperately against blades of the red-caped commander doing everything he knew to keep the blades from taking his Light. Aren quickly recalled his memories of another manifestation, one with more precision than the lightning. As Rogaan released another singing arrow, this time at the red-caped, blue-feathered helmed guardsman, Aren smiled, now knowing how to re-create the sounds and vibrations of his planned manifestation. It took a moment to form in his mind before an aura of blue light grew, engulfing his hands. He wanted more blue light . . . wanted this to hurt the Seb’Ner. It grew with an exalting sense of power surging through him. It feels good, great! He looked up, finding the red-caped guardsman staggering back from the panting Esizila. Appearing unable to put his full weight on his left leg and knee, the Baraan was unmoving. Another singing arrow from the half Tellen punched through another guardsman’s bronze chest armor in the area of the Baraan’s heart as broken flint flew, peppering everyone and everything. The commander looked at the fletching sticking out from his chest, then directly at Rogaan with shocked astonishment coming from under his helm. The guardsman fell backward with a thump on the timbers.
“Help!” came another cry came from Daluu as he lay on the timbers under a guardsman fighting back the arms and a blade a hand’s width from his neck while kicking back another royal blue-sashed Baraan with his right boot.
Aren focused on the guardsman he thought most dangerous, pointing his hands and fingers at his bronze chest piece. He let loose the blue streaking Power, striking the guardsman near driving his blade into Daluu. As a blue aura rippled over chest armor, head, and arms, the guardsman shook while screaming out in pain. The shaking guardsman no longer attacked, instead allowed Daluu to push him up and away before waving his hands as if they were burned. The last standing bronze-chested guardsman recovering his feet from Daluu’s kick quickly surveyed his downed companions, then made to run back into the tower. Before the panicky Seb’Ner could move, Aren felt the vibrations before he heard the sound and saw the lines of Power of a vaporous whipping tendril snap out from the timbers and grab the guardsman. Holding the other end of the tendril was the prone Ebon Circle Kabiri, who didn’t look at all pleased. To Aren, the manifestation felt weak compared to that he sensed before by the Shunned, even at a considerable distance. The frantic guardsman now futilely fought the tendril, slashing his long knife at it. Daluu held the manifestation with considerable effort, then growled as he manipulated it, lifting the guardsman off the timbers and throwing him out a vertical window and from the bridge. The Baraan’s screams ended suddenly without a splash. A moan escaped one of the bronze-chested guardsmen lying about, the Baraan that Aren struck with the Power. As he tried to rise from the timbers, a blade from the Ebon Circle guardsman driven through the neck put an end to his pains and the Seb’Ner’s Light. Aren watched as Rogaan let off his drawn arrow, disarmi
ng the thing while the half Tellen looked upon the scene with a sense of satisfaction.
“A very good effort . . . all spoken,” the Ebon Circle Kabiri commented after his guardsman helped him to his feet.
A dark-haired, yellow streak ran past Aren, slamming into a surprised Rogaan, hugging him as she gave out a little squeal. Rogaan looked as much surprised as everyone else, then hugged her back. Aren watched as the warrior fell away and that dangerously distracted half Tellen returned. Trundiir and Pax approached with earnest, though nothing to match Suhd’s display.
“I thought I left you in the cave . . . where you would be safe,” Rogaan spoke to Pax as he buried his face in Suhd’s hair.
“Your friends convinced me otherwise,” answered Trundiir. “I suspected your plans. Seeing to freeing your father, while I kept these two hidden from it all. When they realized you had gone, they insisted on helping you, despite my best efforts.”
“Well, your help was timely,” Daluu interjected himself into the conversation. “Though I must insist we get moving. A battle rages above, and who knows how many more are seeking us.”
“Speakin’ of dat,” Pax pointed back the way they all came from the tunnel, “some of da red locals be tryin’ ta follow us into da tunnels. Not be knowin’ how long it takin’ dem ta get past da secret stable door.”
“Grab what’s needed,” Daluu told the group.
“Already did.” Trundiir held up a large hand and a half sword the Seb’Ner attacked him with. It looked like a great sword in the Tellen’s hands.
Aren surveyed the downed guardsman. What a mess. The numbers were remarkable. All the guardsmen down and no one in their group hurt. Impressive. Searching, Aren found a wood spear with a short metal tip to use as a staff. He stole a look around before rummaging for pouches and things of value. I can’t have them thinking me a common luzub. To his amusement and relief, the others were already at looting the downed guardsmen of anything valuable, or that could be important to their survival. All except Daluu and his guardsman, who looked upon the activities with a bit of a high nose. Both stood apart from the collecting of “valuables.” Aren then caught the guardsman, Esizila, holding his left side where it appeared his eur armor was wet with blood. So much for everyone without injury. I hope he lives long enough to help us escape.
