Reckoning

by David Adams

  She drove Ashtalon through him, meeting his eyes as he turned to face her one last time. His lips moved, likely to hurl a final curse in her direction, but no words came out. While their gazes remained locked he turned to black mist and vanished, leaving behind only the Book of Dread, which fell to the ground with a solid thud. She held the pose several seconds after he was gone, as if he were still alive and held fast upon her blade.

  For a moment a hush fell, then the spell was broken by cries of confusion and pain, questions and accusations. Uesra quickly reached for the book, but her fingers paused inches from its spine. She looked up at Darius and said, “You’d better take it.”

  Darius did so, sliding it deftly under his cloak.

  Those who had been pressing Uesra gathered around her, Xanar, and Darius, a few casting hard glances at Darius, wanting to know what it was he was hiding. But of more interest to the crowd at the moment were the two Ice Elves.

  “I saw her,” said one man, pointing at Uesra. “She transformed into a demon.”

  With time the odd accusation would make sense to Uesra, but at the moment she was left speechless.

  “She didn’t change,” Darius said. “It was a trick played on your mind.”

  The man brought his sword up. “You’re saying I’m—”

  An older man next to the offended party gently pushed his sword arm down. “I saw you as a demon, Cazgo, and everyone else here as well.”

  “Her trick, no doubt,” he retorted, but some of the venom had gone out of his voice.

  “The trick was that of the true demon,” Darius said. “Praad, I believe.” He glanced at Uesra, who confirmed his guess with a nod.

  “So where is this demon now?” the man wanted to know.

  “Gone,” Uesra answered. “Dead, I hope.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I ran him through, and he turned to mist. I believe he has passed back into his own plane, but I am not well-versed enough in such things to be sure.”

  “Seemed well-versed enough when you took the shape,” Cazgo said.

  “Enough,” the older man said. He saw the blood on Cazgo’s sword and understood. “No one’s blaming you. We were all fooled in the same way.”

  Cazgo reddened and started to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He threw his sword down and stalked off.

  “One of his friends is dead back there,” the older man explained. “It appears by Cazgo’s hand.”

  “The enemy’s magic is strong,” Darius said. He glanced at Xanar and his stomach clenched as he thought of how close he had come to making the same mistake. “He’s not to blame, although such words will be of little comfort.”

  The man nodded. “I need to go talk to him. I’m not sure what’s happened here, but I don’t think you newcomers were the cause of it. My name is Donte. If you’re in need of a calming voice, I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” Darius said, and Uesra and Xanar added their gratitude as well.

  For the time being, the needs of the injured took precedence, and although there was plenty of distrust and more than a few accusing glares, tempers remained in check. Barlow had gone in search of his sword, fearing its loss to such an extent that he could focus on little else. Silas had found Adrianna, and just as they assured one another that they were okay, they heard someone cry, “I’ve found the Captain! Over here!”

  Silas and Adrianna were pulled in by the call, as were many others. Yosh had taken a wound to the stomach. His hands covered the hole, but they in turn were covered with blood. He could only offer a weak smile, knowing he would soon be beyond suffering. He coughed, and the pain the motion caused was etched on his face. His men looked at him numbly, unsure how to respond to such a mortal wound.

  Silas pushed through and knelt at Yosh’s side. Someone reached out and grabbed at his shoulder, muttering about the strangers that had brought so much trouble into the camp. Silas turned and met the man’s harsh face with his own composed look. “I might be able to help.”

  The man released him with a half-shove and a snarl. “I’ll be watching.”

  Silas didn’t need to pull Yosh’s hands away to see how bad the injury was. “See if you can find Barlow,” he told Adrianna. “Maybe together…” He let his voice trail off, placed a hand on Yosh’s shoulder, and started to pray.

  Whether there was some connection between Barlow and Gabriel that allowed the sword to call to him, or by sheer luck, Barlow had found his weapon swiftly. He held it before him and breathed a heavy sigh. He could almost feel power flowing through the hilt and into his hand, from where it could course through him. It may have been no more real than the images Praad had planted in his mind, but there was no question Barlow felt stronger, and more whole, with Gabriel in his hands.

  Adrianna came up behind him while he was holding up the sword. Without even seeing his face she could sense his relief. She fingered the amulet through which she focused her power and thought she could understand how he must feel. When he lowered the weapon, she cleared her throat and said, “Silas needs your help.”

  The blood pooled around Yosh was enough for Barlow to think him beyond help. The brief look he got from Silas confirmed it. Still, he fell to his knees and allowed healing power to flow out to the injured captain, bringing him some relief from his suffering.

  “I think you’d best save your energy for those it might save,” Yosh said, his tongue red with his own blood.

  “Try to be still,” Silas told him.

  “I’ll soon be doing that forever.”

  They knew Yosh had seen enough death that there was no reason to offer false encouragement, so they remained silent. But while they could, they would tend to him as well as they were able.

  Yosh’s breathing was growing more ragged and desperate. He coughed hard, grimacing against the pain, and then took a few more uneven breaths to compose himself. “What happened here? Was it one of the brothers?”

  “I hope it was,” Silas replied. “Whatever planted those images in our minds seems to have been defeated.”

  “I’ll assume it is so, and leave this world thinking your quest is that much closer to completion.” He looked beyond Silas and Barlow to his own men, their faces unable to mask the sorrow his passing was causing. “Help these good folk if you can,” he told them. “They’ve told me what it is they seek to do, and they fight the same enemy that we do. If I would—”

  He was racked by another fit of coughing, and when it finally subsided he looked at Silas and Barlow apologetically, seeing the fine red dots of blood with which his spasm had covered them. “Probably shouldn’t talk.” He winced, confirming for himself he had spoken the truth, then felt the pain start to ebb. He sighed and then drew in one last breath, which slowly leaked out as he passed from the world.

  Silas closed Yosh’s eyelids, leaving a subtle smear of blood on them. He looked at his own hands then, bright red from his ministrations, the stains symbolic of sacrifice and loss. He could only hope Yosh’s sacrifice, and those of so many others like him, would be rewarded in the end.

  The Captain had made one final contribution to the companions’ quest with his last words, although perhaps not as fully as he hoped. With Yosh’s passing, and with a dozen other deaths and serious injuries among his men, there would be further aspersions cast upon the newcomers. The fact that they had managed to come through the fight unscathed did not help matters, nor did the fact that Praad, once defeated, had vanished, leaving no solid evidence to back the companions’ story. But those who had heard Yosh’s final request, and cooler heads among those that hadn’t, were able to stay the hand of any that wanted to test the newcomers in battle, and even if that was not all that Yosh had intended, it was still of great value.

  After a time they pieced together what had happened. Understanding who it was they were fighting brought little comfort to Yosh’s men—they had thought corrupt men to be the enemy they had been battling in their attempts to protect the innocent on Lo
ngvale. Many did not believe the story—didn’t want to—and still suspected the elves of some treachery. In the end it seemed best to all that the companions simply continue on their way, while Yosh’s men would see to their own and set their future course at some later time. The companions gathered their things as dawn brightened into day, and left the camp in silence, receiving quiet wishes of good luck in only slightly greater numbers than icy stares.

  * * *

  The day was shaping up to be a pleasant one, the sun high and bright, the temperature still cold but little wind to steal away their body heat. But the companions had found the road and covered several miles in quiet, somber contemplation, and if any had seen them pass they could not have guessed that this group had just accomplished the first of three daunting tasks. Adrianna was the first to comment on their lack of cheer, though she admitted feeling little herself.

  “Victory usually comes with a price,” Silas said, thinking of Yosh and the others who had fallen. “As such it leaves little room for unchecked celebration. And we have more bitter work ahead.”

  “It is not just that,” Darius said. “I’ve given a shout when victory has been claimed on the battlefield, long before the dead were buried. And I know the pain of losing someone close.” He paused, let out a soft sigh, then went on. “I can’t help thinking about how close I came to attacking Xanar. How easily manipulated I was.”

  “Not that easily,” Uesra said. “You didn’t strike Xanar, you helped him.”

  “But it was a close thing…”

  “We knew the challenges we would face would be difficult, and all our lives at risk. The fact that we came near disaster does not change the end result.”

  “But it does make one all the more uncertain,” Barlow said. “I understand what Darius is saying.”

  “If we can’t trust our own senses…” Adrianna left the rest unsaid.

  They walked on a while in silence, the world quiet about them, as if they had passed into an area where no other creature dared to dwell. Going south, to the heart of where evil now lived, they wondered if that might actually be so. Finally Xanar said, “Seems we have two choices, the same two we always have. Go on, or turn back.”

  No one could argue with that, and there was no need to discuss which option they should choose. Somehow that helped.

  * * *

  Kaelesh sat puzzling, wondering again what might have become of Praad. He knew his brothers liked some autonomy of action, and he willingly granted Praad a reprieve from constant requests for updates, but considering his last message indicated he had found the book, he had expected to hear news quickly. Now his attempts to contact Praad had been ignored for two days, and Kaelesh wondered if the worst, however improbable, had come to pass. He decided it was time to find out.

  He pondered the issue for a few more moments, then set about making preparations. When he was done, he called out to the abyss, summoning one of Praad’s servants by name, compelling it to come forth.

  Within the figure Kaelesh had drawn on the floor a mist formed and took shape. The small demon that appeared eyed him warily. It struggled to control its shivering, which might have been caused by the relative cold of the mortal plane or by fear. “You called, oh great one,” it squeaked through chattering teeth.

  “I’m wondering if you’ve seen my brother, Bozlan,” Kaelesh said.

  “I have. He has returned.”

  Kaelesh lifted an eyebrow. “Have you spoken with him?”

  “At great length. He expected this summons.”

  “And what would he have you say?”

  “There were two Ice Elves in the party accompanying the book. He could not control them, and they managed to surprise him. He…” The demon looked at the floor, not wanting to say any more.

  “Go on,” Kaelesh commanded.

  “My master Praad was quite displeased that he was not allowed to test the skills of the elves earlier, when he reached their wood. He also bade me say that the Dezku failed to notice the passing of the party with the book out of the elven forest.” The words came out in a rush, the little demon saying only what it was ordered to say but clearly expecting to be punished for it. When Kaelesh opened his mouth to speak the unfortunate creature flinched as if warding off a blow.

  “I suppose he feels the need to justify his failure. If it makes him feel better, so be it. Tell me what happened.”

  The demon did as it was told, expecting to be struck every time it came to some point where things did not go as Praad or Kaelesh would have wanted. When it was finished, Kaelesh sat thinking for some time, forcing the creature to wait. It shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and dared not speak another word.

  Kaelesh was disappointed, of course, particularly given that Praad had come so close to a complete victory. But it was clear to him that the elves, while good fighters, had won due to their immunity to Praad’s specialized skills, and that had he met them when more on guard, he likely would have triumphed. “Tell him I am sorry for his misfortune, and that he will be avenged.”

  “Yes, mighty one.”

  Kaelesh gave a wave, and the demon, with obvious relief, returned to the abyss.

  The more Kaelesh thought about what had happened the more annoyed he became, and that annoyance soon became anger. These people had been obstinate and at times brazen for far too long, and now they had even struck down his brother, sending Praad below for a hundred years. Praad would be avenged, that much Kaelesh was sure of, and Orgoth was an expert at extracting revenge. The thought brought a gruesome smile to Kaelesh’s lips as he started to cast another spell.

  Chapter 13: To the Vale

  They had only stayed on the road for a short time after they had left Yosh’s camp. They figured it would be watched, and that anyone they might encounter moving in so public a fashion was as likely to be a servant of the enemy as anything else. The weather had turned warmer—not quite spring-like but not all that uncomfortable—and the further south they went the less the snow on the ground hindered them. They thought winter probably had a punch or two left, and late storms can be heavy with snow, but they grew more hopeful by the day that they might have seen the last of the truly difficult weather.

  Given that they weren’t going to use the Coast Road, the best guide to Old Bern would be the Vale River, which originated in the Dragon’s Teeth just west of New Bern. Only briefly did they consider returning to Barlow’s former home, from whence Barlow had departed as a sort of hero for fending off the Dezku. It was still possible they’d be welcomed there as friends, but even if they were they would be exposing the town to attack or retribution. While the wilder accusations of some of Yosh’s men had been far off base, the idea that the travelers had brought disaster to the camp was not. They didn’t want to repeat that again, and so they took a more southerly course, planning to strike the river well below New Bern.

  The country nearer the road was, in better times, fertile, and much of it had been farmed, making their passage for a time an easy one. While the land beyond these farms was still untamed, the low brush and sparse trees did little to hinder them, and for that they were grateful, particularly given that no paths were to be found here. The only other drawback was that there was little in the way of cover, but that worked both ways. An ambush was far less likely.

  On their fourth day since leaving the road behind, just as twilight fell, Xanar thought he saw something ahead, a deeper shadow behind a line of short bushes. He called the others’ attention to the area, even as he urged them to keep moving. They passed some forty yards west of the bushes without further incident, and Xanar noted, “Might have been nothing. Just a trick of the fading light.”

  “Possibly,” Silas admitted, “or even just a stray animal. But we’ve been watched before, and the enemy will do so again if he can.”

  “And I trust your eyes more than you’ll admit that you do,” Uesra added. “Something was there. If it comes back, we need to be ready.”

  The sky on t
his falling night was clear, but the moon, only a few days from being new, did little to light their way. They stumbled on for a time, wanting to put some distance between themselves and whatever Xanar had seen before stopping for the night. After a few hours they decided they had done what they could, and that they were only risking a sprained ankle—or worse—by pushing ahead into the rapidly blackening wilderness. They found a small glade of trees with an open area in the middle and set their camp there. Their debate over a fire was brief. They wanted the warmth, and if they were being tracked, the chance to spot whatever it was that was doing so. If the shadow had been a spy, they considered the chance that it had lost them a slim one, considering they hadn’t been able to move swiftly or silently, nor had they had time to change directions multiple times to throw off possible pursuit. Once the fire was going they sat around it in a wide circle eating a small meal, talking a bit but mostly searching the night for any movement.

  On the second watch of the night Darius and Adrianna were slowly circling the camp, while the others tried to sleep with one eye open. Several hours in, Darius caught some movement out of the corner of his eye, but inside the camp rather than outside of it. Subtly but surely Xanar, who had bedded down with his bow at his side, was preparing to fire his weapon. He was lying nearly flat on his back with his bow on his chest and was starting to draw the bowstring taut. He must have noticed the pause in Darius’ movement, because he froze as well. He indicated with a fractional thrust of his head that Darius should keep on as if nothing was happening. Darius did so, trying to see where Xanar might be aiming without being obvious about it. Whatever his friend had spotted remained invisible to him, and, given her measured pace, to Adrianna as well.