More than one arrow clattered against the stones just behind Keltin’s head as he raced to reach the idle cart. He wasn’t sure if Silax was following him, or any of the Protectors for that matter, but Keltin was certain that he had to get this cart back in motion. The absurdity of the danger and the numbness towards his own fear suddenly became incredibly humorous; the longer Keltin ran, the funnier it all became. Typical! he laughed to himself. I only learn to become truly good at a task after I’ve already been cast out. He jumped onto the main platform, seized the guiding posts with a renewed vigor, and was delighted to find Silax in the company of six Protectors all armed with bows. They all climbed in as the cart surged forward and prepared to rejoin the fight.
Keltin maneuvered through fire, bodies, and wreckage as he forged a path along the Cynmeren line. The other carts had abandoned their predictable circuits, instead opting for randomized strikes against small groups of enemies. Keltin found four Protectors being swarmed by at least ten of the beasts, and he angled the cart to pass directly beside this fight. Arrows fired from the right side of the cart slammed into the backs of the Cynmeren, quickly shifting the balance in favor of the Protectors on the ground.
In a cloud of dust and sand, one of the creatures with multiple sets of legs charged towards Keltin’s cart, its tusks flared open menacingly as it approached the nysk attached to the left steering beam. A deceased Cynmeren rider hung limp from the animal’s back, pierced by at least three of the Protectors’ arrows. Keltin pushed the cart right as hard as he could, but the rampant Cynmeren monstrosity was too fast. It latched onto the shell of the nysk with a crushing grip and lifted the helpless beast above the sand. The cart tipped and jerked to the left. Then, in one violent thrashing motion, the Cynmeren horror ripped the nysk free from its guiding pin and flung the animal far across the canyon.
The cart spun to a stop while arrows from the Protectors found their way between segments of the hideous creature’s body. It shrieked, positioning to charge the disabled cart again, but dark blood now poured from its underbelly. With a final wail, its uncontrolled rage was silenced at last. Before its legs had stopped twitching, the Protectors and Silax were already running towards the nearest fight. Keltin abandoned the guiding posts and unsheathed his two isen once more; he ran past the fallen Cynmeren animal, making certain to watch it warily and keep at least three strides between it and himself.
Keltin glanced around the canyon as he ran: the light directors were behind him now, and the entrance to Tamer’s Canyon was within a hundred strides on his right. There were no glowing yellow lights along the nearby cliff, thankfully, and Keltin prayed that this battle had seen the last of the Cynmeren reinforcements. Looking back to the center of the main valley, an unbelievable scene met his eyes. More and more Protectors stormed towards the fight from the passage near the Gates, and fewer and fewer Cynmeren remained to face them. Two of the nysk carts still moved along the enemy line, the rest had fallen to a similar fate as Keltin’s. Or worse, Keltin realized, as he ran past the charred remnants of one of the other carts.
As the group approached the unexpecting Cynmeren, Silax leapt from one attacker to the next, always with a single slice to the throat and always with a delighted grin. The creatures were pinned now between the main force of Protectors, Keltin’s group, and others that had joined from elsewhere in the canyon. Keltin gritted his teeth—the fight was finally almost over, if he could just push on for a bit longer. This was a task he would finish without an ounce of energy remaining; this was a part of his penance that Keltin would complete with pride.
The Cynmeren numbers dwindled until only a handful of their most skilled fighters remained. With victory imminent, the forces of the Penitent Faithful encircled the attackers and pressed with all of their might; they each wanted to be a part of finishing this task. Then, with an arrow through its chest and an isen swinging towards its head, one of the last standing Cynmeren produced a shimmering black orb from some unseen location and held it high. The fight seemed to freeze in time as the Cynmeren used its dying breath to throw the orb to the ground at its feet with a roar.
A blinding flash and a sound too loud to be heard engulfed everything near the spot where the orb fell. Even at twenty strides away, Keltin was lifted into the air from the force of the explosion and knocked to his back. He blinked and flexed his jaw, but the afterimage of the explosion and the screaming silence still plagued his senses. Then a second flash appeared, even closer than the first. Keltin was flung across the sand, jostled against objects that could have been rocks, or Protectors, or Cynmeren—there was no way to ever know.
After a few seconds passed, Keltin felt stillness return and opened his eyes. Amid the pulsating colors that swirled in front of his vision as a result of the explosions, he could see tiny points of light. Familiar points of light. Stars, he determined at last. Those are stars. The blasts were so intense that they had torn a hole straight through the layer of fog high above the Gates. Keltin rolled to his side and vomited from the pain that was rooted deep within every part of his body. He looked at his arms and chest and could see that his robes were tattered and badly burned. A heavy ringing filled his head, and when Keltin reached up to feel his ears, his fingers came back lined with streaks of blood and soot.
Unable to hear but slowly regaining his sight, Keltin lay motionless as his body struggled to remember how to breathe properly. Protectors and Cynmeren alike lay in piles scattered throughout the canyon, some barely moving, most never to move again. As he drew another ragged breath, Keltin saw two figures that approached one of the nearby mounds of fighters. The two wore Protector’s robes, but Keltin knew they had to be Cynmeren because of their dark veils. He blinked. The two were walking away with one of the real Protectors, heading towards the darkness on the eastern side of the valley.
Anger welled up, surpassing Keltin’s confusion and pain. These two Cynmeren had been waiting in the safety of the shadows for the fight to end so they could creep in and capture the last of the surviving Protectors. Keltin found one of his isen and staggered to his feet, determined to keep the attackers from taking anyone else. He glanced down as he walked and discovered Silax trapped beneath one of the dead Cynmeren, flailing his legs as he tried to remove the creature. Keltin rolled the broken body aside and helped Silax to his feet. From the blood on Silax’ ears, Keltin knew his friend couldn’t hear either, so Keltin pointed to the two Cynmeren as they crept away with their prize. Silax understood immediately and retrieved his isen from the sand.
Keltin felt his steps becoming steadier the closer he and Silax came to the two Cynmeren, until at last they were near enough to strike. Silax nodded to Keltin and they both lashed out with the isen in unison, quickly cutting down the Cynmeren and thus freeing the Protector. Silax leaned over and struck one of the fallen beasts with his isen again, then knelt down a moment later and began hacking the creature apart in his fury. Not wanting to watch, Keltin turned his attention to the captive and was startled to find the man’s eyes open and a smile on his battered face as he stared up at one of his rescuers. Then came the shock of recognition—those sunken, piercing eyes belonged to Draeden Ansund.
Keltin smiled back at the familiar face, then realized there could be even more Cynmeren waiting in the looming shadows. He quickly tucked the isen into his sash and rolled the Draeden to one side. The man bared his teeth and let out what Keltin assumed was a terrible yell as he was moved, but all Keltin heard was the continuous ringing silence inside his own head. With all of his remaining strength, Keltin hooked his arms under the Draeden’s shoulders and began dragging the man towards the healing quarters. Finally satisfied with what little remained of the fallen Cynmeren, Silax tucked away his isen as Keltin passed and ran over to help carry the Draeden.
Keltin noticed a terrible gash on Draeden Ansund’s right forearm and a Cynmeren arrow buried deep into his left shoulder. The arrow wound had swollen shut sometime earlier, and it appeared that the Draeden had broken off th
e exposed portion of the shaft in order to keep fighting. Despite all this, though, Keltin felt the man’s body shake from time to time as they walked. He looked down with concern at one point and was astonished by what he saw—the Draeden was laughing. The sound was deep and rich, and it was the first noise to break through the constant ringing in Keltin’s ears.
With a sound like rushing water, Keltin’s hearing slowly returned. Shouts of pain from the wounded coupled with the shouts of the Protectors as they found survivors. This was then followed either by more shouting as an injured Protector was lifted, or the sound of metal meeting flesh as another Cynmeren life was extinguished. Fire crackled on all sides, fueled by a grim assortment of materials that turned Keltin’s stomach any time the wind shifted the smoke his direction. After what seemed a thousand strides, Keltin and Silax were finally past the scene of the main battle.
Just as the entrance to the passages came into view, a group of four Protectors rushed over to take on the burden of carrying the Draeden. Keltin and Silax tried to keep up with this group, but exhaustion began to weigh on each step. They watched as the four Protectors joined a steady flow of workers destined for the healing quarters, all of whom had wounded of their own to carry. When Keltin finally made it inside the passages, one of the Servants stopped him and Silax almost instantly.
“You both need to be seen. Now,” the man instructed, and Keltin was too tired to resist. The fight was finished, Dism Slyde was safe, now it was time to recover. Silax was reluctant to return to a sick bed once again, but he complied as well when he finally took note of the blood and burns covering his robes. The Servant ushered Keltin and Silax into one of the healing rooms and inspected them both quickly before beginning to remove the tattered strips that had once been their clothing. Keltin gasped through clenched teeth when his undershirt was lifted—he looked down to find something dark and jagged sticking through his left side.
“That will need to come out immediately,” the Servant exclaimed. “Stay where you are and don’t touch it.” The servant rushed out of the room, leaving Keltin and Silax both staring at the mysterious object.
“What is it?” Keltin asked worriedly.
“I can’t really tell,” Silax replied with a puzzled frown. “A Cynmeren weapon of some sort? Or maybe something from that explosion. It looks sharp, whatever it is.”
The Servant returned with two others, and they positioned Keltin on one of the beds so that his left side pointed up. He felt something cold on the skin around the object just before a voice whispered next to his ear, “Stay still.”
Excruciating pain followed as one of the Servants pressed on the blunt end of the object while the other two Servants held Keltin in place. It was a good thing they were there, because Keltin screamed and attempted to thrash his limbs with more strength than he thought he had left. The edges of his vision faded to grey as he watched the object being pulled out of his back, then at last the task was done. Keltin panted, relieved that the pain was over.
After a quick cleaning of the area and the application of ointment and bandages, one of the Servants presented what had passed through Keltin’s side. “It’s the tip of one of the scrid’s legs,” the man said in amazement as he idly turned over the spike that was nearly twice the length of Keltin’s hand. Thin spines radiated along the object, all pointing away from the tip.
“The what’s legs?” Keltin asked.
“Scrid,” the Servant explained as he flipped the object over again. “The animal the Cynmeren ride with the dozens of legs and the sharp tusks. This tip broke off one of the legs and punched all the way through your side. You must have been very close to one of them during the fight.”
“Several times,” Silax said grimly from the other side of Keltin’s bed.
“I didn’t even feel it,” Keltin said in disbelief.
“That’s probably for the best,” the Servant said. “It looks like it would have hurt going in even more than it did coming out.” He passed Keltin the leg tip and walked over to Silax. “Think any of your injuries are more interesting than that?” the Servant asked.
“Let’s hope not,” Silax replied with a raised brow. They disappeared to the other bed behind Keltin as one of the other Servants lifted a blanket over him.
“Get some rest,” the Servant said soothingly. “We’ll be back soon with water and food. Then we’ll see about getting you cleaned up.” Keltin nodded, the haze of sleep already drifting across his thoughts. “Do you want me to take that?” the Servant asked, pointing to the leg tip.
Keltin blinked and gripped the blunt end of the spike firmly; though it was a hideous thing, he felt a strange connection to it. The spike was a reminder of the fight and of the pain he had endured to survive it. It was also proof that he had served the Venerates faithfully, even in the face of incredible danger. “No,” Keltin yawned suddenly. “This stays with me.”
---
Keltin awoke to find Silax standing over him, eyes glittering in the light of the torch he held in his hand as he used his other hand to shake Keltin’s shoulder. A repetitive sound drifted in from the hallway, but Keltin’s groggy mind failed to recognize its importance until he finally understood the words Silax spoke.
“The High Conduit wants anyone who can walk to gather at the Spire,” Silax said. “It’s an emergency Calling, and from what the Protectors tell me, that means we should be there.” Now Keltin realized the source of the repetitive noise—it was the Calling chimes sounding over and over again in the distance. Keltin threw aside the blanket and attempted to sit up; he was immediately halted by a searing pain in his side. “Slow,” Silax cautioned as he hurried over to assist. “That puncture wound isn’t something to aggravate.”
Keltin peered out into the darkened corridor beyond the room. “How long was I asleep?” he asked as Silax helped him sit upright.
“Just a few hours,” Silax replied. “The Servants have only been by once since you were awake; they’ve been busy tending to the more seriously injured. They did get you into some new robes while they were here, at least.” Keltin glanced down at his arms and chest and quickly confirmed that Silax was correct.
“How did they do that without waking me up?” Keltin wondered.
“You were completely unconscious,” Silax responded. “They practically stood you up to change you, but you kept snoring through the whole thing. It was more than a little humorous. Oh, and when they were finishing up, a visitor stopped by to check on you. One of the Vessel Guards, by the look of his robe. He didn’t say his name, he just laughed and said he was glad to see that you’re ‘still good at sleeping.’”
“Tir!” Wyand exclaimed. “That had to be Tir.”
“The one that rescued you from Drugoth? That makes sense,” Silax nodded. “He said he would be back to check on you again tomorrow. Come on, though, we need to get to the Spire.”
Keltin agreed, and slowly eased himself out of bed. The pain still throbbed below his ribs, but walking didn’t irritate it too badly. He retrieved his isen and the scrid spike from a table beside the bed before leaving the room and secured them both to his sash. The weight of the spike felt strange against Keltin’s left hip, especially considering the proximity to the injury it had caused, but it was an object of pride now. “You seem to be feeling a lot better,” Keltin commented as he and Silax walked down the long staircase a few moments later.
“I only had a few small cuts and bruises,” Silax said. “For a fight that intense, it’s a blessing from the Venerates, without a doubt.”
“That’s wonderful, but I meant you seem to feel better now than you have since you arrived here. What changed?” Keltin asked.
“Oh,” Silax hesitated. “The Draeden spoke with me earlier—just before the attack, actually. He showed me that my unwillingness to eat, drink, and get my strength back was insulting to the Venerates since it meant I couldn’t work. I understand now—my purpose is to serve the Venerates, no matter where I am.”
“You�
��re beginning to accept your penance,” Keltin said proudly. “That’s when things started to get easier for me, too.” Silax frowned, but a small nod an instant later showed that he seemed to agree. They walked in silence down the remaining stairs. When Keltin and Silax emerged from the passageway, they moved towards a crowd gathering on the plain beneath the Holy Spire. A ring of torches surrounded them, and many of the workers cast expectant glances at a balcony high above as they waited for the High Conduit to appear. They were a haggard group, broken and bandaged, but each stood with the pride of diligent service.
As Keltin drew closer, he spotted a group of Protectors standing guard around something directly beneath the balcony. It was difficult to see through the crowd and the Protectors, but then a glimmer of the pale yellow light found its way to Keltin’s eye. “Cynmeren!” Keltin said with disgust.
“Where?” Silax growled, searching the plain with eagerness more than worry.
“Behind the Protectors,” Keltin said, pointing to the group beneath the balcony.
“If the beasts aren’t dead, they will be soon,” Silax muttered as he drew his isen. He stopped when one of the Protectors shifted, momentarily revealing the full form of one of the Cynmeren. Its glowing head was absent and the rest of its body was lashed to a thick post—the same sort of post that stood behind the countless hundreds of dead Cynmeren lining the path to the Gates of Contrition.
“Definitely dead,” Keltin said as they made their way closer to the line of Protectors. More and more of the headless Cynmeren came into view, but Keltin couldn’t understand the purpose of having them here. After such a horrific battle, he thought the creatures responsible for the attack would be the last thing the Penitent Faithful wanted to see; and yet members of the crowd pressed against the Protectors from time to time, seemingly intent on getting closer to the creatures. Not wanting to push through the crowd any farther, Keltin and Silax found a spot to stand as they, too, waited for the High Conduit.
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