Tremors of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  Shyla spoke next. “J’arn, yer people do need yeh. They need yeh to do what’s in front of yeh. No less.”

  J’arn met the girl’s eyes, his gaze stern. “Miss Shyla, ye know I respect your mind, but ye must respect me honor. I can’t go traipsin’ off to Airieland while my kingdom falls.”

  “And I suppose yeh plan to go back to Belgorne, and hold ’er up with yer bare hands?”

  The prince darkened.

  “She’s right, Prince J’arn,” said Aria. “You would know that my own heart is as torn as yours. I wish to be in Thornwood with my people, to help them however I can. But if this is our path, then this is how we must help them.”

  Lucan spoke up. “Aren’t we missing something here? What in Tahr are the four of us – even with an Airie – gonna do against the power of Fury? You said we all must be ‘extraordinary’ in some way, Mistress. Well, I hate to shatter your dreams, but I’m about as extraordinary as a lump of coal. Not that I’m shying from the job, mind you. I find myself temporarily between residences currently, and Eyreloch’s as good as anywhere. But your eggs are in the wrong basket.”

  “I hate to say it, but he’s right,” said Mikallis. “Sir Barris, I do not doubt whether your version of the future we face is accurate, but it seems to me that we are jumping to conclusions in deciding who these fated five must be.”

  “I do not believe it is fate,” said Barris. “Chance, perhaps. A foreseen path, to some degree. But not fate.”

  “Trivia,” said Mikallis. “The point is, well, Lucan said it himself: there is nothing extraordinary about him.”

  “Sergeant Rocks, may I borrow your shield?” asked Barris.

  “Uh… sure.” He reached behind himself and lifted the round wooden shield from his back, handing it to Barris.

  “Lucan, stand and withdraw your dagger.”

  Lucan frowned, but complied.

  “Hit it at its apex.” Without additional warning, Barris heaved the shield into the air. Lucan waited one second, two, then threw the dagger. Barris stepped back to catch the shield as it returned; the dagger was stuck two fingers deep, in its absolute center.

  “Impressive,” said Aria, meaning it.

  “Agreed,” said Mikallis. “But hardly extraordinary.”

  “Mikallis, lend Lucan your scarf,” ordered Barris.

  “My scarf?” asked Mikallis. Barris nodded; the annoyed captain complied.

  “Tie it around your eyes, Lucan.”

  “Wait, what? I can’t–”

  “Do it.”

  Lucan tied the scarf around his eyes. Barris walked to the man and handed him back his dagger.

  Listen for the shield, do not watch for it, he said wordlessly. Listen with your bones. And with a bit of flair this time. Barris walked a few paces away and again threw the shield. Lucan knew precisely where it was. He needed no explanation on the technique; he saw it released as if his eyes were open. He waited until it reached its zenith and began its descent, and threw the dagger with all the force he could muster, directly at Barris.

  Several gasped but Barris did not flinch, catching the shield just as Lucan’s dagger embedded itself in the same spot as before, though the second throw buried the dagger near to its hilt. The assembly applauded, all but one. Lucan pulled off the blindfold, bowing graciously.

  “Didn’t know I could do that!” said Lucan.

  “Mawbottom, why would yeh ever try?” said Shyla.

  “Now that was extraordinary,” said J’arn. “Well done, Lucan.”

  “Let us only hope that the demons of Fury do not bother trying to dodge thrown daggers,” said Mikallis icily.

  Barris ignored the slight. “Shyla. Would you care to participate?”

  Shyla recalled her grandmother’s warning to hide her magic, but decided that if there was ever a time to test herself, this was it.

  “Trellia tells me you are Cindra Sandshingle’s granddaughter. Is this true?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you have magic.”

  “Yup.”

  “Show us.”

  Shyla expected to be set to a task, not to think up one of her own. Clever as she was though, she decided on a tactic.

  “Which of yeh here think this be all a bunch o’ beetle dung?”

  No one spoke.

  “C’mon, now. Which of yeh? Mikallis, yeh don’t think there be naught to all this, do yeh?”

  “I… I did not. Though I expect I am about to be proven wrong.”

  Shyla sighed loudly. “Ugh! Fine. J’arn, go tell Mikallis somethin’. Whisper it in his ear, real quite like.”

  Barris understood. “No, that could be mistaken for exceptional hearing. I have another idea.” He walked over to Shyla and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes widened, then she smiled mischievously, dimples swallowing her freckles whole.

  “Alright. Each of yeh, think of a number between one and ten. Hold it in yer head fer a turn.”

  Shyla directed her attention briefly to each seated around the table. She paused when she reached Mikallis. “Play fair, Captain,” she said. He rolled his eyes, and Shyla moved along the table. After a moment, she spoke.

  “Sixty-and-one,” she declared proudly.

  “What’s that? Wasn’t my number,” said Lucan. “You said between one and–”

  “That be the sum of all yer numbers.”

  “It is not,” said Mikallis. “You can only be guessing.”

  “Fine! I’ll walk away, tell each other what yer numbers were and add ‘em up yerselves!” She did, and they did. After a turn, they called her back to the table.

  Aria spoke. “You’re right, Shyla, but you could have guessed it. After all, there are eleven of us here, and an average total would likely be somewhere near–”

  “Princess, eight. Mistress, four. Miss Trellia, seven. Mikallis, you tried to jump between ten, one, and six, but settled on three. Narl, two. Fannor, two. Rocks, one. Lucan, ten. Garlan, six. Boot, seven. J’arn, one. Barris, ten.”

  Trellia shook her head. “Natural accountant.”

  “What’s an accountant?” asked Shyla.

  “Never mind. Boring job. But I think we have our answer,” said Trellia.

  Barris spoke. “As for you, Princess, we know you have magic, so it will be difficult to–”

  Pheonaris interrupted. “No difficulty there, Sir Barris. Aria is beyond exceptional. If I had any doubt of it before our ride south, her feat with Sera would have dispelled it.” Princess Aria nodded in gratitude to her mentor.

  “Which leaves me,” said J’arn. “Nary a drop o’ magic here, of that I be certain.”

  “I would not be so sure,” said Barris. “Just because you don’t know it’s there–”

  “It’s not there. And I wouldn’t want it if it were.”

  “Not even to save your people?” asked Aria.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Is there a test you can think of, Pheonaris?” asked Barris. “For one who does not know?”

  “I can think of one,” said Trellia. “But you won’t like it.”

  “Try me,” said Barris.

  “Not up to you. Prince J’arn, how’s your pain threshold?”

  J’arn shifted uncomfortably. “ ’Bout the same as any dwarf’s, I’d guess.”

  “Meaning he ain’t got no threshold!” declared Boot. “Ain’t nothin’ tougher than a dwarf!”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you’re doing me any favors,” said J’arn.

  “Oh. Right,” said Boot, understanding.

  “It will hurt quite a lot, Prince J’arn. Quite a lot.”

  J’arn sighed. “As Boot said. Do what ye must.”

  Trellia stood and walked around the table to the dwarf. She leaned in and spoke softly. “I’m sorry for this, Prince J’arn. Stop me if you can.”

  She grasped the prince’s shoulders firmly; immediately he began screaming in agony.

  “What is she doing?!” demanded Boot.

  “She will not
harm him, Boot. Peace, now,” said Barris.

  J’arn’s screams intensified. He began to writhe.

  “Fury, lady, stop it!” exclaimed Narl, rising to help his prince. Fannor grabbed his sleeve. “J’arn can take it,” the elder brother said plainly.

  Trellia stared into Prince J’arn’s eyes as she sent waves of pain through his body. The dwarf continued to scream and thrash, but could not break her grasp. She could feel no resistance from the prince; Trellia decided that she had not yet penetrated his dwarven fortifications of bravery and strength. He was not yet suffering enough. She dug her nails into his shoulder and inhaled.

  Trellia exhaled, and J’arn knew a pain that exceeded anything he could have ever imagined. He felt as if his very bones melted, his veins froze and shattered, his eyes burst in their sockets, his beard was torn from his face. His mind and body rode a wave of torture, surpassing mere pain, blasting through agony, exceeding anguish; beyond those, he found fear. A fear that Trellia was in fact trying to kill him. A fear that he would die here, and be unable to return to save his people. Upon naming that terror, Prince J’arn Silverstone inhaled. When he exhaled, the bones in Vicaris Trellia’s hands very nearly snapped.

  She released her hold on the prince and jumped back with a scream. Immediately she began to chant, sending healing energies from her mind and heart into her hands. Aria jumped to assist, as did Pheonaris and Barris. The Vicaris’ fingernails had turned purple. The damage J’arn had caused her was unlike the pain she had caused him; his injury was in his mind. Hers was very real; it took several turns and the chanting of Aria, Barris, and Pheonaris to ease her suffering. But they did, and aside from some bruising that would require time to abate, the Vicaris was unharmed.

  After a series of vulgar oaths, J’arn accepted that it was likely he possessed some latent power. When he finally stopped cursing and admitted as much, the discussion returned to where it had been left before the four were tested.

  “I believe it is settled; we can say without question that the four of you possess rare, innate gifts,” said Barris. “Do any here doubt?”

  None replied.

  “Very well. Then I believe our path is clear. The fifth must be found. Logically we can conclude that person is an Airie, but regardless, travel to Eyreloch is required, for we will need their power to stand against whatever lies ahead. Aria. Lucan. Shyla. J’arn. Will you go?”

  Aria nodded immediately. “If you truly believe it serves my people, I will go.”

  “It serves all people, Princess. Thank you. Nü glahr ni.”

  “Nü glahr ni,” agreed Trellia and Pheonaris.

  “I’ll go,” said Lucan cheerfully. “Like I said, nowhere else to be.”

  “This will be no pleasure trip, Lucan,” said Barris.

  “Says you. I take my pleasure where I find it.”

  Mikallis glared at the man.

  “Well, Lady Cindra said I were to be findin’ a path here, and here I be, and here be a path. ’Spose it’d be silly to walk the other way. Yeh can count me in.” The gnome turned to J’arn expectantly.

  J’arn turned to Kelgarr. “Boot. Ye been quiet.”

  “Aye,” Boot acknowledged.

  “Speak your mind.”

  “No need.”

  J’arn persisted. “Why do ye say that?”

  Garlan replied for Boot. “Because we didn’t come all the way out here just to carry Starl and Jender’s axes right back to Belgorne.”

  J’arn swallowed.

  Boot nodded. “Aye. And because the moment ye think to consider what your father would do, were he in your boots, ye’ll make the right choice.”

  “I be not my father, Garlan.”

  “Aye. Not yet,” said Boot.

  The prince took a breath and closed his eyes, remembering the faces of his two fallen subjects, his soldiers, his friends. He recalled the face of his father, his hero, the most honorable and brave dwarf J’arn had ever known. When he opened them, the issue was decided.

  “Eyreloch.”

  END OF PART THREE

  THE DAYS OF ASH AND FURY, PART FOUR

  XXIV: THORNWOOD

  Sir Marchion’s interpretation of events had been met with skepticism; not even the queen’s support lent it much credibility in the eyes of Nishali, Kender, and Tobias. The Second Knight had spoken the first passage of prophecy and relayed his analysis with conviction, but without the ceremony of Provari to give his words context, the idea was far too implausible.

  Nevertheless, they all agreed that their current doom had likely initiated in G’naath, whether through the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy or the employment of some powerful, unknown magic. Action was required. Queen Evanti had long ago learned that to be a queen was to be a pragmatist. Privately, her heart was riddled with arrows of doubt and guilt as she ordered the elven army to prepare for an assault on G’naath. She could not name the gnomish people her enemy, not with certainty. But neither could she deny the logic of the notion, and to remain idle could spell the end for her people. The face she wore before her councilors as she gave the order had been resolute. She had been grateful for Kender’s pleas, as they had been sufficient to sway the others against an outright attack; Thornwood would marshal its forces within the Maw and attempt a parley with the gnomish people, but if that parley proved fruitless, the elves would invade.

  Tobias and Marchion met separately after the meet had concluded and decided upon the tactic of advance. Marchion’s knights would depart immediately, in full strength, following the road south to the Grove, turning east at the Morline, making all haste for the Maw and carrying the army’s provisions. The Guard would remain in Thornwood. Tobias’ army would follow the Rangers. Nishali’s rangers would Swarm.

  A Swarm was a specific elven tactic of troop deployment, designed and practiced to achieve a surprise advance on an enemy target over rough terrain. Unlike a forced march, a Swarm of elven rangers would not conform to any specific formation. Instead, each elf would dash for the objective at his or her own fastest pace, taking whichever route each deemed suitable. A ranger would run when they could run, climb when they must climb, swim when confronted with a body of water, and rest when they must rest, all while maintaining a telepathic Link with no fewer than a score of their brethren. The squads would be arranged in half-scores called Tenths, and the links would overlap; ten elves would depart, followed quickly by the next Tenth. The first Tenth would be Linked to the second, the second Linked to both the first and the third, the third to the second and forth, and so on.

  If the first Tenth encountered an obstacle during its advance, the next Tenth would be warned to avoid it, and would relay a warning to those that followed. If an enemy position was sighted, or resistance was met, a strategy would be decided upon, and the necessary number of elves would fragment off from the main Swarm to deal with the threat.

  The effect truly resembled a swarm of flying insects. The collective wisdom of a Swarm enabled the elven rangers to quickly ascertain the fastest, safest route to a destination. Even small obstacles like fallen trees, trenches of mud, protruding rocks and ankle-twisting holes were conveyed through images to the elves that followed the forward Tenths. Darkness did nothing to slow their advance; the leading ranks would leave a trail of glowing magical orbs along the fastest path; each passing Tenth would either confirm the route by leaving the orbs in place, or alter it by extinguishing the lights and leaving behind their own.

  The result was a race, a contest of endurance; and the ubiquitous pride of the Rangers of Thornwood ensured that they would arrive at their destination not only in high morale, but more quickly than any non-ranger could ever hope to surpass. The technique was drilled continuously during times of peace; even elven children were somewhat practiced at the skill, and would hold entertaining competitions to discover who among them would someday be best suited for service as a ranger.

  The Knights of Thornwood conducted their advances with much more precision and discipline. Compr
ised chiefly of elves who had served in the army for many decades, those who wore the wooden brooches were possessed of slightly less endurance but significantly more experience than their younger counterparts in the army. Knights were selected on three criteria called Honors. First, their record of discipline. No elf who had ever committed a legal offense could be admitted to the ranks of the knights without a unanimous pardon, signed by each member of the elven council. Crime was rare in Thornwood, but not unheard of, and even the most petty offense would disqualify one from service in the order. The First Honor would be bestowed in an annual ceremony by the First Knight to all who wished to apply for a position in the knighthood, provided that the applicant’s record was unblemished. The Honor was signified by a small iron pin, fashioned in the shape of a sword and worn on the collar, and indicated that the elf wearing it was one who could be trusted to act with integrity. It was also a reminder to those who would interact with the prospect: this elf seeks to dedicate their life in service to you; do not lead them astray, lest your kingdom be harmed by their dishonor.

  To attain the Second Honor, a prospective Knight must demonstrate mastery of the Bond, for exceedingly skillful horsemanship was at the heart of the cavalry’s mission. The award of the Second Honor would be bestowed by the Second Knight of Thornwood upon a successful examination of a prospective knight’s riding abilities. The sigil of the Second Honor was identical to the first, but cast in bronze. Most seeking the Second Honor earned their experience on horseback by serving in the Guard; the majority of the mounted defenders of the Citadel spent nearly every waking hour with their steeds, training not only to defend the castle of Thornwood but also to master the enigma of the Bond. Only those serving as captains were relieved of the obligation to remain in constant contact with their horses, and then only temporarily.

  Promotion within the ranks of the Guard was accomplished differently than that of the other branches of military service. Leadership positions were rotated, allowing each member to serve temporarily as a captain in various capacities. A full rotation was called a Sequence, and would allow a captain, during the course of two years, to serve in ten different leadership capacities, each for two full cycles. Captain Mikallis Elmshadow, for example, was currently serving in a role dedicated to direct protection of the Evanti family. This was the most coveted of positions within the Sequence, as it allowed the queen and her councilors an opportunity to assess first-hand a captain’s capacity for command. Most captains hoped, upon the completion of their Sequence, to attain the Third Honor: a recommendation to knighthood from either the queen or one of her councilors. But such recommendations were rare. Adequate service was not sufficient to earn the Third Honor; nearly all prospective knights would fail in some aspect of their first Sequence and be required to wait a minimum of five years to enter the next rotation. Of the four hundred knights currently in service, only one had managed to succeed in his first Sequence: First Knight Barris.