The name brought with it a flash of memory. A man in plated armor wearing a crown. It vanished as soon as it appeared. Who was that?
The sniffer’s head shot upward, its jaws parting to the point of seeming dislocation as it released an ear-piercing screech that made everyone jump, including the guards. It screamed again and ran straight at Jair.
Chapter 11 | Jair
JAIR THREW ONE OF his blades, responding to an instinct that moved faster than thought. He felt the throw before he released the weapon: the force of exertion, the turn of wrist, the position of arm, and when to release for the blade to make two complete revolutions before hitting its mark. He had no idea how he knew. He just did. What was happening to him? Was he controlling it, or was it controlling him?
The blade plunged straight into the sniffer’s chest, stopping at the hilt. The creature slowed only long enough to pull the sword out and drop it at his feet. Dark blood oozed from the hole in its chest, but the wound didn’t seem to slow the creature. It released another shrill and charged.
Jair gaped. Another vision struck, and he spun to the right, raising his sword at the same time to block the sniffer’s heavy swing. Their blades connected, and he was shocked by the lack of impact. The blow should have thrown him from his feet, but there had hardly been any force behind it.
Back and forth he parried and blocked, dodging one blow only to be set upon by another. The creature was fast, and Jair was already down a sword. The strange flashes of premonition continued to dance through his mind, making it seem as though he were fighting two sniffers at once, nearly overwhelming his senses. Pushing everything aside, he struggled to concentrate on the visions, to understand them. The creature was going to swing right, so he moved to the left. It was going to lunge, so he spun to the side and deflected.
The sniffer howled in rage as Jair managed to stay just out of reach.
He knew he couldn’t keep this up. His body was already weakening. His movements, so crisp a few minutes before, were growing sluggish. His hands barely held their grip, and his arms were growing heavier by the moment. He had to do something, and fast.
Jair pivoted to block a fierce strike to his side but missed the secondary strike from the creature’s elbow. The force knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him flailing to the ground, where he rolled to a stop. He winced, trying to catch his breath, and the sniffer reeled in glee, momentarily dropping its guard.
If they can’t walk, they can’t fight! a voice in his head said. Not able to take the time to place where he’d heard it from, he struggled to his knees, waiting for the creature to make the first move. He didn’t have to wait long. The sniffer came for him. It raised one of its giant swords and swung, clearly intending to split Jair in two.
Jair waited till the last moment, then rolled, bruising his ribs and arms on roots and rocks as the sniffer’s blade was buried in the ground where he’d just been. Jair turned and swung with everything he had. The sword struck the creature just below the knee, cutting straight through one leg and most of the second.
The creature howled and toppled backward, the fresh stump flailing as it grasped at its remaining ruined knee.
Jair flipped back to his feet and swung for the creature’s neck. His blade bit flesh, and an eerie whine escaped the sniffer’s lips as its head rolled away from its body. What was left of the creature went still. Keeping a close eye on it, he quickly retrieved his other sword.
The guards, who had moved to the front of the barn to get out of the way, drew their swords. Even the one holding Tameel seemed to decide the old man wasn’t worth the trouble and pushed him out of the way to draw his own.
“We heard you were dead,” one of the guards hissed as they spread out to flank him.
He didn’t give them the chance.
Their white mantles didn’t remain white for long. Whatever had been controlling him up until this point took over, and he tore into them, spinning and sidestepping, lunging and whirling. As tired as he was, his arms didn’t let up, removing swords, hands, arms, heads. By the time he was finished, he could hardly breathe. His hands fell to his sides, still gripping his swords, and he suddenly realized that he was more scared of himself than he had been of them.
The surrounding woods were silent except for an old hoot owl somewhere in the distance. He saw Tameel and Zynora, noting their ashen faces and that they made no attempt to approach him. He didn’t blame them. He was covered in blood. He could feel it dripping from his face and hands. What had he done? What was happening to him? It seemed the biggest monster had survived.
“By the Defiler’s beard!”
Jair spun and almost threw his sword when Blithe stepped out from behind an old oak, eyes ready to pop out of his head. “They were right. You are the Guardian Protector. What are you doing in Woodvale?” he asked.
Jair had no idea how to respond. What was a Guardian Protector? He scanned the morbidly efficient pile of corpses at his feet and wondered if maybe he didn’t want to know.
“We found him left for dead at the last battle,” Zynora said softly. “He lost his memory. He doesn’t know who he is.”
Blithe looked at the sniffer and its masters. “Appears he didn’t forget everything.”
Jair focused on the edge of the black blades in his hands, trying to recall something, anything. Any memory that might give him an answer to who he was and how he was capable of such destruction.
“I’m right glad to be livin’ here in Sidara and as far away from those sorts of troubles as possible,” the innkeeper said, rubbing his beard nervously. He looked at the cluster of blood-smeared body parts littering the ground around him. “Then again, I guess I don’t live far enough away.”
There was a moment of silence before Tameel finally spoke up. “We need to hide the bodies,” he said as he nudged one of the Black Watch guards with his boot.
“I can handle that,” Blithe said. “You three need to stay off the main roads wherever possible. The Tower’s presence is growing stronger in these parts, and with all the strange things happening around here, there aren’t too many who oppose it. And now that Dakaran has taken his father’s throne, I have a feeling that things are going to get a whole lot worse.”
“How do you mean?” Zynora asked.
“Well, word has it, soon as Dakaran was crowned High King, his first order of business was to dismantle the High Guard and replace them with these pigs.” He spat on the closest white-cloaked corpse. “So, if he really is the Guardian Protector, you’d best stay hidden, ’cause anyone found with him is as good as dead.”
Jair sighed. He wiped the blood from his swords on one of the guard’s robes before turning around. “He’s right. If I am this Guardian, then there might be others who will recognize me. It would be safer for the two of you if you went on without me.”
Zynora balled her fists and planted them on either side of her waist. “At the moment, you don’t know your front side from your back. And if you think I went to all the trouble of healing you just to let you go wandering about the countryside and getting yourself killed because you didn’t remember no better than to eat the yellow berries instead of the purple ones . . . well, you got another thing coming.”
Jair almost smiled. The tone of her voice said he wasn’t being given an option.
Zynora turned and started for the back of the wagon. “Blithe’s right. We need to get moving before people start asking questions.”
“That’s a good idea, wife,” Tameel said, then looked at the innkeeper. “You sure you don’t need us to help you with this?”
Blithe pulled his cloak a bit tighter. “Nah, Molly and I’ll take care of it. The way these sacks of dung treated my girls, I’ll be more than happy to dig their graves. You just get yourselves down the road.”
“We can’t thank you enough, my friend,” Tameel said, stepping forward to shake the man’s hand. “If there’s anything you need—”
“Gettin’ rid of scum like this is thanks eno
ugh. You just make sure to keep our Guardian there protected. Day might come when we’ll need him again.”
Jair raised his head. “This might sound like an odd question, but do you know my name?”
Blithe gave him a blank look.
Jair tried again. “The Guardian Protector . . . what was his name?”
Blithe blew out his lips and shook his head. “Don’t rightly know; never actually thought about it before. We only know you as the Guardian Protector. Actually,” he said, crossing his thick arms, “I believe the white riders might have mentioned it earlier. Let me think. Arnon . . . or Roan—”
“Ayrion,” a woman said as she approached from the inn, carrying a large basket. She was short with dark curly hair, a button nose, and a full apron to match Blithe’s. By her age and the way Blithe put his arm around her, she was the innkeeper’s wife. “They said the Guardian’s name was Ayrion. I remembered thinking it was a pretty name.” She chuckled.
“Ayrion,” Jair repeated the name to himself, hoping it would spark a memory. Unfortunately, it didn’t. “I’m in your debt, madam. Until now, I didn’t have that much.”
“Here you go,” Blithe said, taking the basket from his wife and handing it to Tameel. “I had Molly put together some leftovers for you. They should last you a day or two, I reckon. You headin’ toward Easthaven?”
Tameel accepted the basket with an appreciative smile. “We have a place up north where we can take shelter for a while, at least until this blows over. Maybe with some rest, Jai . . . or Ayrion’s memories will return.” With that, he limped back to the wagon and handed the supplies up to Zynora.
Ayrion followed him to the wagon, rather disappointed that hearing his name hadn’t somehow returned his memories. At least they knew what to call him now. He untied the horses while Blithe helped Tameel up to the wagon’s seat. Zynora met him at the front with a damp rag. “Here. Clean yourself up.”
Ayrion nodded and climbed up beside Tameel. He could worry about changing his clothes later. Best if they got underway. He’d just finished wiping his face and hands with the rag when Zynora opened the front hatch behind the seat and handed him a woolen scarf and some gloves. “Here. This should keep you warm tonight,” she said before leaning over to place a woolen cap on top of Tameel’s head. “And this should hopefully hold in what little brains you have left, old man.”
Tameel shook his head, then winked at Ayrion.
Ayrion smiled at the old couple’s affections. He wondered if he had someone like that waiting for him back in Aramoor.
Tameel waved at Blithe and Molly, then slapped the reins and turned the green-and-gold tinker wagon around, following the path back to the main road.
Chapter 12 | Kellen
KELLEN LIFTED HIS HANDS to his mouth and blew, hoping to coax some warmth back into them. He was actually thankful for the colder weather. The winter gusts helped dampen the stench of rot, at least from the human remains. The spiders were a different matter altogether. He rubbed his hands together, then loaded another body onto the hauler.
Kellen stopped every time he passed within sight of Nilla’s grave, eyes filled with tears. He had chosen a quiet spot overlooking the rambling stream behind their cottage. His hands shook from more than the cold as the image of his wife being laid in the soft dirt returned to haunt him. The way she had looked up at him before she died. The pain in her eyes from what the spiders had done to her flooded the thin wall he had built in his mind to protect himself. He began to cry.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Reloria standing beside him, wiping away tears of her own as she swiped the long gold feather from her teal hat out of her eyes.
“You let it out, dear,” she said. “Best not to hold it in.”
Kellen dried his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face.”
Reloria nodded. “I remember when my late husband passed,” she said, handing him a piece of sugar candy from her purse.
He ate it, letting the mint flavor ease a little of the tension.
“The feelings will always be there, but trust me, they will get easier with time.”
Kellen wasn’t sure he wanted them to. He didn’t want to ever forget.
It had been a couple of days since they had returned to the old homestead after their battle with the Tallosians and the spiders, and still no word from Ty or Breen. He was getting worried. Was Ty in worse shape than the wizard had thought? Had the arachnobe’s poison been too much for Nyalis to handle? Kellen tried not to worry and to trust the wizard could do what he said, but it was difficult.
Overlord Barl had insisted after Nilla’s burial that Kellen and Adarra return to his estate for their own safety. It was obvious that it would be quite a while before the battleground—which was their home—would be cleared and cleaned enough for habitation.
Kellen had sat with Ambassador Lanmiere and Overlord Barl until the wee hours of the morning each night, discussing at length the threat they now seemed to be facing, how the new king’s policies and the explosion of power from the White Tower would affect Easthaven and the rest of Sidara.
They spoke of the people’s fear of magic. Kellen addressed the most common fallacies that fed that fear. He even told them of Easthaven’s Wielder Council. There wasn’t much sense in hiding it now, especially after what the overlord had just endured. He did keep the location of the Harbor Houses a secret, though, for the sake of the council as well as those they were continuing to protect.
Overlord Barl and Lyessa had been by earlier to see how progress was coming before leaving for a meeting. Something to do with expanding the barracks. Lyessa had stayed to help Adarra and Fraya mop up spider guts inside the house. Not an easy task. A number of the walls and a good deal of the furniture would need replacing.
Eventually, Lyessa and Fraya had left to check up on the one individual who was not present: Aiden Raycrest, Lyessa’s former fiancé. Fraya had managed to heal the deepest of the young man’s wounds, but it had taken a lot out of her, as close to death as he had been.
Adarra said she felt as though she owed Aiden, since it was his failed attempt at saving their lives that had nearly cost him his. Still, Kellen found it hard to forgive Aiden for having tried to give his son up to the witch.
Kellen wheeled the two-handled hauler to the western edge of the property, where they had dug an enormous pit for burning and burial. “Here’s another load,” he called down to Veldon, who was busy using his magic to burn the corpses.
Veldon wiped the sweat from his balding head. “Feoldor! Grab those bodies, won’t you?” He turned and unleashed another wash of flames onto the grisly pile of rotting cadavers.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold your horses!” Feoldor grumbled, turning to look at the bodies and body parts Kellen was dumping beside the pit. He lifted his hands, and the air shifted beneath the corpses, lifting them off the ground. He rotated his arms toward the fire, and the rotting heap of flesh moved with it. Feoldor dropped his arms, and the bodies fell into the flames, scattering ashes and sending puffs of smoke into the canopy above.
“I’m starting to smell them again, Feoldor!” Reloria shouted from somewhere back near the house. “Can you do something about that?”
“Fire and ash! I can’t do everything,” Feoldor said. “I know I’m good, but I’m not the Creator!”
Kellen pushed his hauler back to the next pile of corpses in front of the cottage, passing Reloria on the way.
“Ain’t that the truth!” she muttered, adding a Northman’s axe to the pile of scavenged weapons. She shook her head, nearly losing her gaudy lavender hat in the process. “I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do with that man. All his fussing is leaving me with a sour taste in my mouth.”
Kellen smiled as he stopped the pushcart beside the next load and wiped his face with a rag. Even in the cold early-winter air, he was still managing to work up quite a sweat. He was thankful for the work, however, thankful for anyt
hing to keep him from sitting around thinking about everything he’d lost: the warmth of Nilla’s presence as they slept, the comfort and security of having her close by, the way she could cheer him up with a single smile, always there to offer her love and support. She was their family’s foundation. And now she was gone.
Kellen shook his head to drive away the painful memories as he leaned over and grabbed another dead Tallosian and tossed him on the back of the hauler.
After a couple more trips to the fire and back, Kellen took a break and sat on the half-empty hauler for a moment, clearing his thoughts as he watched Orlyn busy himself with vines that had at one time draped a good portion of their house. Very little of the vines had survived the spiders’ onslaught. Only a few strands still remained; the rest lay in pieces around the house, leaving nothing to hide the destruction the spiders had wreaked.
Orlyn held his rune-covered staff firmly in his right hand. The crystal at the top emanated a pale-green light, which he pointed at the cottage. The vines slithered across the top of the roof like long, emaciated garden snakes, producing a slight hiss as they worked their way across the wooden shingles and thatching, then crawled down the front of his house, stopping just shy of the stone foundation. Kellen found himself almost smiling as the curtain of green filled out across the front as though nothing had ever happened.
“Have you heard anything concerning Ty or Breen?” he asked the apothecary as Orlyn added some winter daisies amidst the vines.
Orlyn took a step back, admiring his handiwork, then turned. “Communication through the forest has been slow, and so far, nothing about the boys. But then, there probably wouldn’t be with Sheeva hiding them.”
Kellen nodded. He had asked the assassin to go along for that very reason. Standing, he stuffed his sweat rag back into his pocket and continued loading the dead. As he lifted another one of the lifeless Tallosians for burial, he wondered if somewhere up north, someone was doing the same to his son.
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