So finally it was time to move. She left the clearing and started down the road. She was drained, still tired and hurting. Now and then she would see Trask on top of her and stop, brushing her hand over her face as she tried to fight the waves of nausea and disgust that kept washing over her. When she regained herself, she continued to walk the road south, wondering how her composure would fare when she finally had to talk to somebody. She had to keep alert as well. If she heard horses on the road, she would have to hide until she knew that the travellers were not Trask’s men. She felt too weary to use magic today and did not know how much fight she had left in her.
She had walked a couple of miles when she espied something close by through the trees. Entering the dense woodland, she walked towards it knowing already what it was – a small but deep pond. It had been dammed by a beaver lodge and was still and wide; a couple of ducks swam along its further reaches, arrowing away from her. Setting down her pack, she undressed and, oblivious to any risk or harm she might do to herself, she jumped right in.
It had warmed up a little since the frosty dawn but the shock on her naked bruised skin was still enough to take the breath from her. She bobbed to the surface like a cork, but that was not what she wanted. Filling her empty lungs she submerged herself completely, washing away the dirt, the remaining flakes of blood, the scent of the men who had abused her. She popped up again and repeated the procedure. After the fifth submergence she felt cleansed enough; she knew in her heart that she would never feel wholly clean again, but at least now she was physically purified, if not spiritually. She clambered out of the pond and the chill air felt invigorating on her open pores. She stopped, raising her arms to the weak sun until she was as dry as she was ever going to get here. She dressed slowly and rejoined the path.
No, she would never be clean again ever. She did not know if she could even be close to a man again. Right now, the thought repelled her. It was Trask’s fault, she thought. He had taken something honest and true-hearted, if not totally pure, and despoiled it, broken it, turned it into something rotten. There was only one way she could help herself get back to what she had once been, to find redemption after the horror she had endured, to become Cheris again.
Sir Trask had to die, and die by her hand alone.
51
No one moved. Wulfthram and his companions stared at the black priests, who stared right back at them. The phantoms also remained in place, a coldness radiating from them that made Ceriana shiver. At last the great silver-clad figure rose slowly from his throne, the phantoms parting to let him pass. Before they could divine its intentions, Ulian decided to speak, praying silently that his mastery of their tongue was sufficient for the task.
‘Hail to the guardians of Atem Sezheia! I am Ulian, a scholar of the humans travelled here along with their nobles to address Dureke, your leader, on a matter of importance to us both.’
At the mention of the name the creature stopped. No words came from it yet they all heard them, and somehow understood them. It was the glacial, disdainful whisper Ceriana had heard several times earlier that night, only this time it carried the potency of a striking snake, venomous and charged with hostility.
‘How does a human know my name?’
Ulian continued nervously, and as he did so the phantoms approached him and began to move around him. As they did so, some raised their arms and brushed him with their spectral fingers, and every time he was touched it was though a shard of metallic cold steel was thrusting deep into his skin.
‘As I say, I am a scholar and have learned your name through research, although I have heard nothing of the necromancy you must have practised on your companions to raise them in such a form as this.’
A phantom stood directly in front of him and stopped; he could discern features in the near transparent flesh covering the skull. Its eyes had the blue of a mountain lake and were looking at him more with curiosity than hatred.
‘We have had access to many arts you savages could never learn or master. Tell me, how long is it since we made our home down here?’
Ulian swallowed; the phantom in front of him had not moved.
‘Over seven hundred years.’
The expression of the phantom gazing at Ulian changed; he could see the weariness of an eternity of waiting in its eyes. The suffering caused by lifetimes of nothing but stillness, down here in the dark, watching and watching, and then failing in its duty to protect the items placed in its trust.
‘Is it really that long?’ Even Dureke sounded weary. ‘It has passed so quickly. Tell me, human, why have you come here? Are you the thief who has taken the stone?’
‘No.’ Ulian could think of nothing else to say. The phantom moved and he could see Dureke regarding him, and those with him.
‘I thought not. Then why are you here?’
‘We have come to return that that was taken from you.’
Dureke remained motionless. Then he reached over his shoulder and slowly pulled forth a blade that must have been strapped to his back. It was possibly the largest sword Ceriana had ever seen, a full six feet of frosted white metal. The blade steamed as he held it, a steam of intense cold.
All this time the black priests stood and watched, not saying a word. Now, however, the tall man – Luto, if Ceriana remembered correctly – nodded to his companions and one of them, the man she had seen in Thakholm all that time ago, moved slowly away from them. He went and stood by a small barrel placed under one of the torches. She spotted another three of these barrels located at equal distances along the wall.
‘You are saying that you have the stone?’ Dureke’s voice seemed to take on an ever-deeper, more menacing tone.
Ceriana stepped forward, fighting against all her natural instincts that were telling here to turn and run and not to stop until her lungs burst.
‘I have the stone, right here.’
The reactions of the blue-eyed phantoms were extraordinary; they started to move, to swirl around her and the room. They did not walk as such; rather, they floated or hovered, the pale light of their legs and feet either not touching the ground or actually descending into it. could they move through stone walls? Ceriana wondered. How could one combat such spirits?
Wulfthram spoke guardedly to her, not looking at her, his eyes fixed on Dureke in front of him.
‘You are wearing the amulet; they cannot see you, though I think they know you are here.’
Dureke hissed and raised his sword with his mailed hands.
‘We sense the presences of others, the wearers of xhikon. It is a metal that negates magic; it makes its wearer unclear to us but we know they are here. When the stone was taken from us we slept, unaware of what was happening. Now we have awoken, we search for the stone and slay those who stand before us.’
‘Including the people of the village? They were all innocent in this affair.’ Wulfthram held his sword in front of him, pointing it at Dureke.
‘Humans that dwell within or around the confines of Atem Sezheia cannot be called innocent. Our people died so they could seize our lands and settle here. And unless you have the stone, it is now your time to die.’ He stepped towards them, hefting his mighty sword; alongside him the phantoms started to close in around them.
‘Wait!’ Ceriana shouted, not knowing if they could hear her or not. Without thinking of any consequences she pulled the amulet off her neck and handed it to Wulfthram. Then, holding the stone in the upturned palm of her outstretched right hand, she walked towards Dureke.
Within seconds her mind was alive with images – a gargantuan yellow eye, slitted like a lizard’s, the dusty floor of a great city of stone, the hoarse clipped cries of dozens of winged shadowy shapes swooping low over her head. Her hand holding the stone started to glow, her veins, arteries and the blood pumping through them visible to the naked eye. Luto the priest started towards her but the blades of Wulfthram and Haelward blocked his path. He stared at the warriors with a cold ire.
‘Can you drain the
power of this stone?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Free me from the grip it exerts?’
Dureke lowered his sword until its point touched the ground. He held out his other hand to her, palm upturned. Understanding, she placed the stone into the mailed nothingness that his hand had now become.
‘Put the xhikon back around your throat’ was all he said.
Wulfthram handed it to her and she took it swiftly, placing it back in its original position. The second she took it from him, her hand returned to normal, pink skinned with a tiny wrist and thin delicate fingers.
Dureke, with all the delicacy of a mother cat carrying its infant in its jaws, returned to his throne with the stone. As they all watched, the silver chain and fitting in which it was housed appeared to turn into vapour and disappear; soon it was only the stone that remained There was a socket at the top of the throne’s high back. He placed it in there where it fitted perfectly. It ceased to glow and looked little more than an enormous ruby, secure in its housing.
Dureke sat back on his seat.
‘I know how the stone’s power can be drained,’ he said, ‘but it will not avail you. Zhun has determined your destiny already. You, human child, are a prodigy. You have a sensitivity to the stone’s power that I have seen only in a very few of my own kind. It is too late for you; the bond between you and Draigezhed, the Fire Dragon, is so strong, you no longer need the stone for it to continue. It can only be held in check; it cannot be reversed. Wear the amulet every day for the rest of your life or you and the Draigezhed will become a symbiote, two bodies with a single spirit. It will become more like you; you more like it. You will cease to be truly human.’ Dureke rested his head in the palm of his right hand.
‘You can no longer be considered our enemy. The stone has been returned. You may leave with your companions. The siselo, the creature you passed to get here, has fed, and will not trouble you again.’
‘Then there is nothing that can be done for her? Nothing at all?’ Wulthram spoke, his voice sounding both frustrated and concerned .
‘Nothing.’ Dureke sounded emphatic. ‘Among our people she would be revered, one with a direct contact with Zhun’s first creatures. For us it is a great gift, not a curse. We honour her.’
Ceriana looked at the ground. A single heavy tear fell and exploded among the dust at her feet.
Wulfthram spoke. ‘We cannot leave just yet. Your stone is not safe here. The people who removed it in the first place will do the same again. They are here waiting to do just that.’ He had noticed that the black priests were all wearing the same amulets that Ceriana wore, so after speaking Wulfthram took two steps backward, grabbed the priest standing next to Luto, tore the amulet off his neck and threw it to Haelward, who caught it deftly. He then threw the man to the ground.
The man got to his feet, his hand clutching his throat, feeling for the protection that was no longer there. His eyes fully expressed the dawning horror of his predicament. He turned towards the tunnel and started to run but only went a couple of steps before stumbling and falling. He had got back on to his knees, his mouth wide open in fear. Then the phantoms struck him. One passed right through his body leaving a frosty rime on his face, hair and cloak; he stood and tried to run again but another phantom went through him and another and another. Each time this happened the phantom’s body would pulse a blood red colour, just once, just briefly, but each time this happened the man got whiter and whiter until finally he stopped moving completely. Dozens of phantoms continued to run through him until finally he could no longer be seen and just a column of glistening white frost remained where the man had once stood.
‘So you see, Dureke,’ Ulian said. ‘These people will never give up. The stone must be drained; unless it is the case that, now that the lady has used it, it cannot be used again.’
‘Ordinarily it would be so. But the child possessor is so powerful she no longer needs the stone. Another could use it; another creature could be found and bonded with.’
Luto smiled knowingly. He seemed unconcerned at the death of his colleague. The object of his quest was but a few feet away from him, and he had all the time in the world.
‘Then,’ said Ulian, ‘its power must be drained, if that is at all possible.’
Dureke stood again and came slowly towards them.
‘It can be done,’ he said, ‘but its power can only be drained into a living vessel. The two opposing life forces in one body neutralise each other, destroying both of them. The body dies and the stone is drained simultaneously.’
Luto’s smile grew broader. ‘You are saying,’ said Wulfthram, ‘that someone has to die?’
‘Indeed,’ said Dureke ‘It is the only way.’
Luto spoke slowly. ‘We knew this of course. Do any of you wish to trade your life to stop me?’
‘How is it they cannot hear you?’ Ceriana asked him shrewishly.
‘I have not revealed myself to them, unlike you. Everything I do is shielded from them. They know we are here. You are speaking to us, after all, but we are as easy to trace for them as smoke in the wind.’
It appeared that he was speaking the truth. The phantoms were passing around him, even through him, but they seemed to have no idea where he was; unlike Ceriana, who felt their blue eyes piercing her like a lance. She reddened slightly and in a tiny voice that she felt was not even her own she said.
‘I will do this ritual. My life is blighted for ever anyway. Wherever this stone is it will be my curse until I die. The Gods appear to have deemed it so, and my life seems to be forfeit to them. I am ready for this.’
‘Artorus’s holy teeth you are!’ Wulfthram interposed himself between her and Dureke. ‘Say that again and I will send you to Xhenafa myself!’
‘I don’t think any of us would accept that, my Lady,’ Haelward said quietly, keeping his knife firmly pointed at Luto. ‘If you go through with this then we have all failed you.’
‘It would not work with the girl. ’ Dureke said. ‘She and the stone are as one; her soul is not an opposite force and could not negate its power. If she has offered herself for the ritual then her bravery and willingness to sacrifice herself to protect others again marks her as special. I suspect that the blood of our people flows in her.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Ulian, ‘no sacrifice needs to be made. Maybe these priests can be prevailed upon not to try and seize the stone.’
‘You mean,’ Wulfthram said with a wolfish smile. ‘we should kill them. I have no problem with that, though they be unarmed.’
‘I was thinking rather that we should try to reason with them,’ said Ulian sheepishly. ‘Though you obviously have the final say in the matter, there must be something that can be offered to them to make them cease this mad enterprise.’
‘There is nothing,’ said Luto. ‘We live for one thing and only one thing, to bring the ancient gods of the elves back to this Earth, for them to pronounce judgement on the foulness and decadence of its unworthy populace, to purge the realms of men, to cleanse them and let them be reborn under the rule of their new gods, pure and unsullied. Our lives are secondary in all this. By all means kill us here, but there will always be others to follow us; as long as the stones exist we will pursue them. We have taken nearly a millennium to start locating them and this age will be our age – the time of the return of the true gods and the end of the empires of men and their false religions. Make no mistake, we will take this stone eventually, even were it buried under an eternity of stone. I will tell you this: one of our brethren has already raised a dragon in the east of your country, and shortly he will purify the lands there. We will raise a dragon in the west. Whether we do it today or next year, or the year afterwards, is immaterial. It will happen and when the Great One destroys the undeserving in your lands the slaughter will be terrible. We will watch with joy as it feeds, devouring the filth infesting your lands, sparing neither children nor the infirm nor the elderly. And we will worship the Great One, praise him for his divine justice and rebuild the
new country he has made.’
‘We have our answer,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Derkss, Haelward, kill that fellow lurking over there with the torch; I will take the tall one. They cannot leave here alive. If you cannot kill them, remove their amulets and let these guardians do their work. Show no mercy. They are fanatics and would think nothing of seeing you and your families dead if it furthers their cause.’
At this Luto nodded at the other man, who was standing by one of the barrels holding a torch he had removed from its bracket on the wall. Straight away he lowered the torch, putting it to a length of rope fixed to the barrel. He started to run, and before the two men could get to him, he had moved to the next barrel, and the next, lighting them each in turn. Luto laughed.
‘Did I not say we would collect the stone whether it was here or buried under tons of rock. You have decided – it is the latter course for us! We can all join our gods together.’
Wulfthram looked at the flames licking up to the barrels, back at Luto’s serene face, at Dureke standing motionless before him, then back at the barrels. He remembered stories of his childhood, of the exotic warriors of the south and of the blasting powder they used to demolish the walls of the cities that opposed them – technology now known only to a few. Without knowing for certain that he was doing the right thing, he called out at the top of his lungs.
‘Into the tunnel, everyone! Now!’
Ceriana saw the grave look in his eyes and repeated the call. The two of them hurtled straight towards the tunnel, Wulfthram propelling his wife by the shoulder. Haelward and Derkss abandoned their pursuit of the black priest and followed closely after them. Back in the chamber, Luto and his companion shut their eyes and slowly removed the amulets from their necks. Luto flung out his arms in a cruciform shape embracing the guardians as they finally saw him and came towards him eager to punish the one who had violated the sanctity of the chamber. Within seconds all that remained of the two men were two tall white columns of bitter frost, with a steaming mist swirling around them. The chamber was now clear of all living creatures.
The Forgotten War Page 72
