Hunted (Book 3)

by Brian Fuller

  “There are many Portal Mages here. There was one that Shadan Khairn—well, Chertanne’s father—kept around that wasn’t part of the Guild. He was funny. I didn’t see him much after the Shadan invaded Tolnor. I wonder what became of him?”

  The Chalaine began to understand. “Using a Portal Mage that is not part of the Guild would bring the wrath of the Guild down upon the Shadan! Surely he didn’t want it known.”

  “Probably not,” Rena agreed. “Torbrand probably had him killed when the war was over, or maybe he locked him up in that miserable dungeon. At least he would be in good company in the dungeon, if your mother and your guards are there.”

  The Chalaine’s heart leapt within her. She knew exactly where this was going now and laughed casually. “I would agree with that and envy him for it.”

  Rena stopped combing. The message was over. “I have forgotten to take the chamber pot from the Padras’ quarters. Forgive me, Chalaine, but I must go.”

  “I release you. Thank you for your conversation. It has calmed my mind considerably.”

  “You are most welcome. Fare thee well, Milady.”

  Time passed too quickly as the Chalaine thought and schemed, wondering what use she could make of the message implied in Rena’s conversation. Gen’s safety depended on somehow maneuvering him near the others in the prison, and while she hoped that Padra Athan would imprison him in the dungeon, she doubted they would send him so far out of their control or so near his allies. At worst, she suspected that Padra Athan would betray her and kill Gen once Chertanne lived. The Padras most likely scenario, as she figured it, was to send Gen away to Mur Eldaloth, as they had originally planned, and she could see no way to prevent it. Even worse, Chertanne might seek Gen’s life out of revenge, whatever her Protector’s part in his return to life.

  She racked her brain as she returned to the dark chamber in the dungeon, but she could come to no conclusions. Blood pumping from Gen’s arm and the task of keeping him alive ended her vain machinations, and once again she found herself relying on faith.

  The last three bleedings passed quickly compared to the first four, Athan shooing everyone from the room and back out into the hallway once the last bleeding ended. The Chalaine gazed at Gen one last time as the Eldephaere shut the door, turning to find all the Padras lined up on the stairs.

  “Only Padras will remain here. Everyone else, go up,” Athan ordered. The Chalaine walked toward the stairs when a thought came to her.

  “May I descend to visit my Mother and her companions? I should be nearby if Chertanne awakens.”

  Athan, conversing in hushed tones with his fellow Churchmen, stopped abruptly and turned in her direction. “No. You will wait here in the event I need you to remind Gen of his oath. Guard, bring Chertanne.”

  Athan turned away again and, after issuing commands, the rest of the Padras filed onto the small landing, pushing her partway down the stairs to the dungeon. In a few minutes, a group of Eldephaere struggled to bring Chertanne’s corpse, covered in a white shroud, down the winding steps. A bier simply couldn’t squeeze around the corners, so they transported the body unceremoniously with hands on ankles and under armpits.

  “Place him directly into the vat of blood,” Athan instructed, removing a folded document from his robe. “Leave this document by Gen.”

  The Chalaine wondered what Athan had written, but she found all thoughts driven from her mind as the men entered, and, after a great slosh, returned again, locking the door behind them with a rusted set of keys.

  “Create the wards,” Athan commanded, “and then stand away. Make sure you are not visible to Gen through the bars of the door.”

  The hair on the Chalaine’s arms stood up as magical energy filled the room, the Padras incanting. Once done, Athan and half of the Padras pushed her farther down the steps as the other half ascended to get out of sight of the door. Athan exhaled and concentrated.

  “Pray this works, Chalaine,” he whispered. “Everything depends upon him.”

  The Chalaine wondered which of the two men in the room behind the wall that Athan meant.

  Gen’s eyes fluttered open. He sat up quickly, intending to assess his environment, but a power in the room burned like a bonfire in the dark, drawing his attention immediately. Next to him sat a vat of his own blood, energy emanating from it and suffusing him with strength. He reached out a hand to touch the black iron of the pot, a nearly drunk feeling overcoming him.

  With the vat’s contents, he could raze Ironkeep, turning its walls into dust for the wind to carry off. His head swam with the new training now open to him, and in horror he knew he could just as easily use the virtue of the blood to create weapons of such power they could annihilate the very soul of a living creature, as Mikkik sought to do to Eldaloth.

  Only when he stood did he notice the note as it fell from his lap onto the floor. He stooped to retrieve and open, finding Athan’s practiced, practical script.

  Gen,

  We have placed Chertanne in the vat and into the blood. Remember your vow to the Chalaine to use your power to raise him. Remember that he is key to the unfolding of prophecy, whatever your personal feelings. I pledge that I will see that the Chalaine is treated with honor and respect at all times when Chertanne returns and that I will not harm those you care for. I have done what I have done for the sake of the world. The Chalaine understands that this must be done. Honor your promise to her.

  You should open a Portal to Erelinda, for it is there that Eldaloth’s servant surely resides.

  If, however, you hurt Chertanne in any way, there will be retribution against those you care for. While this is, perhaps, beneath me, it is the only reason that you listen to. When you are finished, have Chertanne call for us, and we will come for him.

  Padra Athan

  Gen refolded the note and set it next to the lantern, peering into the oversized cauldron. Chertanne’s corpse lay on its side half covered in the blood. Gen stepped back, repulsed and uncertain. He could feel the Chalaine just beneath and behind him and remembered agreeing to perform the spell to return her husband to life, but something had clouded his mind then. With his judgment now unencumbered by potion or magic, his heart struggled.

  Surely the Chalaine has been and would be happier without him. With the knowledge available to Gen now, he had no doubt he could leave Chertanne dead and take her back to Rhugoth.

  But as the thought ran through his mind, so did his mistake in Elde Luri Mora; he had tried to kill Chertanne out of pride and vengeance. He had ignored the Chalaine’s wishes and orders and turned his life to ruin. If she believed that reviving Chertanne was the right course, then he felt he should honor his commitment to her and perform the ritual as she asked. He no longer trusted his own feelings and reasoning.

  Gen closed his eyes and enveloped himself in the essence radiating from his collected blood, pulling it within him. In the training the Millim Eri had concealed from him he found the knowledge to create a Portal into the Abyss and to Erelinda, though Mikkik would never attempt the latter. Chertanne’s body would act as a lodestone to the spirit, and—once connected—he would use blood magic to re-forge the link between body and soul to bind them again. It was the ultimate power of blood.

  While Athan assumed that Chertanne rested peacefully in the light of Erelinda, Gen thought this wishful thinking, concentrating instead on the location Chertanne’s actions merited. In a thought he accomplished it, the Portal into a palpable blackness coalescing just above the cauldron. A dread chill filled the room, reminding him of the hole from which had risen the demon at the betrothal.

  As soon as the gateway solidified, a horrifying, discordant chorus of suffering filled the room at a suffocating volume. Opening his eyes, Gen watched as the vision in the Portal swirled and spun about a wasted, benighted landscape. Sooty smoke and orange sparks obscured the denizens of that world.

  In the obscurity walked the dead, but not alone. Billowing, shifting shadows with red eyes stalked the p
ale, ghostly bodies of dead spirits they tormented. Without warning, their ethereal vapors would encase their victims, red eyes replacing the sufferer’s in their sockets while the smoky shape coalesced around them. Howls of pain and fright ripped from raw throats, the dark beings swelling in size until the sufferer was released to collapse upon a floor of sharp volcanic rock. Red eyes would return into the swirling form of a shadow as it hunted another prey, leaving the sufferer’s eyes all the more sunken and hollow.

  Gen shuddered, wondering how much of that world he would be forced to witness, but at last the Portal settled on Chertanne, weak and crawling on the floor, a nightmare apparition hovering above him, waiting. As the Portal settled, the red eyes turned upward and regarded Gen.

  “What are your sins?” it rasped. A tendril of dark mist passed through the Portal toward Gen’s face, but before it touched him, it withdrew. It said, “Rejoice. For you shall never know the torture of the Abyss. Weep, for you shall never know the joy of Erelinda. There is no traveler within your shell to take the journey.”

  Gen’s heart sank. Here at last was confirmed what he had long suspected. The Ilch was no more than a construct, a thing with no soul of its own, created to live, to die, and to know no more.

  “I shall feed on this one then, for he has much to answer for,” the creature swooped in to envelop the struggling Chertanne. Gen acted, pulling power from the blood and creating the binding link between body and soul that Jaron had severed. Chertanne’s spirit broke through the swirling dark of the apparition’s body.

  “You cannot rob me!” it howled. “I must feed!”

  Gen shuddered and shut the Portal, Chertanne coughing and sputtering inside the cauldron. The blood remained, and not all of its power was exhausted. Tentatively, Chertanne’s red-soaked head peeked above the rim of the cauldron, bright eyes wide with fear. Upon seeing Gen, he shrieked.

  “I knew you would join me here! Even in the Abyss you must torment me!”

  He shrank back into the vat, sloshing about and mumbling incoherently. Shuffling sounds outside reminded Gen that Athan would cast a stupor upon him, and with a quick spell, he covered the grate in the door in metal. The Padras would get him sooner or later, but he had to speak to the Chalaine one last time. He could sense her just a little behind and down from where he stood. With a thought, stone evaporated into air, and he saw her, an Eldephaere guard nearby ready to raise an alarm. Using the remaining power of Trys, Gen walled off the stairway from the upper landing and encased the guard in a hollow prison of rock.

  Darkness overtook them as the new wall blocked out the massed lamps above, but a guttering torch farther down the stairs provided enough light for him to feel his way forward and into the Chalaine’s fervent embrace. Tears flowed silently in the dank prison, and for a moment his hurts and his cares abated.

  “Forgive me, Chalaine. I have made a mess of everything.”

  “Quietly now, Gen,” she consoled, burying her head in his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. It never was your fault. Is he alive?”

  “Chertanne? Yes. I only did it because you wished it.”

  “It was the right thing to do, but you must leave here,” she begged

  “I haven’t the strength to tunnel out of here with magic. It is you who should leave after all the pain they’ve caused.”

  The Chalaine pulled away from him and took his hand, pulling him down the stairs. “It was all a fraud to pull you here, Gen,” she explained. “I never felt any hurt and was in no danger. I was only bait. You must believe I would never have willingly submitted. They gave me no choice.”

  “I know. They should still pay for using you so.”

  “That is of no consequence now, Gen.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To see my mother . . . I hope.”

  “They have her locked up down here?” Gen thundered.

  “Quietly, Gen! We have to hurry. The Padras will be here any moment.”

  But as they rounded a corner they found three Eldephaere waiting in a dingy, straw-covered anteroom with swords drawn. Of all Mikkik’s restored teachings, Gen still found the ease with which Trysmagic could kill living creatures the most sinister. With barely a thought and hardly any power, the three soldiers crumpled to the floor, dead in an instant. Quickly, Gen gathered the key from one of the bodies and inserted it into the heavy iron door.

  “Grab the lantern, Chalaine.”

  Hinges whined and screeched as the door to the lower dungeon scraped open. The howls and pitiful pleas for food or freedom from half naked and half sane denizens immersed them in a scene little better than what Gen had witnessed in the Abyss. Emaciated, pale limbs with knobby fingers and ridged, dirty nails clutched at them through iron bars, and the stench of their bodies and breath set the Chalaine’s stomach to churning.

  “Mother!” the Chalaine called queasily.

  “In the back, dear child. What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve brought Gen! It’s time.”

  “You work quickly, dearest.”

  They found them at the rear of the dungeon. Unlike the freestanding cells at the entrance, these were hollowed into the rock and sealed with heavy wooden doors. Mirelle guided them in by yelling through the bars in the doors. Gen made quick work with the key, familiar faces spilling out of dark holes and into the warmth of the lantern light. Dason knelt before the Chalaine, kissing her hand, a litany of warm sentiments gushing from a full heart. Mirelle fairly leapt into Gen’s arms, smiles popping up on worn faces at the spectacle.

  “Thank you Eldaloth,” she whispered as they embraced, “for bringing him back to me.” Wiping her eyes, she disentangled herself from Gen and turned her gaze upon the Portal Mage. “Udan, it’s your turn. Where is this Portal?”

  “This way.” He nodded. “Follow me.”

  Gen moved away from the company. “I’ll bar the door and grab the Eldephaeres’ swords. I’ll catch up with you.”

  “I’ll help,” Tolbrook offered, following.

  After relocking the door and piling as much as they could in front of it, Gen and Tolbrook undid the sword belts and ran back to the company that stood in front of an empty cell. Udan turned. “It is in here. One moment.”

  “Do you know where the Portal goes, Udan?” Mirelle inquired.

  “No. This Portal was never discovered. We’ll want to send someone through for a look.”

  “I will do it,” Gen volunteered from the back. “I’ll be going through whatever the place may be like.”

  Udan nodded in acknowledgment and concentrated, a brilliant blue light blazing in the darkness. The illumination’s significance was not lost on the other prisoners, renewed pleas for freedom clamoring for their consideration. Gen wasted no time, crossing into the Portal and returning, face grim.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t pleasant,” he reported. “It is a desert of black sand and vapors of smoke. I saw few plants and no water. I must take the chance. The rest can choose.”

  “I go with Gen,” Mirelle announced firmly.

  “As do I,” Gerand and Volney followed.

  “I go where Mirelle goes,” Cadaen added.

  “I will go with Mirelle,” Mena said meekly.

  “Are you staying behind, Chalaine?” Mirelle asked.

  “I must, for the prophecy’s sake.”

  “No!” Dason said. “You should flee! Anywhere is better than this place.”

  “Not for me, Dason. They have treated me well, and I need to be with Chertanne. I must stay.”

  “Then I stay, as well,” Dason said, throwing Gen a challenging look. “I will not leave you.” Captain Tolbrook and the rest of the Dark Guard echoed the same sentiment.

  Mirelle crossed to her daughter and embraced her. “It is settled, then. May Eldaloth see us together again in brighter places and happier times.”

  The Chalaine crossed to Gen and let him enfold her in his arms. She kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you more than you can know. Take c
are of yourself and my mother.”

  “I will.”

  Shouting and clanging at the prison door reminded them to hurry, and the Chalaine smiled as the people she had fretted over for so long disappeared from the dungeon. Udan crossed through his own Portal, and the blue light winked out.

  When the Chalaine emerged from the dungeon, she would again find herself the wife of a wretch, but no longer would she worry for those she loved best. Eldaloth had heard her prayer and provided an escape, and she found this merciful gift had propped up her flagging faith. Surrounded by the Dark Guard, she walked calmly back to the prison door, arriving just as Athan stormed through, soldiers and Padras streaming in behind.

  “Where is he?” he thundered, eyes darting everywhere.

  To spare his feelings, the Chalaine stripped her voice of as much joy as she could before answering.

  “Gone.”

  Chapter 66 - Trees of Stone

  Mirelle, Cadaen, Mena, Gen, Udan, Volney, and Gerand stood on a sea of black sand. Sulfurous vapors wafted by on the wind, puckering faces. A constant layer of low-flying clouds sped by above, the light dim anduneven, the sun thrusting through at unpredictable intervals and disappearing just as unexpectedly. Small, leathery plants poked up from the sand, providing the only vegetation for a wasted terrain. Sharp, porous rocks rose up in crumbling heaps in every direction, and no vista provided a fairer prospect than another. Despite the season, the air was stifling, dry, and hot, and the combination of the sickening smell and the heat engendered a general malaise in every mind and stomach.

  Volney exhaled sharply after a period of aimless and disappointed wandering around. “Eldaloth obviously hid the Portal to this place out of mercy for his creatures. Leave it to our luck to escape to a place less desirable than a dungeon. First a wagon, then a sewer, then a dungeon, and now a desert, and not just any desert, a rotten, foul, reeking, stink-hole of a desert! And if we escape this place, no doubt we’ll find ourselves on the Uyumaak latrine shard and forced to wipe their scaly. . .”