Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  ‘No …’ she thought. ‘Never again. I won’t be beaten like this!’ Her body shook in terrible anger. Her vision was blurred and red. All she felt was wrath toward this man and every other who had beaten her down. She felt the power within well up. Something was coursing through her veins and slipping out of her body like streams of blood. She had felt this once before.

  “What in Aeredia …?” She heard her enemy speak suddenly. Firah desperately channeled all her aggression, her hatred, toward the man. “Girl, this is your doing! Stop this now! You …”

  Firah felt the terrible pressure leave her chest and she rose up slowly. She could barely make out a blurred motion in her eyes. Screams and cries of terror echoed through the wood. Firah’s hand stretched outward subconsciously. She could feel the channeling of the bands of energy, glowing red hot in her mind’s eye. She imagined the scene in her mind, even as she took in the man’s vocal protests to the harrowing energy. She imagined the red cocoon enveloping him, over every inch of his body. She heard the screams become more terrified.

  Suddenly it was over.

  There were no sounds but those of the wood; yet the wind, small creatures, all living things had become subdued by the explosion of energy. After a minute, Firah could make out details of the area. She grimaced in pain; something was wrong with her ribs. She could hardly breathe. She looked to the ground and saw her attacker’s cloak, the bow and quiver, all the clothes, and her brooch resting quietly upon the cloth. There was no evidence of the assailant. His body had disappeared completely. There were strange new developments as well. All was unnaturally still around her and fresh vibrant growth had sprung up around where the man had been. Its lush green colour stood out from the faded Darkwood hues. The new trees gave way to the ridge just a few feet away, and she watched as Zyr, Mehnol and others ascended the small ledge swiftly. She had less than a minute to decide what to do. Her mind suddenly determined a course of action which was so clear and direct that she launched into action. She plucked up the brooch and reattached it to her tunic. Pushing aside the discomfort in her chest she bundled up all the other articles into the cloak and moved into the wood as quickly as her aching body would allow. She found a small opening under a large fallen tree and stuffed the articles there. She instinctively rubbed at the soreness of her eyes then quickly memorized the spot and tossed many leaves upon the cache. It was meant to be this way: survival of the fittest. It had been this way her whole life and these things belonged to her now. There was no time to examine the items or explain it to the others, not yet. She would return later for what was hers.

  Firah moved away from the spot and tried her best to cover her trail. She had seconds now. She limped toward the edge of the wood as quickly as she could, purposely skirting away from the strange growth deeper within. Zyr came running into the wood with concern and alarm creasing every line of his face. She recognized Mehnol and also Corbin, who she learned was an Ashori for the White Guard. Lord Tey’ur was not present. Shien brought up the rear, looking perplexed as usual. He had no connection to the Root; therefore, he could not have felt the power she had unleashed. At best, he was following the crowd. In perceiving the small group, she simply sat down amongst the leaves and waited. Despite her efforts, Corbin was a bloodhound on the scent, as he tracked to the very spot where she had fought the man in grey. She truly had no voice to call out, so she waited. In time they came to her and she began to tell a story - most of it true - but she altered it a little for herself. She had made sure to mention the reference of Lord Kurel - whoever that was. However, the matter of the hidden items were her secret. ‘Always pay yourself first’ she mused as she croaked out the events to the anxious group. She thought she saw Zyr look at her with skeptical discernment but then the moment was gone. She was carefully led back down the ridge toward camp. Firah smiled within herself all the way. She could still take care of herself.

  “Are you sure you want to be alone? I can stay longer if you like …” Shien spoke quietly. After their return to the camp, Firah repeated her testimony of what had happened. Zyr had mercifully healed her swollen face and eyes. All Shien could manage to help was a suggestion to the others to give her some space. When she asked him to join her, his empathic senses buzzed with illumination. She was feeling uncertainty and desire.

  They found a secluded spot away from the battle. It was strange to find a quiet and reflective spot so close to the remains of war. The fields drifted lazily in the cool Darkwood wind as the sun masked itself in the white robes of the heavens. The moments had slid by like longing eddies cast aside by the steady stream. Time had been misplaced in their quiet retreat.

  Shien remained still and watched her. Locks of dark hair were tussled and tumbled by the wind. In this light … despite the changes upon her … she was truly beautiful. She looked at him with a knowing glance and then turned back to the peaceful scene. He waited as she pondered for words.

  “Shien, I only have one thing to say. Yet, I don’t want you to answer now, I only want you to listen.” She paused and gathered her breath as her brow furrowed. He waited patiently upon her. “Things have happened. I don’t understand what it all means. What is certain is that we need you; after helping with so much, perhaps you can understand. Now, I know I cannot relate to your life, your past. Please, I just want you to be with us.”

  She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “As I said, you don’t need to answer. I will know your decision when we depart the camp. Please consider my request. For now, I need some time by myself.”

  He watched her carefully. She seemed to have recovered from the encounter. Her mind seemed lucid. He considered her request. If he stayed, he would stay until Aeredia’s end. He could sense the fates depicting the patterns along both roads. He had arrived at the fork, the paths jutting away into different directions. It would mean trading one life for another: one life of relative ease and freedom, where he was free to choose his own destiny, for another which was darker and constricted, a difficult path with little freedom.

  “I will leave you then … I’ll be with the others if you need me.”

  She nodded as he walked back toward the torn fields. Why were the decisions so hard, so difficult? His mind and heart were divided. ‘Logic,’ Shien mused, ‘has little use in matters of the heart.’ He moved down toward the camp. A watch was placed along the perimeter of the remaining tents and shelters. Shien nodded to one respectfully, as he entered the area.

  Would he have the courage to give his life over to her?

  * * *

  “Thank you, Firah.” The cadre Lord was truly humble and sincere in his gratitude. “The White Guard stands always indebted to you.” He knelt to one knee before her and took her hand gently. Firah blushed and cast a quick glance around to the others assembled. All who had survived were there, heads bowed in respect. Tey’ur pressed a small gilded token into her palm, which was bound to a slender gold chain. He closed her hand upon it and kissed her fingers gently. Firah blushed and shifted awkwardly at the act. Rising, the Lord’s voice boomed for all around. “Firah of Lenhir will always be welcome in the halls of the White Guard!” He pressed a hand to his chest and shouted aloud “So is it spoken!”

  “So shall it be done!” the remnant of the guard exclaimed in one vigorous cry. Firah was taken aback by the simple yet moving ceremony. She bowed slightly to Tey’ur and then retreated back to where Zyr and Shien awaited. A cart was supplied providing all their needs for ten days in the way of provisions, packs, blankets and an assortment of things the Guard could spare. Following the customary inspection of the campsite, all were ready to depart. Tey’ur signaled Zyr to approach. Moving ahead, the monk bowed deeply and simply to his old master. Firah watched as the old Lord placed a hand upon the shoulder of her friend and a small smile fell across his lips. They simply looked at one another with no words being spoken. After a moment, Zyr nodded and stepped back next to Firah. Next, Shien was called forward. Tey’ur presented him with a letter, sealed by
the crest of the White Guard and bade him to read it when he had less pressing concerns. Shien took the letter and stepped backward. The Lord of the White Guard raised a hand in farewell and spoke the traditional parting words of Kenhar.

  “May the grace of our Mother be upon all of you. May your journey be swift upon Her song and sheltered from Her wrath.” The three companions bowed a final time and the White Guard moved slowly away, treading the path back to the White Halls to await the inevitable siege. Firah felt a small degree of remorse, despite the difficulty of the past days. She had come to understand these men and their duty to the land. Silently, she said a prayer to Mother for their safety.

  “Are you sure Tohm will not return?” she asked Zyr quietly, while turning to face the monk. He seemed lost in thought, his face staring off into the horizon, his eyes far away. He slowly turned and looked down into her waiting face.

  “Not until he is able to gain control of himself. He feels that he is a danger to the group and despite my efforts, he has chosen solitude for the time being. Do not worry, Firah, of all able men and beasts, he can find us if he chooses. That I know. I believe it is for the best.” Zyr sighed deeply and turned back to the horizon. “Somehow, I feel we shall see our loved ones again.” Firah stared up at the monk’s face. That was her friend, always full of mystery. She shifted her gaze to Shien, who looked back at her. He smiled slightly and she made a funny face back. He laughed softly and Zyr turned to look at them both. “It will be a short journey now to where we must go. I want you both to trust me this last time.” He placed his healing hands upon their shoulders and carefully looked into their eyes. “We are seeking answers to questions. I believe that we can find them in a place that has long remained hidden from the world. We go to the Broken Halls.” The group stood in silent repose at the mention of the name.

  The Broken Halls, the shrine of death and hope.

  “No one ever truly unveils themselves to others. There is always a small degree of vulnerability that lays safely locked away. To truly conquer the enemy, one must draw that vulnerability close to the surface. Their preoccupation with their own fears and weaknesses will hinder their ability to act rationally. Irrational choices will lead to mistakes. Find their weakness and expose it!”

  Deni - Ingenor: Master of Tactics, Spirit and Perception

  Eve of the Second War of the Order

  The Hunt for Redemption

  GREEN, YELLOW, REDS … smells …

  It is time to leave it all behind.

  Creatures gone.

  Now I am alone and the thought is bitter and cold like the north wind.

  Alone, free like wind.

  I have been alone for so long …

  Survive.

  There is a way to become who I was again.

  Live.

  Zyr is wise, his council sound … the tall grey one grasps the key.

  Run.

  The solution to all questions, to end the suffering.

  Ground moves, my feet and hands, grass asleep.

  I see them ahead. Even now, they all move so slowly … something weighs them down.

  Enemies, caution.

  They hang their heads … and there is the man I seek!

  Watch, wait.

  I must go to him, curse you!

  Watch, wait.

  The day had been uneventful as the company pressed their way back to the White Guard Citadel. All was strangely quiet amongst the once boisterous men of arms, now silent and grave. The plan intercepted by Firah was clear enough, given the Grey activity in southern Mehnin over the Darkwood season. Under the reality of this new threat, the solemn company knew that death’s cold embrace awaited many of them upon the completion of their wearying march. It would be a contest of arms beyond all that they had seen in their time. Once famished and desperate for conflict, the Grey cadre brethren had sipped their fill from the cup of war. Indeed, they had feasted bitterly upon the tables of their enemy, and still more was being prepared. The White Guard camp’s tension was profoundly evident. Many of the men had families and loved ones who would likely join them in death. The harsh reality had overwhelmed the remnant of the hunting party, a poignant question crossed each mind with every step. Would they have enough defenders to withstand an assault upon the White Halls? The answer was carried upon the wind, which listed gently across the brows of each soldier. The wind was cruel …

  Tey’ur stood silent and checked the harness of his warhorse for the third time. How many times had he done this in his life? His hands moved without a thought, every motion now ingrained in his mind as mere routine. He looked to the silent company. Leading others to their death was routine. He pressed his brow to the soft neck of the great beast. Calista whickered softly, as if in understanding of his thoughts. How grateful he was for the mare. She understood. The lord stretched his armoured arm forward and patted her white neck softly. The pride of the Halls in intelligence and breed, she had been a faithful steed and bore her share of strong foals. She was like him in many ways, having seen too many wars and carrying many burdens. She had also seen many years … bless her, she still bore him with grace and confidence. He wished that he could feel the same of himself, for even as he stood against her, his whole frame seemed drained of desire and passion.

  Ever since the moment with Zyr he could think of nothing else. He had been prepared to leave this realm the previous night, and now that he still breathed he could not hide from the truth. The questions sunk deep. What had happened to his life? Truly it had been more miserable than meaningful, sustaining himself upon cold and fruitless thoughts of revenge for so long. Such scanty sustenance had eroded his soul. Now he felt empty, and without purpose. He shifted his eyes to the men. If he was callously honest with himself he knew he cared not one whit for them. They were all simply pieces in the tactical game that flowed endlessly through his mind. A lifetime of war had driven all thoughts of compassion and empathy from him. He dare not care for another; that would unlock harsh memories … he had lost so many under his watch. He forced his head back from Calista’s reassuring warmth and his deep deliberations. He had sensed a presence near him and so completed his final check with a firm tug on the harness.

  “Lord,” Corbin spoke curtly, “the troops are prepared to move. Shall I issue the order to march?”

  Tey’ur turned toward the younger man and considered him briefly. He was able enough, and with significantly less grey. Small wisps of white streaked through the brown upon the Ashori’s temples. Corbin’s face was perpetually set in a shrewd and plotting regard - whether consciously or not, Tey’ur could never tell. The man was tall, though not to be compared in stature with his guild lord’s large frame. Tey’ur looked into the blue eyes of his first-captain; they were so cold and calculating. He knew that this man had been destined for leadership; it was only a matter of time. Suddenly, Tey’ur found himself speaking words which seemed to come from outside his mind and yet deep within his heart.

  “Corbin, I want you to assume leadership of the party. I believe the time has come to shift the reins, and the men will need strong leadership in the days ahead. You can assume your full duties following the Acceptance at the White Halls.” Tey’ur could hardly believe the words which had thrust from his body like daggers. Yet they were true. Perhaps, it was a last desperate attempt of his heart to regain a semblance of life. It had to start somewhere. He watched the familiar light of ambition come alive in Corbin’ eyes. Still, the magi was careful as ever in his reply.

  “My lord, the men follow you to death. What cause would they have to follow my lead?” He looked narrowly upon the weary lord.

  “It will be done. The die is cast. I will instruct the men that you will be leading the party. The time is now, Corbin, whether you feel prepared or not. Do you accept? Or shall I find some other fool to fill the position?”

  “If you make this choice, there is no returning. You will have broken your oath of fealty. As such I would not have you interfering with my leadership
.” The change of tone in the captain’s voice unnerved Tey’ur. The Root-weaver was always so pointed with his comments, and the words slipped deep into Tey’ur’s heart. Here was evidence of the winds of change. His concessions hardly fazed the younger man, indicating that there was a plan in place for his removal. Perhaps, it was easier and cleaner this way. Still, this young one had much to learn of leadership, and his head would hang many a day in sorrow before his end came.

  “You are impetuous and arrogant, Corbin. Exactly what this cadre needs, it seems. You need not concern yourself with my affairs. I have no intention of returning or supplanting your leadership. Beyond that, you may do as you wish. That is assuming no other shall rival you for the position.” Corbin laughed softly, which surprised Tey’ur. It was the first time he had heard expressed emotion from his first-captain.

  “That will not be a concern. I know that you sense I have been planning your removal, old man,” The Ashori spoke candidly, almost lazily. “Your time has been long spent in needless pursuits. We would have no more of it.” He lifted his chin slightly and a small smile crossed his face. Tey’ur would have struck him, and hard, but his heart was as cold steel, hardened to all offenses and slander. Palpably he felt it: The politics, the pressures of leadership, the weight of the dead, all slid from his shoulders as water upon stone.