by Greg Curtis
The thrones were broken. But then that had to be expected after what had happened to them. And while she didn't yet know all that had befallen them, she did know that they had never chosen their path. They had been bound, and dragged to the Temple in great iron wagons. All without explanation. They had been marked against their will. And finally they had been drugged and somehow placed into the stone statues they had somehow become. They had been murdered! And yet survived death itself!
How that worked she didn't know. But their bodies must have been preserved somehow inside the stone – or perhaps underneath it. While pieces of their minds, their understandings of magic, had somehow been infused into the enchantment.
Elodie suspected that that was why it hurt so terribly when worshippers had sat on the thrones. The pain was unbearable. But that was probably in part because they felt that pain and confusion and loss that the thrones themselves had felt. They had been placed in a living hell, and some of that came through with the magic that was learned from them.
Who had these ancients been, she wondered, that they could inflict such torment upon their own people? Had they been completely soulless?
One thing she did know about them though. They had been desperate. Their world had just been torn apart. The portal walls had just been created. And nothing was where it should be. Friends and family were missing. Homes, towns and cities were missing. Everyone was terrified. And no one had known what had happened. That she guessed, was why the Temple had been built and the thrones created. Not that that was any true excuse for what had been done. There could be no excuse for such a thing.
“We should head for the leaders,” Elodie told the thrones. “Please try to keep up and stay together.” That was a problem for them. They tended to wander, or at least their wits did. And every so often they would just stop moving and stare blankly at nothing, lost in some half remembered thought. It made travel with them very slow as she had to constantly check that they were all together. But at least it wasn't far, this time. And she soon had them moving in the right direction.
A few minutes later they had reached the library, or at least the gathering of tables outside and she asked one of the people milling around to see if the could bring a few of the leaders out. She had to do that because she knew that the chances of her getting the entire group to walk through the crowds and then into the building without a few of them getting turned around, were negligible. It could take hours to get them all together. At least when they had been in the endless forest there had been less to distract the thrones.
“Guardian!” One of the leaders addressed her when he came out to see them. “We were worried.”
“I was worried too Styl,” she replied to the giant. “When the Temple was destroyed I did not think I would escape. It was only the grace of the Ladies that saved me.”
“I'm glad you did. And though I hate to ask, you have come to help us with our problem?”
“No.” Elodie shook her head sadly. She knew exactly what problem he meant. The thrones weren't working any longer. How could they when the people who they had been were now free from the stone's embrace. “The thrones will never work again. Nor should they.”
She hated saying that. It felt like sacrilege. A betrayal of everything she had believed in. And yet it was true. If the only way there was to fix the thrones was to sacrifice these ancients back into them, it should not be.
“Oh.” Styl let out a heavy breath. “We had hoped. But we knew when we heard that the Temple had been destroyed that it was a faint hope. The thrones are lost?”
“In a strange way they have been both lost and found. Because these twelve are them.”
“The shades?” The leader looked confused.
“They are not shades. They are ancients. Once bound body and soul into statues to become what we knew as the thrones. Murdered. Now they are free – and living again.” And that she realised, was in part her doing as much as it was Yarin Coldstream's. She had been the one to begin the process of awakening them when she had used the portal to spread the thrones out across the worlds. And then Yarin had finished it when he had begun an argument and pulled them the last of the way to waking. It was a strange thing when both she and the damned dwarf had somehow acted in accord with one another to bring about something so incredible. Though of course, neither of them had known what they were doing.
“I don't understand,” Styl told her.
“Neither do I. Not completely. But I will explain as best I can.” And with that she began introducing them and telling the story. It took some time. A lot of time.
“I see,” Styl announced with a nod when she had finished.
But she doubted he did see. Not completely. And what he did understand she guessed, was that one part of their strategy to defeat the sprites had just fallen apart. If there were no thrones than there were no more people sitting on them learning the casting of the stone from flesh magic. Whatever forces they had in N'Diel fighting would not be joined. They were on their own. They just had to hope that their numbers there were enough to carry the day. It had to be many thousands, she thought. But they might be up against millions. That was a problem.
“I know that casting,” Earth unexpectedly announced. “I used to teach it to my children.” He paused for a moment and then looked around seeming a little lost. “But I don't see my children anywhere.”
It was Elodie's turn to let out a sigh. She could have explained it to him – again. But most of what she told him simply didn't remain. And so she would only have to tell him it all over again in time.
“We're going to need somewhere to stay and the aid of a healer if that's possible.” She turned to what mattered, and for the moment these twelve ancients were what was important. Helping them back to some semblance of normal was her final duty as a guardian. And this duty at least, she would not fail.
“Stay here,” Styl told her. “I'll see to it.” And with that he was off, hurrying back inside the library to arrange the help they needed.
He could move surprisingly quickly for someone of such stature Elodie thought. And he was even quite agile. Still it was a while before he returned and brought with him a couple of young casters to act as guides.
But after that they were off, walking slowly through the streets of the confused town, heading to an old boarding house which was still not occupied – probably because it had no roof as she soon discovered. And when they got there and she began working with bedding and tea, she was told that a healer was on his way.
That was a good thing, Elodie thought. And this broken down boarding house despite its decrepitude was still an improvement over spending so many long nights out in the open. It could be fixed. Things were getting better.
Eventually she even managed to get them all sitting around a table, sipping at mugs of tea while they waited for the healer to arrive. Maybe whoever he or she was would be able to speed up the healing journey for them. Unfortunately she suspected they wouldn't be able to do much. Time would have to be the true healer.
Knocking at the door pulled her away from her melancholy, which was likely a good thing, and so she was glad to answer it. She was even more glad to see who was there when Chy stepped inside, grabbed her up in his arms and kissed her as she had wanted for so long.
Of course her happiness couldn't last.
“Chy Waine Martin!” Air unexpectedly called out. “Didn't your mother teach you better than that?!”
“Um?!” Chy replied looking a little confused by events, no doubt wondering who these ancients were. Shades for the most part didn't say a lot.
“Propriety in all things, Boy” Strength added. “You don't wrestle a woman in public like that!”
And then the rest of them joined in, telling Chy off thoroughly while he stood there, stuttered and stammered a bit and no doubt tried to work out who they were and how they thought to believe they had the right.
Elodie was confused too – but mostly because the ancients knew who he was.
She understood exactly why they thought they had the right to tell him off. They were teachers. But the rest didn't come to her. They hadn't met. So how could they possibly know him? Until she remembered that they had met. In a way. Chy had sat on all the thrones at least a couple of times. Somewhere in the darkness of their wandering minds, they remembered him. They all remembered him.
So did that mean they knew all the others? The many thousands who had sat with them? Elodie suspected that they did. The hadn't recognised the ogres of Staal. But the ogres had never been to the Temple. And neither had Styl the giant she suspected. So they hadn't known him either. But Chy, one of their most dedicated worshippers? They knew him.
But for a time she didn't care, and she didn't want to be let go. So even when he tried to, she held on. And in time she told him who they were. But she still didn't let him go. And if the thrones started telling her off as well, she didn't care. They were back together again.
Besides it was probably good for the ancients. They were reconnecting a little with more of their memories and the values they had once held. So the more they kissed the more the thrones would benefit. At least that was her theory!
Chapter Fifty One
The battles were growing tougher. Everyone was nursing wounds. Fylarne had a scorch running down one cheek and he knew even as it bothered him, he was lucky not to have lost an eye. They were all lucky not to be badly injured – or worse.
Gris had taken a nasty goring from a summoned horn bear and was lucky not to have left most of his insides on the ground. The healers were with him every day and he walked with a limp because of the weakness of his torn muscles. And Dah had taken a direct bolt of lightning to her middle. She had barely managed to shield herself against it and he knew it had done damage. She didn't move as freely as she once had.
But against that their group had freed at least a score of villages, towns and mining camps, and many thousands of slaves had been freed. That was a good thing. And there were dozens of other groups just like theirs, wandering through N'Diel, doing exactly the same as them. That had to mean that hundreds of other towns and tens of thousands of slaves had been freed.
If only they could have lasted longer. If only the thrones hadn't gone away. But they had and now their numbers were no longer being swelled every day with new fighters.
But as he took his place on the outskirts around the mining camp, he knew that this wasn't the time to give in to dreams of “if only”. It was time to free another few hundred slaves. So he stood there, maybe a hundred yards or so away from the slaves, and watched as the others did the same.
Theirs was a simple battle plan. They completely surrounded their target town or camp, a signal was given, and then they marched inwards on the camp, using their one casting over and over again, before the enemy could strike back. The odds seemed to be against them as usual, twenty attackers against hundreds of slaves, but if they were quick with their magic they would carry the day.
Then, even as he readied himself, the call was given, and he had no more time. He marched.
Almost immediately the slaves fell to the ground and started fitting. The enemy's counter attack had begun. The ruined Temple wherever it was, had worked out its own strategy. It converted all the slaves to overseers as quickly as it could. Which meant that soon instead of facing hundreds of slaves they would be facing hundreds of powerful casters.
But he was quick, well practised with his magic, and even as they fell and fitted on the ground he was casting. Tearing stones free of the flesh they were in as fast as he knew how. So were the others. They marched and they fell on the slaves like a horde of wolves, and most he knew would never get up again as slaves.
It was only a small camp, and they were winning.
Then he heard a shot ring out and he knew their other nightmare had arrived. There was a harpy nearby. But not for long. An instant after the shot rang out there was an explosion and he knew another of the foul monsters had gone to the afterlife. He barely even thought about looking around to see where it had been.
It was just cast, cast and cast. And in under a minute half the camp was liberated.
Then something black struck the ground in front of him and the explosion as it hit sent him flying. Fylarne knew what had happened even before he hit the ground. The damned elementals had arrived.
Except they couldn't be here, he thought as he desperately got to his feet. Not yet. The first few overseers had been taken down, and the next lot hadn't yet risen.
But it didn't matter. Only one thing did. Casting. So that was what he did. Ripping loose ever more grains of enchanted stone from the bodies of the slaves, and forgetting about the nightmares claiming the battlefield. They would go away when the overseer who had brought them into this world, lost his connection to the ruined temple.
Cast, cast, cast. He kept working, and when a giant iron golem ran at him he simply stepped aside and carried on. The things were big and powerful, but he had learned over time that they couldn't stop in a hurry let alone turn.
Soon he was approaching the centre of the mining camp, and he knew there couldn't be many left. Some of the former slaves were struggling to get up to join the battle. But he brought them down even as he had to spin and turn as the iron golem ran for him again. And a water elemental flowed towards him.
Somewhere in the distance he heard another gunshot ring out and another harpy explode. This one was so powerful that the detonation made the ground shake. It had to be close. But he ignored it as he marched the last of the way and saw the others doing the same. There weren't many slaves left.
And then there were none! Every slave, worker or overseer, was lying still on the ground, and once more they had won through. Fylarne celebrated when he saw that. Until he realised there were still elementals around.
It was then that he realised the truth. There were more overseers around – and he didn't know where.
They had to find them, quickly. Because the elementals were plentiful enough to overcome them. To kill them. But he didn't have time to do anything but dodge the fast running iron golem and watch as someone else tried to freeze the water one flowing towards him.
Where in all the hells were their masters? Fylarne looked for them even as he rolled across the ground and then leapt to his feet as fast as he could. There was nothing here! Just flat land covered in now sleeping former slaves. It was a camp there weren't any structures for them to be hiding in.
“The wagons!” someone yelled out, and immediately he did Fylarne understood.
There were wagons everywhere, in various stages of being filled with ore and Heartfire. And some of them he guessed, had overseers hiding in them. So he focused on the nearest of them and started casting. Unfortunately there was nothing to cast his spell on, and the iron golem almost caught him as he worked.
Damn he was growing tired of dodging!
But others had more luck, and he watched as a black fire elemental suddenly fell out of the sky in front of him. Then he had to dance out of the way of the flames that poured out over the ground from its disintegrating corpse.
As soon as he was able to, he started work again, casting his magic and desperately hoping to find the rest of the hidden overseers. He missed again – there were so many wagons that the odds had always been against him, but the half frozen water elemental abruptly became a puddle and he knew that someone else had had more luck. Just before the damned iron golem grazed him as it ran by once more and he was sent flying once more.
Thankfully the huge creature stopped running and then fell to the ground with a shocking thump a few seconds later. Someone had found its master too.
The last of them fell shortly after, an air elemental simply turning to a puff of wind and a normal fire elemental simply becoming a blaze heading for the sly. And it was then that Fylarne knew it was over. But he also knew they were in trouble.
He was in trouble because that damned iron golem had clubbed his shoulder hard and his arm barely moved any
more. There was also blood trickling down his forehead, warm read and worst of all, in his eyes.
Others were injured too. Trey looked to have taken a dose of something intoxicating as he couldn't seem to stay on his feet. Maybe the air elemental had spun him around a bit and left him dizzy. And in the distance he could see another of their number sporting burnt leathers and missing patches of hair. He'd taken a scorching.
But that wasn't the problem, Fylarne knew as he collapsed to the ground to rest. The enemy was getting smarter. Leaving overseers in hiding so that they could start summoning elementals from the very moment the battle was joined. And they had no reinforcements coming. Worse, even if they had had them, they still only had the one cast. It wasn't enough.
He brushed more of the blood out of his eyes as he sat there, realising that they needed a new strategy. Or else the battles were going to become tougher and tougher and soon they would begin loosing them. But as his shoulder started throbbing, Fylarne realised he didn't have any idea what to do.
