The Awakening

by Gary Alan Wassner

  I should have known that the lifts would be guarded. Errors like this could be costly.

  Dexterously, she picked up a small branch without making a sound and cast it to her left. It hit something solid with a dull thud. Again, there was no response from her foe. She decided to stay put for a while and wait for her assailant to make a mistake. She slowed her breathing to a minimum and began to relax her body systematically, limb by limb, part by part. Unwilling to allow her concentration to lapse, she forced all thoughts out of her mind and heightened her senses. She placed one palm upon the surface of the ground so she could feel any movement that occurred nearby as well as possibly see it or hear it. Many minutes elapsed and still there was no indication of anyone in the vicinity. She would not have fled. She must be here somewhere just as I am, waiting for me to make a mistake.

  As she lay there, she saw a narrow beam of light panning the ground as if in search of something. She could not determine its point of origin, though she watched it closely. It seemed to terminate in a different place every time she locked her eyes upon it. Slowly, it drew nearer to her and she lay her head flat upon the surface, careful not to make a sound. She could see it now only inches away from her and there was nothing she could do to prevent it from reaching her. Hopefully, it would skim over the surface of her body and she would remain undetected.

  A tiny pinpoint of light glanced off of her back, striking her armor at just the wrong angle and causing it to gleam brightly in the darkness. Realizing she was exposed, she flew into action. Leaping to her feet, she turned her side to the assault, hoping to minimize the target she presented to her adversary, but her response was too late. A burning pain shot through her left arm, leaving it dangling at her side. With her other arm, she swung her sword before her, hoping to deflect the next volley when it came. Unable to see who or what opposed her, she felt the disadvantage, knowing that her position was now marked by the enemy. Quickly, she pulled the branch from out of her chest-plate with the hand that still clenched her sword. Willing it to ignite, she lit up the entire area.

  Before her stood a woman in a red cape with her arm outstretched toward her, and much to her chagrin, to her left and slightly behind her stood another in similar garb.

  “Do not move a muscle or I will kill you,” the one before her said, bitterness and loathing dripping from her words.

  “And if she fails, I will not,” the second Forsaken added. “Drop your weapon.”

  Alemar did not doubt they’’d carry out their threats if she forced them to, but she also believed that they would show her no mercy later, regardless of how she behaved now. A Princess of Eleutheria could never be a prisoner of the Dark Lord, but she reluctantly released her sword nonetheless. It fell heavily to the ground before her.

  “Push the blade forward,” her enemy demanded.

  Alemar obliged and slid the sword a foot or so in front of her.

  “What do you want with me?” the Princess asked, allowing her light to fade. “Your army has been vanquished and my troops are everywhere. They know where I am and they will be here momentarily. If you leave quickly, you may yet escape.”

  “Oh, but what a prize you will be for our master,” one of them said. “It will be worth whatever it may cost us to bring you back to him. Even if dead you will bring us esteem.”

  “Your men are nowhere near here. I have already searched the area. It seems you have been abandoned, my dear,” the other one cackled, and she walked toward Alemar slowly and cautiously.

  Twirling her finger round and round, she conjured a thread of light with which she intended to bind her wrists.

  “Why waste the power,” the other woman said. “Let me still her first,” she exclaimed while lifting her arms before her.

  Alemar knew that if she did not do something quickly, she may not have the opportunity again. She readied herself to respond, realizing that the odds weighed heavily against her.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Kalon rode as fast as he could, leading Crispen’s valiant vanguard against the wolves on the plain before Lormarion. Bristar followed close behind him with the main body of his army. They had already battled the flying beasts that had been camped in the hills beyond and they had sent them scurrying and screeching into the skies. When they first came upon them, the bird-like animals with their long pointed noses were already in disarray. Many were flying riderless in circles above the camp, while others had long elfin arrows sticking into them in a multitude of places. The ground was already littered with the corpses of those who had succumbed to their wounds, and countless armored riders cowered all around without the benefit of their mounts beneath them.

  They quickly dispatched the soldiers, showing them little mercy, and with their axes in hand, they slaughtered those beasts who were neither smart enough nor swift enough to flee from their wrath. It did not take them long to completely disable their base of operations, thereby forcing the remainder of the beasts and riders to find refuge elsewhere on the plain. If they returned to this area again they would encounter only the dead and dying.

  The wolves, on the other hand, had been left to roam freely since Seramour had been sealed off. They grew bolder and bolder with each passing hour, realizing that no volleys of deadly arrows were coming down at them from the hills above and that no elfin riders had challenged them the entire day. Always hungry and ever vicious, they attacked anything that moved upon the ground.

  He rode like a true warrior, heaving his sword from left to right, guiding his pony deftly through the waves of attacking wolves. Kalon fought with a vengeance, shouting as he attacked, fighting as courageously as any elfin Prince of legend ever had. The elves of the mountains who had been reluctantly assigned to his command, gained a thorough respect for him when the battle began. By the time they reached the crest of the Plain of the Wolves, they looked upon him as a hero. They rallied to his side, thrust their axes into the air and shouted along with him the names, Whitestar and Bristar over and over again in succession. He was an inspiration to the warriors of the north and they would not easily forget the bravery and fortitude with which he led them forward.

  Bristar reunited with his nephew on the hill before the forest, on the Crest of the Dawn, the northernmost entry point into Lormarion. The city above them was burning and they could all see the smoke rising in billowing clouds into the darkened sky. Before them, the woods glowed red and ominous.

  “You have brought honor to your nation and to yourself, Kalon,” Bristar said to him. “My men would as readily follow you into battle as they would me. I am proud to be your uncle,” he said humbly.

  Kalon reddened. “I had much to make amends for, uncle. I have not always lived my life nobly,” he replied.

  “Courage is not something one develops with time. It is a quality that resides deep within a person’s spirit. You lacked only a spark to ignite your flame, and now it has burned brightly before us all today.”

  “Thank you for your kind words,” Kalon said, and he bowed his head in response. “I only wish that I had the resolve sooner to realize that strength is to be admired, not envied. My own people disdain me for my lack thereof.”

  “They will hear of your valor on the Plain of the Wolves. In time, they will come to understand you and they will once again extol you.”

  “I wish only to regain my respect, may the First be so generous,” he replied.

  “You have surely won mine, nephew.”

  Bristar raised his axe high into the air and all of the soldiers blanketing the plain did so as well.

  “Kalon. Kalon. Kalon,” they chanted, thrusting their weapons upward with each word.

  When the troops settled down once again, Bristar put his arm around his brother’s son and embraced him warmly, causing Kalon to blush an even deeper crimson.

  “Now, let us march into the woods ahead and finish the job we came here to do,” Bristar shouted. “My brother and his people need our help.”

  Kalon was so flushed with e
motion, he could barely concentrate. His prowess at battle took him by surprise as much as it did anyone else, and he never felt as good as he did now, even under these, the most trying of circumstances. He felt redeemed and he felt proud. He watched as Bristar led his troops into the woods, and he sat upon his pony, staring after them until the last of the men disappeared into the darkness ahead.

  He waited there, relishing these few moments of peace and quiet he had alone to contemplate all that had happened, before following the others into the forests of Lormarion. By the time he spurred his mount forward, the rest of the army was well ahead of him. He had not anticipated how dark it would be under the cover of the trees, and he could now neither see anyone nor hear anything other than a constant, low pitched droning sound.

  Kalon directed his pony down a narrow path that led him between two large trees. In the dim light, he thought he could see bodies lying upon the ground scattered throughout the woods, but even the sunlight that had illuminated their way earlier had now faded into dusk. It was almost impossible to clearly see anything at all. Kalon hesitated to call out to the others in the event that an enemy might be lurking somewhere nearby and he was reluctant to alert anyone to his presence. He had no idea what to expect in the woods of Lormarion, so he unhitched the axe that Bristar had given him and he held it ready beside him.

  A quick burst of light caught his attention a short distance ahead, but it faded before he could discern anything within it. Slowly and carefully he inched his way forward. He was certain he could hear voices in the distance. Slipping from the saddle, he pulled the reins over his pony’s head silently and left him to graze upon the thick but flattened grass beneath his hooves. Kalon was particularly stealthy and he walked over the hard terrain without making a sound.

  With his battle axe at his side, he advanced through the woods toward the sounds, but the persistent humming was confusing his senses and making it difficult to isolate the previous noise. He walked over a well beaten path, one that had obviously been cleared by elfin hands and meticulously maintained. Although the air was smoky and rotten smelling, as he stepped into the clearing he found it easier to breathe. The ceiling of low branches above him had disappeared, and as he looked up he could see the vague outlines of a platform high overhead.

  This must be one of the lifts that takes you up to Seramour, he thought to himself, having heard all about the Heights from those few of his countrymen who had visited here in the past. They seem to be secure still. At least nothing had breached their defenses from this direction.

  He heard a sound again and this time he was certain it was a voice. Stepping gingerly upon the forest floor, he pulled his cloak around his shoulders and placed the hood over his head. Immediately, his silhouette faded into the background, making it even harder to see him should anyone be lurking in the area. He held his axe high and ready.

  “Am I not infinitely more valuable to you if I am awake and aware?” he heard a familiar voice say. “I will be quite a burden to you if I am unable to walk on my own. You have no horses upon which you can transport me. Will you carry me all the way to Sedahar?” the female asked.

  “A corpse is a corpse. What do I care if I drag you behind me through the dirt?” another voice replied, venomous and full of spite.

  “Why do you converse with her?” another voice asked. “Can you not see she is merely stalling for time? Let me put an end to this now.”

  “But think of how pleased he will be if we bring her back to him alive. Do you not remember how enamored he was of that dim-witted elfin boy?”

  “He did seem so enchanted with him. I had nearly forgotten.”

  Kalon knew almost at once that it was Alemar, his Sister, whom he had so fortuitously stumbled upon. How she had gotten herself into such a precarious situation he could not imagine, but he was determined to rescue her from it at all costs. He owed her so much and he had wronged her so many times in the past. He would not allow any harm to come to her now.

  “I found her first, you know,” the voice to his left said.

  “But had I not arrived, she probably would have escaped,” he heard the woman reply from his right side.

  “Why? Do you think me incapable of subduing her alone?”

  “I am more capable. That is all that I contend.”

  “So you do think me inadequate?”

  “I only know what the others tell me,” she replied.

  “And the others think me inept then?” she asked contemptuously.

  “I did not say that. You did.”

  Alemar listened to the two women arguing and she seized upon the moment. Ducking low to the ground, she dove for her weapon before either of the women had a chance to react. Grasping it with her right hand, she rose to her knees and swung it upward with all her might, cleaving the sorceress before her in two.

  The red-robed woman on her left conjured a burning ball in the palm of her hand and flung it directly at Alemar’s back. Kalon leapt in between them without a moment’s hesitation and the orb of fire meant for his Sister hit him squarely in his chest. Alemar turned, clutched her sword by its crystal hilt and hurled it. It struck the woman in the middle of her forehead, penetrating the bone of her skull as if it was made of paper, and she fell backward upon the ground with the blade still lodged securely in her brain.

  “Kalon!” Alemar exclaimed, rushing to her brother’s aid. “What in the name of the First are you doing here!”

  He lay upon the ground staring up at her. He was smiling and she thought for a moment that the missile had missed him. With her one good arm, she pulled the light from her pocket once again and willed it to kindle. In the brightness it shed it was clear that she was wrong. Kalon’s chest had been shattered.

  “Is she dead?” he asked.

  “Yes. They both are,” Alemar replied.

  She knelt down next to him and placed the glowing stick by his side, while she tried frantically to assess the extent of his injuries.

  “How did you come to be in this forest, Kalon?” she asked again, totally shocked and amazed by his sudden appearance.

  “I came to help, but I lost the others.”

  “Others? What others?”

  “Our uncle Bristar and his army.”

  “They are here in Lormarion?”

  “Yes. When you returned from the mountains with the seeds and father sent you to lead our men to Seramour, I understood how wrong I had been all these years. I wanted to die,” he said, gasping now for breath but still smiling. “I hated myself. I ran from the city and hid in the hills. But then I realized that what I needed to do was to try to help and not run anymore. I had been running from myself for so long, Alemar,” he said softly.

  She leaned over him to see if she could stop the bleeding, but the wound was far too extensive for her to even try.

  “I must find some help,” she said, looking all around as she started to rise.

  “No— Do not leave me now. I need to talk to you,” he said, grasping her hand tightly.

  “I will not leave you, Kalon,” she replied, and she sat down again upon the ground beside him.

  “I went to our uncle and I persuaded him to come here. I convinced him that we need to combine our strength if we are to withstand Caeltin’s assault upon us all. He listened to me, Alemar,” Kalon said. “Together, we rode here as fast as we could. It was his army that vanquished the wolves and destroyed the staging ground built for the flying beasts.”

  Alemar did not know what he was talking about, but she held his hand and allowed him to speak.

  “I never hated you,” he said. “I wanted father to love me like he loved you, that is all.”

  Kalon coughed and blood trickled down his chin. Alemar pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed it gently on his face.

  “You saved my life, brother,” she said, still stunned by his sudden arrival, and even more so by his transformation.

  “You called me ‘brother’,” he said with a smile. “You do not kno
w how good that makes me feel.” His breath was unsteady and his eyes were bright and glossy. “It is better that you live than me,” he said in a weakened voice. “You are the stronger one. You always have been.”

  “No, Kalon. I am not strong. Can you see the tears? I cannot even control them,” she said as they ran freely down her cheeks.

  “Will you ever forgive me, Alemar?”

  “Forgive you? What have I to forgive you for? I was always so headstrong and selfish. I was so afraid that father would forsake me after my mother died. I did not welcome you any more than you did me. I was the elder. I should have known better,” she confessed.

  “But you were never mean,” he said. “And I was.”

  “Sometimes we hurt others because we think it is the only way to alleviate the hurt in ourselves,” she said, choking upon the words.

  “You are my sister. May I call you that now? You told me once that I was no brother of yours,” he recalled.

  She remembered that moment with anguish now. Each word came back to her like a sharp slap upon her cheek.

  “Yes, Kalon. I am your sister and you are my brother and it will always be so. Nothing will ever change that. I should not have said what I said that day.”

  “It was my fault, not yours. I deserved it. But, thank you Sister, for your kindness.”

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they shone brighter than before, though they were glazed and the pupils were dilated. She grasped his hand more firmly as his own hold upon her fingers weakened.

  “I so like the way that sounds. ‘Sister’,” he repeated in a whisper to himself. He paused for a moment and his face was calm and tranquil. Then, without warning, a look of deep concern replaced that peaceful expression and he spoke with an urgency that was absent before.