The Ban of Irsisri_An Epic Fantasy
Page 32
I will sever this spell, but only so that once you take his life, I may take his soul.
“I care not what happens to his soul.”
But you should.
“Why?”
The price, mortal. A soul is the price. Should you fail to take this man's life within a day of the spell being severed, you will forfeit your own soul upon your death. And I will pray for your early demise.
“No, demon, I do not bargain. I will allow you his soul if you allow me his life. That is all.”
Neither do I bargain, mortal. I will have my way.
“Then grant me this, at least, fiend. Wait to accomplish this severance till this man and I are in the same place at the same time.”
No.
“But you must! Otherwise, I may have no chance to kill him.”
The demon seemed to consider that. Agreed. I will wait till you are in the same place, but my terms have changed.
“How so?”
If you fail to kill him within a day, I will take both your life and your soul.
Jogaziddarak vanished with a final, rumbling laugh.
Chapter 45
Dawn came too soon along the road from Paerecis to Apracia. The resari and their irrilai companion had come many miles since leaving the city. Though they had put distance between themselves and the burning inn, they still wanted a cloak of darkness. They were tired and dispirited, the beasts beneath them weary as well. Longhorn suggested they leave the road and make camp so they could rest. If they continued to push on, they would have no strength left to face danger. Their beasts would drop under them, and they would be more likely to make careless mistakes.
Ardemis and Ki'rana acquiesced. They wound their way into a boulder-strewn landscape. When they stopped, a mile or more off the road, Ardemis insisted on taking the first watch. Ki'rana and Longhorn each curled up on the grass and fell instantly asleep.
A day's rest did both the travelers and their horses much good, although Longhorn and his companions each kept an eye on the horizon, worried that Benshaer would track them.
They returned to the road the next morning. Travelers and horses alike were well-rested, and they were no longer keen on traveling in the dark, even if it might prove safer.
The sun was high, directly overhead, its warmth infusing tired muscles, when the city of Apracia finally came into view. They reined in at the lip of a broad hill, their horses content to rest a moment. Far in the distance lay an expanse of gently rolling grassland. The wind picked up for a moment, ripples across the grass sweeping all the way to the city.
The road brought them at last to the city gates. Though dusk was still hours away, they found the gate closed and barred, guarded by a unit of Apracian soldiers. Outside the gate and along the road were at least a dozen tents set up by those who could not get in. Longhorn stopped beside a tent where an old woman sat stirring some greasy food in a greasy pan over a smoky fire.
“My lady,” he began, out of respect. She looked up, and Longhorn was rewarded by a brief sparkle in the woman's eyes. “My lady, is Apracia at war? I see no besieging army. Why are the gates closed?”
“You haven't heard?” she replied. “Apracia's been smitten with plague, though the plague has almost burned itself out. No one may enter or leave the city until the healers give the word.”
Ardemis had overheard. “Healers? Are the holomusari here?”
“Yes. Without them, the city would be lost. The people you see here,” she said with a wave of the hand taking in all the tents, “all have families to return to in the city.” She paused, looking far off. “If the plague didn't get 'em,” she added quietly.
Ki'rana was touched, the uncertainty these people lived with gripping her tight. “Can we help you?” she asked.
The old woman looked up at the young resara and smiled warmly. “No, lady. All I need, what we all need now, is patience and hope. Unless you've got either packed in your saddlebags, we'll accept your good wishes and your prayers, and that's all.”
“May Eloeth be with you,” said the irrilai tribesman, and he bowed to her in his saddle.
The old woman inclined her head for a moment and then watched as the three rode off toward the city gate.
Longhorn and the resari reined in before the gate and dismounted as the dust settled on the road. Ardemis called out and a small opening in the gate revealed a pair of eyes.
“Begone!” came the reply. “No one comes through this gate till the Sar gives the word.”
“We must speak with the leader of the holomusari,” responded Ardemis. “Send word to Hyphos that close friends wait at the Paerecisi gate with urgent news.”
“The healer and his people are busy,” replied the soldier behind the gate, studying the trio. “Why should he be pulled from cleansing our city to speak with three wayfarers?”
“Because,” answered Ardemis, “you and your people owe Hyphos every possible favor for what he's doing for you. If he learns that you denied him the chance to talk with us, you will have displeased him greatly. Do you, soldier, wish to take responsibility for tarnishing Apracian honor?”
After a moment, the soldier replied, “I will send for the musara.”
As the travelers waited, they moved off and prepared to spend the night near the gate. The horses were unsaddled and rubbed down. Longhorn passed food and drink to his comrades. While they rested, Ardemis explained that he knew Hyphos, the leader of the holomusari at Jest. Most likely, Hyphos and his people were the ones who had come to the aid of Apracia, as no other musari were closer. Since the resari knew from their Reading that Visylon had also come from Jest to Apracia, it was very possible he had accompanied the musari.
The sun had set, but there was still some color to the western sky when Ardemis was hailed. Quickly, the three returned to the gate. A different pair of eyes greeted them this time.
“Hyphos!” said Ardemis, his voice low. “We must talk with you. Must we do it with this cursed gate between us?”
The healer's reply was solemn. “I am glad to see you, my friend, but I dare not risk bringing the plague out to you and the others. And if I let you in, I could not then let you out. Something is happening that we need to discuss?”
The elder resara nodded. “Did you bring with you to Apracia a man named Visylon?”
Hyphos was startled. “Yes.”
“Did you know this man Visylon is the Swordbearer?”
“Yes, yes! But how is it that you know?”
The resara flourished a hand-sign before the healer's eyes. A sign that meant danger near. Must talk.
Hyphos whispered some instructions and disappeared.
Ardemis turned to the others. “Wait for me at our camp. I'll be back in a few hours.”
Both Longhorn and Ki'rana objected, to no avail. The elder resara went his way as the others returned to the camp. Had it not been for protecting Ki'rana, Longhorn would have followed Ardemis to see what he was up to. Instead, he put his arm around her waist and held her close, so they could warm one another in the cool night air.
Not far away, a man sat motionless in the dark, his breath so shallow that barely any mist escaped his nostrils. He sat and watched the resari and the irrilai. After a while, he sighed and absently stroked the mask over his face.
Ardemis slipped through a hidden gate into the plague city of Apracia.
“I could be stripped of my ruta for this,” hissed Hyphos.
“Which one?” said the resara with a grin.
“Healer, of course. Good Eloeth, do you know all my secrets?”
The two men laughed quietly but refrained from embracing. Hyphos led Ardemis away to a small park bathed in shadow.
“We will be quite safe here,” said the holomusara. “My sentari are scattered nearby, keeping this area secure.” The men found a bench and sat down. “Now, what danger must you reveal to me?”
“First, tell me of the Swordbearer. We must talk to him.”
Hyphos was already shaking his hea
d. “Visylon's no longer here. He's gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“Arbis Cana.”
“The Rivertree? Why?”
The healer placed his hand on the resara's shoulder. “I will tell you. But, please, tell me your story.”
Ardemis told Hyphos how, months before, the resari were traveling north of the Plains of Forlannar when they sensed something amiss. They held a Reading among themselves and discovered an impending crisis. Turning to head south through the Plains, they stopped briefly to speak with the irrilaii. One of the tribesmen joined them, and they rode on to Braemya. There, they sent word to a fellow resara in Kophid, Strigin, and prepared to wait.
“What was the nature of this crisis?” whispered the holomusara.
“We learned an abramusara would break the Ban of Irsisri and attempt to seize the Paws of the Bear. We also learned that the Gauntletbearer would confront the musara.”
Ardemis continued his tale, telling how they waited, watching for the Gauntletbearer. He told of treachery, of betrayal by Benshaer, who joined himself to the one person in the world they all wanted destroyed — Raethir Del, the Ban-breaker. He told of the courage of Longhorn in rescuing Strigin and Enkinor, the Gauntletbearer. And he told of tragedy, of the death of Strigin and the curse placed on Enkinor by Raethir Del, the curse of the Dreamtunnel.
“My friend, I know you've not finished this tale,” said Hyphos, “but I've never learned so much of import in a single story.”
The resara went on to describe their surprise at learning of the Swordbearer, another Saerani whose fate was intertwined with that of the Gauntletbearer. Again, the treachery of Benshaer entered the picture with another betrayal. Hyphos heard of Benshaer's punishment, the kidnapping of Ardemis and his daughter, their rescue and flight from a turncoat Benshaer, and their escape from danger in Paerecis.
“I'm sure Benshaer is still on our trail,” said Ardemis. “We are not yet free of this danger.”
“What led you to Apracia?”
Ardemis explained how they had tracked the Swordbearer this far. At first, they hadn't wanted to contact Visylon directly for fear of drawing the attention of Raethir Del to him, but the betrayal by Benshaer had changed that. Raethir Del had learned who the Swordbearer was and the fact that Visylon had a role to play.
Hyphos interrupted, “Raethir Del sent some of his agents to stop the Saerani. Visylon narrowly escaped being captured or killed before he found his way to Jest. We found him on our steps, poisoned sick and about to die. I healed him myself, but I almost couldn't save him. It was a strong poison.”
“Then how did he get to Apracia?”
“I talked him into escorting us through the Yalventa.”
“The Yalventa? You came through the Yalventa?”
“Without his aid, we would never have made it. A demon attacked us, killing one of our people.”
“And why has Visylon left? Wasn't he quarantined?”
“You, my friend, are not the first for whom I've broken quarantine. He had to go, so I helped him leave. You and I needed to talk, so I helped you enter Apracia.” The healer paused, elbows on his knees, looking at the ground. “I suspected Visylon bore some important secret from the moment we found him in Jest. Regretfully, we had to coerce him to tell us his secret, after we got to Apracia.
“He told us the sword he bore had cleaved the Tree of Helsinlae, an act he was directed to do by the ghost of Helsinlae's champion, Anquilon. By so doing, Visylon started down the road which you have watched him follow.
“By cleaving the tree growing from the king's hidden grave, the Saerani's sword drew into it a cache of power, the power of the Thraean kings. For what purpose, who can say? It must have something to do with the Gauntletbearer.”
Hyphos told the resara about the Codex Indrelfis and how it had been placed for safekeeping in the Rivertree. Ardemis was astounded. He knew that some treasure was purported to be found within the tree, and that over the years, a handful of foolhardy people had entered the tree and never returned.
“I would have never guessed,” said Ardemis, “that the secret of the Rivertree was an old document that might have a bearing on events surrounding the Paws of the Bear.”
Hyphos explained that he had never connected the Swordbearer to the Gauntletbearer.
After pondering this for a minute, Ardemis suddenly looked up at Hyphos. “Visylon has left Apracia to find the Codex.”
Hyphos nodded. “He's on his way, now. He left this morning. He'll enter the tree tomorrow morning.”
For a long time, the two men were silent. Only a few sounds came from the city. It would be weeks before Apracia would revive and life return to normal. The plague had been checked by the ministrations of the holomusari, but the healers would never be able to remove the emotional scars.
Ardemis broke the silence at last.
“Tell me how to get to Arbis Cana. We must be waiting for the Swordbearer when he emerges.”
Chapter 46
Enkinor opened his eyes and turned on his side. Above him, wispy sand pines swayed gently where their crowns met the slate blue of an evening sky.
There was no jungle, no ruins, no Maeryl.
With a tightening in his throat and pressure behind his eyes, he rolled onto his stomach. If I had let her be taken, I'd be free now. Free to find the sorcerer and kill him.
But if he had let her be taken, he would not have been able to live with what he had done.
Enkinor stood and forced himself to concentrate on the simple and mundane. He had no pack, no provisions, and no sword. But the Gauntlets were still tucked safely in his belt.
Again, I find myself somewhere new. Or is it, he wondered. The pines reminded him of For'tros. Was he near the Seacoast again? The air felt a little cooler than Seacoast weather. Enkinor bent and felt the soil. It was sandy, as he expected, but he still did not know where he was.
He could only see a short distance through the trees. At one point, they seemed to thin, and he began walking in that direction.
The setting sun was plunging the forest into an early darkness, leaving only the crowns of the pines illuminated. As darkness gathered and deepened, the scratchy songs of a million insects grew and spread.
Enkinor picked his way around shallow bogs but could not avoid, in the gloom, stumbling into the water. He half-expected, if he turned around, to find a For'tros village girl following close behind. But when he eventually emerged from the sand pines, he knew he was far from For'tros.
A tan sea of grass extended to the horizon, dotted with islands of trees. Closest and largest of all was a stand to his left. And just within it, a light seemed to dance.
The twilight was sufficient to guide him, but it confused his sense of distance. This stand was just as far as the others. Enkinor trudged on through the whishing grass. He was tired, and drowsy, and not very alert. The cool night wind changed direction and jarred him awake. The air carried with it the cackle of laughter and the aroma of roasting meat. When again the breeze changed direction, he could hear and smell nothing and see little.
Enkinor entered the stand of pines and found a deer dressed and spitted over a crackling campfire. The Saerani moved through the tiny clearing, searching for the people whose conversation and raillery he had overheard. Instead, he found nothing but a few bedrolls and packs.
He remembered a haunted keep and an empty dining hall.
Ah, Eloeth, he thought, I'm tired of this. I just want to escape this damned curse.
Then, something hit the back of his head and everything went black.
A terrible throb in his head was the first thing Enkinor noticed as he came to. The second thing he noticed was that he couldn't reach his head to check it for bruises. His arms were tied to his ankles around some large object. He was lying on his stomach across the back of a horse. The horse swished his tail to brush away a fly, slapping Enkinor in the face. Enkinor choked back a curse and decided to feign unconsciousness a while longer.
He listened carefully, eyes shut. Muffled treads told him there were other horses ahead of him, none behind. The sound of creaking leather told him the leading horses bore riders.
He turned his head forward and opened his eyes a crack. Two horses led, each rider a man of unremarkable size or features, wearing unremarkable garb. The horse to which Enkinor was tied was led by a rope knotted to one of the lead horses.
“Hey, this one's awake.”
“Yeah? It's about time. I told you, you hit him too hard. No point in bringing in a dead one.”
Enkinor rocked with the horse's gait as they followed a narrow trail across the plain. Now and then, he stole glances around him, seeing nothing but seas of grass and islands of pines. Once, in the distance, he spotted a thundering herd of deer-like animals with long, straight horns. Irrili? Are these the Plains of Forlannar?
Through half-shut eyes, Enkinor watched miles of grass pass beneath him. As he rocked back and forth on the back of the horse, he fell in and out of sleep and dreamed of his childhood and the love of a stranger, his mother.
Enkinor hit the cold water with a slap. He woke and struggled to get up for air, but his arms and legs would not move. He started to gasp and inhaled water instead of air. He couldn't breathe, and he had one last coherent thought of how ironic it was to come to such an end, when suddenly he broke through the surface. He vomited water and coughed, his chest pulling in air as quickly as possible, then yelped as he was jolted and bounced. Enkinor was still tied to the horse, and the horse was mounting the opposite bank of a narrow little river. The Saerani winced as shoots of grass lashed his face.