Gewey looked over just as Pali's body hit the ground. His heart filled with rage. He rolled, bringing his blade up between the legs of Pali’s killer, spitting it completely in two. As the halves separated and fell to earth, thick, black blood sprayed out like a fountain.
Gewey’s anger continued to rage, but he knew he couldn't allow this to cloud his mind. Aaliyah still faced three Vrykol, though two had slowed considerably as they burned. He leaped to his feet and took the heads off both flaming beasts with two quick strokes. Aaliyah ducked under the other’s guard, and in a flash its head rolled off its shoulders.
The final Vrykol paused. “This means nothing.” Its rasping voice grated at Gewey's ears, fueling his anger even more. “You will not leave the desert alive.” It charged.
Gewey snarled, and his sword took the creature’s head quickly and cleanly. The instant it fell, Gewey decapitated the legless Vrykol and then rushed to Pali's body. He rolled him over only to see dead eyes staring into nothingness. Gewey bowed his head and gently closed the elf’s eyelids.
“Are you hurt?” he asked as Aaliyah knelt beside him.
“Thanks to your gift, no.” She placed her hand on the back of his head. “You did your best to save him.”
“He should not have been here,” Gewey whispered. “We should never have brought him with us.”
“He came of his own free will,” said Aaliyah. “And he came as a gesture of friendship and kindness. We would not have made it here without him.”
Even in the moment they were pausing briefly to consider this thought, a loud crackling sound, as if from a thousand campfires, suddenly filled their ears. They jumped up to see the bodies of all the Vrykol now turning hard and gray. Thousands of tiny cracks formed on their corpses, splintering like glass and then turning to dust. The ground shook and rumbled. A second later, the earth around Pali's body exploded and hundreds of thin roots shot upward before wrapping themselves over him. Before Gewey could even move, in front of his horrified eyes, the roots had pulled the elf’s body right down into the earth. Gewey fell to the ground, digging furiously with his bare hands. Aaliyah stood back, staring in wonder at the spectacle. After a minute or two of fruitless work, Gewey pounded his fists in the dirt and screamed with rage.
“What is this? What is happening?” His anguished cries were met with silence. Slowly he rose to his feet.
Aaliyah gasped and grabbed his arm, pointing a few feet away. “Look.”
A soft ball of light hovered just above the ground, expanding until it took the form of a man. Its features were hazy and unrecognizable. Its feet didn't touch the earth, and its arms were held wide.
“Who are you?” Gewey demanded.
At first there was nothing. The specter was silent and still. Then nine more figures appeared just behind it.
“We are the first born.” The voice was distant and echoed as if within a great cavern. “We thank you for our freedom.”
“I don't understand,” said Gewey.
“The creatures which we were forced to become are now gone,” it said. “We are free. And here, we are safe.”
“You mean you are the Vrykol?” asked Aaliyah.
“Yes, we were,” it replied. “Our spirits were enslaved by the evil that holds the power of the gods. The spirits of the first born turned into abomination and darkness.”
“I think I understand,” said Gewey. “You are the spirits of Felsafell's people. That's what he meant at the Chamber when he said he had to free his kin.”
At the mention of Felsafell, their lights grew brighter. “Yes. He is the last of us that walks with the living. It is good to know he has not forgotten us.”
“What of Pali?” asked Aaliyah. “What of his spirit?”
“He is safe with us,” it replied. “This place is special. The gods created it and gave it life. Now that you have driven out the sickness that has poisoned it, it can begin to heal. Your friend will stay here with us until the path to heaven is no longer barred by the one who seeks to destroy you. Only when he falls will the spirits of the dead be led to paradise. Only through his destruction can the world once again be set to rights.”
The specter’s lights began to fade.
“Wait, please!” Gewey implored. But they faded completely.
Aaliyah took Gewey's hand. “They are gone, and we should leave as well. If what the Vrykol said is true, fifty Soufis await...”
Her words stopped abruptly, replaced with a loud cry of pain as a tiny black dart struck her in the shoulder. Pulling it free, she threw it to the ground.
On the far side of the clearing, Gewey caught sight of a black cloak vanishing down the trail, harsh laughter trailing behind it. He began to race after the creature, but had only covered a few yards when he heard Aaliyah’s loud moan. He turned just in time to see her fall to her knees, her hand grasping at her wound. He rushed back to her side.
“Poison?” he asked.
She nodded, wincing.
Gewey pulled her hand away and touched the wound. It had already closed and was no larger than a pinprick. He reached into her body with the flow, seeking to expel the poison, but was forced back.
“I don't understand,” said Gewey.
Aaliyah closed her eyes and breathed deep. For a full minute she knelt motionless. “Mandrista,” she said weakly, opening her eyes. “I have been poisoned with sap from the mandrista tree. I cannot be cured using the powers of the earth and spirit alone.”
“What can we do?” asked Gewey, desperation creeping into his voice.
“I must return to the ship,” she replied. “I have the means to extract it there.”
“Do we have time?” he asked, squeezing her hand tightly.
“The poison is slow.” She struggled to her feet. “Three days. We may make it if we hurry.”
Gewey's thoughts turned to the Soufis. He needed to deal with them quickly. “Wait here. I'll take care of the Soufis myself.”
“You cannot do this alone,” she protested. “I....”
“No,” he said, fiercely. “Pali has died, and I'll not watch you die too.” Fury burned in his eyes. “We'll see how brave the Soufis are when I blast them apart and then bury their bodies in their precious desert.”
Before she could argue, Gewey tore off across the clearing and down the path. He covered the distance in only a few minutes, his legs fueled by the flow of both air and earth. The brush that lay in front of the entrance had already been pushed aside, and he could make out the figures of men twenty yards away. He slid to a halt a foot beyond the path, his blade tight in his hand. But he had no intention of cutting his way through fifty men.
The Soufis were lined up in two loose rows. They were wrapped in thick tan robes with white turbans covering their heads. The men in the front row held long curved blades, while those at the rear carried lengthy black bows. The Vrykol stood front and center, his hood thrown back revealing his elf features.
“Did your elf mistress enjoy my gift?” he asked, laughing.
“Laugh if you want,” said Gewey. His eyes narrowed and his legs parted. “But if I were you, I'd be running.”
The Vrykol smiled. “Excellent advice. But we'll meet again, Gewey Stedding. Or should I call you, Darshan?” With that he turned and disappeared behind the Soufis lines.
The moment he was out of sight, the Soufis bowmen notched their arrows and fired. Gewey raised his hand and a blast of wind halted the arrows in mid-flight, sending them falling harmlessly to the ground. The Soufis retreated a step, looking confused and murmuring with doubt and fear. Before they could decide on their next action, Gewey let loose a great ball of flame into the heart of their lines. Twenty men fell instantly, while several others rolled screaming in the sand trying to put themselves out. This was enough to send the rest scattering. But Gewey was in no mood to be merciful. He sent another flame streaking across the ground. The sand crackled and popped as the flames surrounded the remaining Soufis. He tightened the circle forcing them together.
A few tried to run through the fire, but were roasted alive before they reached the other side.
“Die!” Gewey roared, and closed the circle.
Cries of pain and desperate pleas for mercy went unheard as the Soufis burned. The flames grew hotter and taller until they reached fifty feet in the air. The voices of the Soufis were silent. Only the roar of Gewey’s anger could be heard.
As he allowed the flames to subside, Gewey scanned the area for the Vrykol, but he was already gone. The burned stumps of the Soufis dotted the sands, and the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh filled the air. A great circle of pale green glass had replaced the desert sand. It glittered splendidly in the desert sun, its beauty in sharp contrast to the carnage that its creative force had wrought.
Gewey turned away and ran back to Aaliyah. By the time he reached the clearing she had already dressed her wound and sheathed her knife. Her face turned grim when she saw Gewey.
“They are gone?” she asked.
Gewey relaxed his muscles and nodded. “Yes. They’re all....gone.” He took her hand and led her from the clearing.
The image of the flames still remained fixed in his mind. As they approached the entrance to the Oasis, he hesitated. Gewey didn't want her to see what he had done. He almost held her back, but she moved past him and stepped out onto the sands. For a moment she stood silently surveying the carnage. Timidly, he followed her out.
“All gone, indeed,” she remarked.
“I was just....” Gewey paused. “I was just so angry.”
“The wrath of a god is truly not to be taken lightly.” She turned to him and smiled. Her face was awash with pity and understanding. “But you did what had to be done.”
“I know,” said Gewey. “This is not the first time I've killed. It’s just that I never imagined unleashing such power.” He held up the medallion around his neck and examined it. “Only the gods know what I can do when I learn to use this. I fear that it may be too much power for me to control.”
“I doubt it,” said Aaliyah. “The one you must vanquish wields more power than you can imagine. You will need this, and more.” She glanced a final time at the smoldering corpses. “We must go. My time grows short.”
With that they headed off in the direction of the shore, Gewey desperately hoping that they would make it in time to save Aaliyah's life. As they traveled he swore an oath to kill the Vrykol who had poisoned her.
And before he killed it, he would make a special point of teaching it to fear death.
Chapter 16
Frost covered the bleak landscape as Lee and Jacob rose from their tent, shivering and rubbing their arms. The bitter cold of the far north was not something even a Hazrian Lord could ignore. Fires already burned around the camp, and the scent of bacon wafted on the frigid air. Darius was already up: something most uncharacteristic for the fat merchant. He was kneeling down by a fire, cradling a cup of hot coffee in his gloved hands. Lee and Jacob joined him.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Darius. “It seems foolish to me.”
“I'm sure,” Lee replied. He grabbed the tin kettle suspended over the fire and poured himself a cup. “If what I hear is true, we will gain passage north if we join the army. All new recruits are sent to Kratis for training and deployment. And that's where we need to go.”
“I haven't asked you your true business,” said Darius. “And I won't. But you seek the palace of the Reborn King, it would seem. If you do this, you will be caught, and you will die. You don't want to know the stories I've heard about what they do to spies.”
“I can imagine,” Lee said, soberly. The thought of his son suffering torture caused his stomach to knot. “Still, we must try.”
“Well, if I cannot dissuade you,” said Darius, “at least allow me to help you.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of folded parchment. “It's a letter of endorsement stating that you have been in my service for the past five years. I am known in these parts, so it will pass scrutiny.”
Lee took it and smiled gratefully. “Yes. This will certainly help us.”
They ate, and then packed their gear. Fennio and three others were waiting for them by the road. Lee knew that he was taking a risk in traveling with these men. Should his and Jacob’s cover story be questioned, any of them could say that they had only recently joined the caravan. If that happened, the endorsement letter would become a liability instead of a help.
Darius was also at the roadside, holding a number of small purses. “All right, lads,” he said. “Don’t ever say I'm not a fair man.” He handed out the purses to the men. The jingle of coins sounded as they bounced them up and down. “Just don't go counting it yet. You've been paid already, so wait until I'm gone before complaining about how little extra is there.”
“Thank you for all your help,” said Lee. He shook the man’s hand firmly and smiled.
Darius laughed heartily. “And thank you for saving my life.” He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Now go. I have a business to run, and wine to drink.” He turned away and strode back to his tent.
The recruiting station was three miles away at the Whiterun Pass garrison, just south of the city itself. It took them only an hour to arrive, but the town could be seen from more than a mile away. Tall buildings of burgundy stone rose from behind thick granite walls. Lee was impressed. Cities and towns this far north were usually little more than trading posts. In fact, Hazrah was by far the largest city north of the Razor Edge Mountains, and that was small compared to Baltria or Althetas. Clearly, Angrääl had been hard at work.
The garrison was impressive as well. It resembled an ancient fortress, very similar to those shown in paintings Lee had hanging in his house back in Sharpstone. The twenty-foot high curtain walls were smooth and seamless, as if carved from a single block stretching out at least two hundred feet, left to right. In the center, an arched iron gatehouse door, covered in vicious spikes, was closed. At each corner of the walls, looming another twenty feet higher, were round towers with dozens of arrow slits for defending archers to fire through. Capping every tower was a domed turret manned by three watches. From what Lee could see, there were at least two dozen more archers and pike-men patrolling the length of the walls between each turret. Flapping in the strong north wind atop all four domes was the now familiar banner of Angrääl.
A long table had been set up just outside the gatehouse door. A soldier stood at each end, and a slightly built man in a red linen suit and thick wool coat was sat behind it taking information from four new recruits. Lee, Jacob and the others filed in behind them. Each recruit was told to wait a short distance away from the table after their information had been taken.
When it was Lee's turn, he handed the recruiter Darius’s letter. The man examined it for a moment, then sighed.
“More sell-swords,” he muttered. “Do you have any military experience?”
“No, sir,” Lee replied. “But my nephew and I are both good with a blade. We're from....”
“I don't care where you're from.” He glanced up and shook his head. “I'm sure you are both eager to join up, so we'll make this quick.”
After registering both Lee and Jacob under the names given in Darius’s letter, the recruiting officer wrote down what skills they listed. After he finished this, he had them sign a large parchment and instructed them to wait with the others. For hours they just sat there huddled together trying fight off the cold as dozens more men came to join. By late afternoon their numbers had swelled to nearly one hundred. No offer of food or drink had been made, so Lee and Jacob shared what little they had with Fennio and the rest of Darius' former guards, who had clearly not thought to bring anything for themselves.
An hour before sundown, the recruiter stood and announced that anyone else who wished to join must return tomorrow. With that, the two guards picked up the table and followed the man into the gatehouse. The sun was nearly gone, and the air was starting to turn even colder. It wasn't long before many of the ne
w recruits became restless. Disgruntled whispers could be heard.
“Enough of this bloody nonsense,” yelled a stocky, dark haired fellow clad in thick leather mail. “I did not come here to freeze and starve.” He began striding off in a southerly direction.
There was a whistle, followed by a thud as an arrow pierced the back of the man’s neck. He fell to his knees, grasping desperately at the arrow before crumpling to the ground and gurgling his last breaths.
“In case you were wondering, you are not permitted to leave.” A tall, lean man stepped from the gatehouse. He wore a shining metal breastplate with the broken scales of Angrääl etched in gold across it. His blond hair was cropped close, and even in the fading light his chiseled features and square jaw were evident. He was as broad as Lee in the shoulders, and carried himself with supreme confidence. A thick, heavy broadsword hung from his belt, while in his hands was a short, curved bow. He dropped the bow to the ground and walked toward the men. “I am Captain Faris Lanmore. From the moment you signed your names, you were in the service of the Reborn King of Angrääl. And as you can see, we do not tolerate desertion.”
He strolled casually in front of the men. When he reached Lee he paused. “You have a hard look about you.” His eyes went to Jacob for a moment. “Is this your son?”
“No, sir,” replied Lee. “He is my nephew.”
Captain Lanmore nodded, rubbing his chin. “Then that would make you....” He paused for a brief moment. “Barath. Yes, that’s the name you gave. I noticed you and your nephew as you approached. You claim to be a mere sell-sword, here to do some soldiering?”
The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 1-3 Page 82
