But the humans would not be denied. Fully cognizant of the danger, whole platoons of men ran screaming toward the Silestra. Many were cut down, their deaths horrid as the black monsters grabbed their fallen foes, biting into their flesh and tearing arms from their bodies. But the humans kept swarming.
As a second wave of boats discharged their passengers, even the Silestra began to fall in great numbers.
One pocket of the foul beasts seemed to be impervious to the warriors’ advance, as they killed human after human, all the while smiling broadly, their cruel fangs showing. Cerah, seeing this, let out a ferocious cry, directing Tressida to dive toward them. Tressida, expecting to spearhead the assault, was shocked to see Cerah leap from her back into the center of the evil creatures.
As Tressida circled around to approach from a better angle, she saw her match-mate, twirling and slashing with the mighty Isurra. Much as when the Silestra had attacked, body parts flew in every direction, as Cerah methodically hacked at the monsters, each cut a blow of revenge in the name of Beru Passel. Tressida barely recognized Cerah’s beautiful face, as it had transformed into a mask of animalistic furor.
The eyes of the surviving Silestra grew wide with fear as they saw their brethren cut down by this maniacal girl-child. Too late they realized who was killing them. Tressida, grabbing a Silestran in her mouth, heard its blood-chilling voice, part broken glass, part liquid fire, as it cried out its dying words: “It is the Chosen One. These Silestra are lost!”
Tress bit the monster in half and let the two pieces fall upon the few remaining survivors of its race.
In far less time than Cerah dared hope, the battle was over, and the humans, though suffering copious casualties, stood victorious, calf-deep in the gore of fallen monsters. A group of wizards flew to tell the fleeing citizens that they were no longer in danger. Cheering, they reversed their course and returned to Kal Berea.
Not a single creature that had leapt from the black ships remained alive. It was as thorough a massacre as had been Surok’s ravaging of Niliph. As wizard and warrior alike rejoiced at their first success since beginning the war against the Demon of the Frozen South, Cerah stood beside the queen dragon, quiet, almost sullen.
“We have barely made a dent in Surok’s army,” she said into Tressida’s mind.
“But, Cerah! This victory is key! For the first time your army has prevailed. They know now that Surok’s forces are not invincible, as so many secretly thought when they arrived in Roo and saw the carnage there. They have followed you and believed in you, but I don’t know how many actually believed in themselves or thought that they could prevail. Tonight, they understand that they can.”
“All true,” said Cerah. “But the majority of his force is still hidden from us. And he is dividing his troops, which means we shall have to do so as well. We will not always have the advantage of numbers that we had tonight.”
“Poo!” said Tressida.
“What?” asked Cerah aloud, much taken aback.
“I said ‘Poo!’ Which is exactly what you’re being right now. I forbid you to deprive these men and women of their joy with your sour face. We have won tonight, Cerah of Quadar. Look, your friend approaches. Embrace her. Celebrate with her!”
Cerah looked up to see Russa running toward her. Cerah did indeed hold her arms open, and the lovely young wizard ran into them. “We did it, Cerah!” she exclaimed. “We gave Surok a right bloody nose!”
As Cerah looked at her friend, a little blankly, Tressida gave her a poke in the ribs with her pointy tale. “Ow!” Cerah cried, then her expression brightened. “Yes, dear Russa. We did give him something to think about. He won’t take us as lightly after tonight.”
But in her mind, Cerah’s thoughts were still uneasy. It was right that her warriors rejoice. But she saw a much bigger picture, one that was still unclear. Tressida, sensing her match-mate’s continued reticence, poked her once again.
“Tressida, I am going to give you such a punch!” she said, laughing in spite of herself. As she gave the dragon a playful swat, Russa grabbed her face and turned it toward her. Cerah could see her eyes were ablaze with emotion.
“There is more news,” she said to the Chosen One. “Yarren has projected another message. They will reach Oz Qanoti by tomorrow afternoon. ‘Valosa will not slow,’ he told me.
Now, at last, Cerah’s heart rejoiced. Slurr! Slurr would be in her arms in under thirty hours. The weeks of separation had exacted a toll on her spirit, but now her Rock was returning to her. She grabbed the wizard and gave her another hug, this one far longer and far stronger. Then, releasing her friend, she lifted Isurra and, with a magically booming voice, called to the warriors and wizards on the beach.
“Gather our fallen and bring them into the city. They shall be welcomed into the Next Plane when Vellus rises in the morning. As for this lot,” she said, pointing to the evil dead, “heap them in a pile and torch them, as far from the city as you can. I’ll not have their stench fill the noses of the Free People.”
They let out a cheer in response to her orders. When they grew quiet, seeing she still held the Riddue staff aloft, she went on, “You have made me immensely proud, and I love every one of you.”
Across the beach, the warriors raised the right fists in their now familiar salute. “Hail the Chosen One,” they cried.
Cerah lowered Isurra and, walking toward the city, she once again projected her image to Slurr, this time adding a spoken message: “Hurry, Lug. I crave your touch tonight.”
Far out to sea, Yarren and Slurr leaned forward as Valosa tore through the night. The dragon flew so fast that the wind stung their eyes. As he thought about the days to come and the battles he knew would accompany them, Slurr felt his spirit falter.
But at that instant his mind exploded with a vivid image of his wife, standing on the shore with her staff raised above her head. For the first time ever, he heard her voice speak into his mind, so strong was her projected call: “Hurry, Lug. I crave your touch tonight.”
He moved his mouth near Yarren’s ear. Shouting over the wind, he said, “Do you think Val can go any faster?”
Chapter 15
The Reunion
Despite her best efforts, Cerah was unable to keep the stench of the burning monsters’ bodies from blowing across the city of Kal Berea. The monumental task of gathering the remains had taken all the night and part of the following morning, and the combined effort of human and wizard eventually created a pile of filth nearly thirty feet tall. When at last that job was done, a circle of wizards surrounded the heap. They pointed their staffs, simultaneously sending bolts of flame shooting forth. The bodies caught fire but burned slowly.
“Tress, see what you can do to get rid of this garbage,” Cerah said to her match-mate.
“Gladly,” the gold dragon replied, taking wing and flying above the smoldering pile. She opened her mouth and let loose her clinging fire, passing several times from one end to the other. In a matter of moments, the bodies were ablaze. The wizards and warriors who were assembled near the conflagration quickly held their hands over their noses and backed farther away, as the odor given off by the flaming bodies was appalling and the heat was oppressive.
Parnasus turned to Cerah. “Even in death they are vile. But at least the smoke is blowing out to sea.” However, as he said the words, the wind shifted, and the dark vapor headed directly toward the city.
“I’m afraid you spoke too soon, Elder,” Cerah said, shrugging her shoulders. Not even the wizards of Melsa could control the wind.
“As I so often seem to do,” the First-Elder said, smiling sheepishly.
Cerah smiled back at her teacher, thinking that for a great wizard well over one thousand years old, he often showed the spirit of a wonderful child.
Cerah left a handful of personnel to watch over the fire and see that it did not cause any problems more serious than the awful odor. The rest walked with her back to the outskirts of the city. There, taking far less
time than the collecting of the enemy bodies had, a group of wizards had constructed a pyre to send the fallen heroes of the Army of Quadar unto the gates of the Next Plane. She had entrusted this task to wizards alone, because her sad experience on Melsa had taught her that her magical brethren infused their funerary blazes with not only a huge amount of love and respect, but also with fragrant woods, herbs, and flowers. The pyre would burn fast and hot and send the brave souls quickly to their eternal rest.
It pleased her that the number of the Free People who had fallen was so much less than that of the enemy, but she grieved each loss personally. Cerah realized that Quadar was at war and that casualties were inevitable. But that did not stop her from feeling responsible for each warrior who fell. And death among the ranks of her newly found family hurt her even more deeply, for not only did she lose a brother or sister, but a dragon lost a match-mate. And that was a pain that was felt by everyone, even the humans. The grief of an orphaned dragon was overwhelming. It was felt, physically, by the others of its kind and emotionally by all who would hear the screams of the pathetic creature as the bond between it and its match-mate was severed. In yesterday’s battle, only three wizards had been lost, but that was three too many.
As they reached the funeral site, Cerah saw that thousands of citizens were gathered to pay their respects. She was deeply touched by this. The people had, only hours ago, been ready to flee for their lives. But now they had returned to their homes and were assembled to reverentially offer homage to the heroes who had died saving them.
Despite the horrid stench wafting from the distant burning pile of monsters, the people stood silently and waited for the Chosen One to speak.
Cerah stood near the pile of wood. It was surrounded on every side. Even the dragons gathered, though most remained outside the ring of mourners. Three, however, stood at the very front of the assembly. They were, of course, the newly orphaned match-mates. Wizards huddled close to them, gently placing their hands on the great beasts’ scales.
“Free People of Kal Berea,” Cerah began, “warriors of the Army of Quadar, and wizards of Melsa: we are met at the edge of the battlefield to send our fallen heroes to their eternal reward. Our Father, Ma’uzzi, knows the names of each of these great men and women, and He is poised to greet them at the gates of the Next Plane, as will their ancestors.
“Last night, we won a great victory. The vile forces of Surok were defeated, utterly. Not a single of his black horde was left alive. This is thanks, entirely, to the timely arrival of the full force of our army. Until the moment the white sails of our armada appeared, our fate seemed quite grim. But, again, Ma’uzzi’s hand was upon us.
“Even as we send our brothers and sisters to Paradise, however, we must remember that the force sent to make war upon your shores was but a small fraction of the army Surok has built. And the remainder of that despicable force is still hidden from us. Our scouts have yet to locate any more of his black ships, or the demon himself.
“So, as we celebrate both our victory and the lives of our fallen brethren, we prepare our hearts for even more funerals. For the cost of our freedom is a great one. But we will not falter. To do so would be to dishonor our dead.”
Cerah turned to Parnasus, who as always stood beside her. “Elder, please send our heroes to their rest.”
The First-Elder stepped forward and raised his staff. He spoke one word, “Release.” As he did, a small bolt of energy, no bigger than a fist, issued from the tip of the stave. As the onlookers watched, the wisp moved very slowly through the air, finally touching the wood near the base of the pyre. At once, the entire construction burst into brilliant flames.
So fragrant was the scent of the burning wood that it overwhelmed the lingering fetor of the festering fiends. But the aromatic wood and the roaring flames were dwarfed in comparison to the trumpeting of the orphaned dragons. Although the people had heard their screams of mourning earlier, now they realized that the dragons, two blue and one red, were honoring their match-mates. Cerah walked to the great beasts. Each, in turn, lowered its head, and Cerah touched them on the forehead, blessing them.
Then the people of Kal Berea gasped in wonder, as one after another human form, composed of blazing fire, rose from the pyre and soared into the morning sky. This went on for several minutes. Finally, three more forms appeared together. They seemed to hold one another’s hands. As they lifted them above their heads, the dragons, all of them, sent out a chorus of trumpets that was deafening in its intensity. After a moment, the spirits of the three fallen wizards flew off to join the others.
As always when wizard funerals reached this climax, the magically infused pyre began to collapse upon itself. Within an hour of the ceremony’s commencement, the flames were gone, and a pile of perfumed ashes remained. Cerah found herself struggling to control her emotions, for not only was the observance moving in and of itself, but it brought back vivid memories of her brother’s funeral.
Then, one after another, the people stepped forward and took a handful of warm cinders from the pile before turning and dispersing back into the city. This spontaneous gesture touched Cerah’s heart. Parnasus and Kern, too, were impressed by the action.
“These are good people,” said Kern.
“Good people who we very nearly failed,” Cerah replied. “Walk with me, teachers.”
The three turned and headed toward the docks. The pier was in ruins, destroyed by the black ships that had driven at full sail into them. Already, wizards were working alongside the humans to begin the repairs. The huge ships had been incinerated by many bolts of magical fire and now shattered planks floating among the ashes were being cleared away.
“We were insanely fortunate,” Cerah said. “If the arrival of the army had been delayed even an hour we would have been victims of a massacre as great as that of Roo and Armethia. The defenders of Oz Qanoti were valiant, and their fighting spirit was amazing, but they would soon have been wiped out by Surok’s vastly superior numbers.”
“Yes,” said Parnasus. “We were lucky this time. But we cannot count upon kismet to defeat Surok.”
“We gained important intelligence from this battle,” said Kern. “I should not want it to be overlooked.”
“Speak, Kern,” Cerah said. “I covet your observations.”
“First, I saw a vastly different side of Silestra than I had seen previously. In my encounters with them during the Stygian War, I found them single-minded and fearless. Their own well-being meant nothing to them. To die for Surok seemed to be a fate they cherished.”
“Yes,” said Cerah. “When Slurr, Tress, and I defeated the four assassins on Melsa, they met their ends gleefully. The last of the murderers laughed at me as he told me of my brother’s death, even as he lay burned and bleeding at my feet.”
“But last night,” Kern said, “I saw a new emotion in their faces, especially when you climbed off Tressida’s back and attacked them with Isurra. The sight of the Chosen One, challenging them hand-to-hand, clearly did something to them unprecedented in the history of Quadar. They fear you, Cerah. Deeply.”
“The assassins did not,” she replied. “What has changed?”
Parnasus laughed. “You! You have changed, Cerah. Even on that dark day at Opatta’s Rest, the person who stood before the Silestra assassins was not yet fully the Chosen One. I believe that from that day forward you were the Promise. But the girl they saw that day, and the woman who faced them last night, were two very different people. They looked into your eyes and saw the Greater Spark looking back at them. And for that they had no answer.”
Cerah considered this, and Kern continued. “We learned that Surok is perfectly willing to unleash the foul karvats upon us and that they are indeed fearsome foes when they successfully make contact with their wicked axes. We knew them to be strong, but I, for one, did not anticipate their power to be so great as to send their victims flying. However, we also now know that they are almost comically clumsy. Their complete lack of agilit
y means that their strength can be overcome.”
“I saw that as well,” said Cerah. “By adapting and making quick, coordinated attacks against them, the karvats were fairly easily dispatched.”
“Correct,” said Kern. “We can pass that information along to the commanders and they can select their most athletic warriors to form divisions specifically for defeating them.”
“What concerns me most are the newly named Silumans,” said Parnasus.
“I was just getting to that point,” Kern said. “They are fearsome. They show all the ferocity of their Silestran fathers, but not the fear I saw in them.”
“I fought many,” said Cerah. “They are most definitely both like and unlike the Silestra.”
“I am of the opinion,” said Parnasus, “that the thing that makes them so dangerous is not their Silestran pedigree; it is the human half. Humans, though frail and imperfect, contain within them great resolve. Remember, Ma’uzzi created the human race first, before the appearance of wizards. He placed in us a great awareness of spark, as well as the ability to control it and put it to use. But the spark that dwells in the humans is deep, ancient, and close to Ma’uzzi’s heart. That is part of the reason that you are such a worthy vessel of the Greater Spark, Cerah. You have wizard ancestry, but you have the deep human steadfastness as well.
“In the Silumans, I see the black evil of Surok, augmented frightfully by the corrupted resoluteness of human will. It is they, ultimately, that will prove the greatest foe.”
“Aside from Surok himself,” said Cerah. “His black and twisted soul is equaled only by his guile. He has constantly remained one step ahead of me. The prophecy says that I will defeat him, but it does not say that it will be an easy task. I do not yet see how I will overcome his great evil. And I certainly cannot beat him if I cannot find him.”
Many Hidden Rooms (Cerah of Quadar Book 2) Page 23
