Alliances

by B. T. Robertson

  Snitch nodded, but, at his young age, could barely comprehend what was happening. Given time, he might've been able to fight back against whatever force was holding his mind captive. But, his weakness of body and frailty of spirit made him an easy target for the Voice. It was always near, echoing in his head, throbbing. At times he would wake up in different parts of the ship without remembering how he'd gotten there. A nameless horror with a sinister voice controlled him now. He had a mission: to watch Callaway closely, to listen for things that might be of use to the Voice. He only had to report back to the dark place—deep within the bowels of the Demoron. Her belly groaned down there, smelled of rotten flesh and bone, whispered of something evil dwelling there, but always he went because the Voice demanded it. He was scared, petrified, but the pounding in his temples bade him to the place to report news.

  Through the ripple in time barely noticeable to those without the skill of magic to see it in the physical plane of Vaaluna, He waited patiently as the pieces fell into place before His eyes. He couldn't remember His name; that's how long it had been since He'd tasted the world beyond the Nether Plane of Zamas. He had been deceived, banished, but even Ashinon didn't know of His true power until it was too late. The shattering of the Elfstone containing the spirit of Sheevos was simply done to buy more time to find the One.

  And now they think they have him. Fools. His voice was honey-sweet, even in that hell. The souls who slaked His desires drifted powerless toward the sound of it. When He drank of them, their power nourished and heightened His intelligence. Thousands of souls who would enter the shadow of the Nether would never find their way back out, or be allowed passage back to the Light, even if it were ruled they'd suffered enough to be set free. They would remain forever trapped in His grip.

  His Voice had less power in the physical plane of Vaaluna, mostly because of the alignment of the Planes at the moment. Give it time, and one day they will align, and then I will have my revenge.

  The souls continued to drift to Him, and He drank from their power to feed His own. And He was never satisfied.

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  Chapter 4—The Wizard City

  Let's rest a bit longer, Tristandor,” Farrin said. “Aeligon's no use to us in this condition anyway."

  Tristandor agreed and ordered the others to make camp in a section of rock offering the best cover. In these mountains, he knew he couldn't take any unnecessary risks—not with Aeligon currently out of commission.

  Farrin hoisted the wizard over his shoulder and carried him to a shaded section underneath a rocky overhang where the sand was cool and soothing. Ithyllna took Aeligon's leather boots off and brushed his head with a cool, wet cloth—cold water being plentiful in the wintertime. The others gathered around to watch and silently hoped their guide hadn't sustained severe injury. Tristandor worked as fast as he could, futilely, with his healing magic.

  Lynais built a small fire in a confined and inconspicuous space and made the rest of them food. Hot stew was the best remedy for cold hands and hungry stomachs in the harsh winters that Vaaluna produced this far north, and Lynais’ was famous throughout Mynandrias. Even Pux was inclined to taste the elfin dish.

  Aeligon's head ached more with each passing moment. Ever since he had been tossed outside the sealed cave, vertigo and nausea had set in. He knew the power of the Song, but he'd never used it to such an extent before. It felt like the whole world was constantly spinning, making him realize at long last the danger of using the Song too much. “It has the power to split your own head if used too much,” Ashinon used to tell him when he was a young apprentice. His thoughts, though somewhat blurred with pain, returned him to when the world was a much simpler place.

  "Ashinon, what is that?” Aeligon asked, pointing to a large painting on a wall of the Shrin'Gala, the holy place in Lunathar where the wizards came to pay their respects to Sheevos.

  "That, my curious apprentice, is what we believe the Planes look like, or in part. Though we only have bits and pieces of information, the current evidence suggests this as the way our world exists.” Ashinon was a wizard of the Old Age, wise and powerful, and his knowledge of the world and its inhabitants was consummate. He walked with a slight hunch, but glided along gracefully and effortlessly. Some said he conjured a spell to aid his walking, but no one could ever prove it. The wager amongst a group of curious apprentices had grown to an enticing amount for whoever could find out for sure. Aeligon was part of that group, but although he was Ashinon's apprentice, he couldn't pin it down either.

  "Are you listening, Aeligon, or are you daydreaming, as usual?” Ashinon's voice was direct, but gentle. His rebukes fell heavily on Aeligon, who tried desperately to live up to the expectations of his master. After all, Ashinon was the current Head of the Order and was known for an undying work ethic, which he assiduously applied to his pupils.

  "Ah-ah, yes sir, I am paying attention, Master Ashinon,” stammered Aeligon, who gave a half-smile.

  Ashinon chuckled. “If you continue to daydream, you may wind up kissing the floor."

  Aeligon screwed up his face in confusion. “What do you mean? There's nothing in my wa —"

  He was cut short by an abrupt stop in his path, which sent him sprawling to the marble floor, hard. His staff skidded across the floor in one direction, his books another. Grumbling, he stood up and checked to see if he'd broken any bones. “What was that? There wasn't anything in my way!” Irritated, he gathered up his things. Ashinon could barely contain his laughter.

  "Things aren't always what they appear to be, Aeligon. Look again.” He motioned with his hand back the way they had come, and hovering just above the floor was a small metal rod. “Magic can make anything happen at the speed of thought. Remember this, my young apprentice. Just because you don't see anything there with your eyes, doesn't mean something's not there. You must learn to see even the invisible."

  "But how? How do I do the impossible?” Aeligon asked, rubbing his sore left elbow.

  "By trusting in the possibility of anything. Once you have learned what you need to, you won't even have to apply effort to sidestepping magical traps such as this one. You will be able to smell it, taste it, and sense its presence. You have much to learn, but you are a good student.” Ashinon smiled proudly through his thick white beard and started down the hall again toward the exit of the Shrin'Gala.

  Suddenly, the memory shifted, and Aeligon was sitting amidst the ruins of a familiar place. He was in tattered rags, bloodied, and there was fire, smoke, and ash all around him. He soon realized he was sitting in what used to be the Garden of Healing, the old practice grounds near the Temple of Light reserved for Lunathar's student Healers. Everything was destroyed, and he was alone.

  "Ashinon!” he cried out, his voice echoing off the close cavern walls surrounding the city's interior. No response, except for the endless quakes and rumbles throughout the city. Pieces of rock struck what was left of the buildings, breaking them down completely. Dragons and distorted beasts ripped at the sky and tarnished the earth with their death magic. But Ashinon was nowhere to be found, and no matter how hard or how loud Aeligon cried out for him, he never came.

  Struggling to his feet, Aeligon stumbled across the broken landscape of what was once the holiest ground in all of Vaaluna. Debris missed crushing him by mere inches, but he didn't care. The vision kept him a prisoner of the pain and wouldn't allow him the pleasure of dying easily so he could awaken in the real world. There was more in store, it seemed, so he followed his instincts and began searching the open streets snaking through the city's topside sections.

  The slate lanes were strewn with more debris: rocks, broken statues, pots, barrels, and other refuse. Strangely enough, there were no bodies anywhere. Aeligon was truly alone in this nightmare, alone to chase the ghost of the master of whom he had the fondest memories.

  He trudged on.

  Finally, he reached the center of the city—the Shrin'Gala. If Ashinon were alive, he would
be there, Aeligon suspected. Cautiously, he stepped inside the door, which had been torn from its hinges and tossed aside, leaving a gaping hole where there was once a steadfast barrier. Once beyond the threshold, the Shrin'Gala opened up before him: sprawling marble floors that had been cracked open and desecrated halls. Most of the priceless pieces adorning the holy place had been ruined, too.

  Aeligon nearly wept when he saw the damage wreaked. What had caused this? he wondered. “Where are you, Ashinon?” he shouted, spinning his body around to look at each of the once vibrant paintings showing the beauty of their way of life. The Order had never seen such destruction.

  Then, quite surprisingly, Aeligon saw Ashinon there. He was kneeling in prayer at the room's center. He wasn't there a minute ago. His eyes were shut, hands folded in front of him, lips moving, but he didn't respond to Aeligon's presence.

  What am I supposed to see in this vision? Aeligon questioned fervently. He could see the forms of his fellow travelers hovering over him, but he couldn't break free from the sight of Ashinon. He was a prisoner of the Unwaking World.

  Slowly, he approached the figure. Just then, a large piece of rock came crashing through the top of the Shrin'Gala's dome. Aeligon shouted for Ashinon to get out and started running toward him. Everything turned to slow motion. He couldn't run fast enough. Just as the rock was about to strike where Ashinon knelt, he turned to Aeligon and reached out his hand. Aeligon abruptly stopped and gasped. Ashinon's eyes had rolled white, just as Aeligon had seen so many times already in Vaaluna on their journey. Suddenly, the floor gave way, and Ashinon was lost, the rock following him down into the abyss.

  Aeligon wanted to run to the edge to see what had happened, to see where Ashinon had fallen so he could help him. But something was wrong. He couldn't move. He was being held by some force, but had no idea where it was coming from. Frantically he fought against it, liquidating all his strength in the effort. The force became stronger and began yanking Aeligon back the way he came. Then, suddenly, he was pulled up in the air, spinning. He screamed, and the world around him began to fade and blur.

  "Aeligon, yer all right!” Farrin shouted.

  The others came running over, excited and relieved. Aerinas could feel a great pressure lifted from his shoulders. What would I do if I lost him? Aeligon, moaning and mumbling, rubbed his head with his hand. He broke out in a cold sweat, and his face went pale.

  "Get water and a fresh cloth; I need to keep him cold,” Tristandor ordered, hurrying to keep the fever from getting worse. He smiled and leaned closer to Aeligon. “I broke your fever, my old friend, but you're being quite the stubborn one. Just relax and let my healing magic soothe you.” He placed his hand on Aeligon's forehead, which seemed to calm him. Pux's concerned look never went away as he watched.

  Over the next two days, Tristandor used his healing magic to try and save Aeligon. The first day was the most difficult, but slowly the wizard began to recover his strength. On the second day, the fever broke entirely, and Aeligon slept deeply for a change. No one, including Tristandor, had ever seen the powerful mage in such a dire condition before. Ironic, Tristandor thought, that his own magic would nearly kill him more readily than a mighty foe.

  It was not until Aeligon's condition improved when the others noticed how bitterly cold it really had become. Winter was rough for the elves in the realm of Anwarna and terrible for the wizards in the land of Salanthanon; only the giants knew how to cope with the force of the cold up in the mountains. They aided the others in keeping warm.

  "Here ya’ go, lad,” Farrin said to Foran, wrapping a large fur skin around him. “That'll keep ya’ warm, warmer than what even the strongest magic can conja’ up.” Farrin's signature slap to the shoulder jolted Foran out of the stupor he was in. He winced, but smiled at the giant in thanks. “We giants know how ta’ stay warm under the worst o’ the weather, and we been doin’ it all our lives.” Foran shivered and pulled the skin closer around him. The wind picked up during the day when the sun was at its highest, but calmed down at night. Though the fear of freezing lessened for the others, they still feared for Aeligon. They had to keep him warmer than the rest because of his weakened state. With his fever gone, they kept a fire going day and night and kept him out of the icy drafts sweeping through the passageways carved into the rock of the mountains.

  The others made small talk during that time.

  Foran debated whether or not to entertain Farrin's long-winded stories, but finally asked, “Farrin, how does it feel to have a range of mountains named after you?"

  "Hmmm,” Farrin mused. “I really don't care what the folk around ‘erecall ‘em. My people call ‘em the Western Edge, and I'm happier fer it. It's customary fer things ta’ be named after the poor bastard dies. I'd just as soon keep callin’ ‘em somethin’ else until I kick the barrel, or else yer all goin’ ta’ kill me off sooner than I'd be wantin’ ya’ to.” He laughed hard at himself, his large frame bouncing heartily. Foran rolled his eyes and silently wished he'd kept the unnecessary question to himself. Farrin stopped laughing then, stared straight ahead, and hung his head. Foran, puzzled at the sudden change in Farrin's demeanor, took the chance to probe some more.

  "What's the matter? Should I not have asked?"

  "Nah, not yer fault, lad. I just get kinda blue when I think ‘bout our home, and how many wives are goin’ ta’ be weepin’ when they find out their men were lost at Gudred Castle. Some great leader I turned out ta’ be, eh?"

  Foran saw the sadness in Farrin's strong eyes and saw the difficulty he was having holding back his emotion. He leaned closer. “Farrin, you are a great leader, and we would not have gotten very far in those catacombs if it was not for you and your giants. Some died, yes, but death comes to all of us. Your giants died at Gudred because they decided to stand with you and the others against those...things. Your giants were ready to die for you two days ago in the catacombs, defending a king of men, for the same cause. They did it for you, because they see in you the same qualities they did many years ago when you asked them to come down out of the mountains once more to stand beside the men of Vaaluna and defend your home. Don't you see? Your followers have been faithful to you through all of this, and they're still here.” Foran looked across the rocky passage to the other caves sheltering the other giants and men, who were also huddled together to keep warm.

  "Yah, I see where yer headin’ wit’ all this, my elfin friend,” Farrin said, “but I fear givin’ such an order. I have ta’ order them ta’ go back to our home and see what has happened to the tribe. I fear that more than anythin', lad, more than anythin'."

  "But they would have had to do that anyway. If this wasn't happening, they would have had to go back and find out if the tribe still existed. No one could have predicted this would have happened. Your women and children are safe, for if they weren't, certainly someone would have heard by now."

  "Ya’ don't understand, Foran. I know our women and children are safe, I know they're just as strong as we are, and I know the children have grown up more now, so they are helpin’ with keepin’ things goin'. I fear leavin’ my giants, and I don't think I should be goin’ off on some quest ta’ danger without them. I feel like I'm betrayin’ ‘em."

  Foran cut him short. “Your concern for them is what makes you their leader, Farrin. Being a leader is as much a part of you as your own blood. It is natural for a leader to worry about his children and his home. You being reluctant to come along on this journey makes me feel better because I know you will fight to the bitter end to assure a safer world for your people. I feel better having a companion with your attitude at my side. Fret not, my large friend."

  Farrin smiled, “Thank ya’ lad.” He made a motion to slap Foran's shoulder, but refrained when he saw the elf grimace. They laughed and talked together then, while they waited for the day to end and the winds to calm.

  The next day, the third day outside the catacombs, brought with it a fresh powdering of snow on the ground. The winds seemed
to be reduced, which lifted their spirits. Aeligon was awake, fully rested, and, though still weak, was able to walk with assistance. Tristandor held a meeting when everyone had finished their breakfast. When he had their attention, he stood in their center and addressed them as a group.

  "Giants, men, elves, and wizards,” he began, “we have traveled far, toiled much, and now have the greatest challenge facing us.” He pointed down the rocky road leading through the mountains. “We must cross this last stretch of these mountains before we can reach the land of Salanthanon and the City of the Wizards.” Everyone looked at each other, shocked. “Yes, we are traveling to Lunathar. Aeligon has told me we must go there to see what has happened to the Pillar of Arunir, because, unfortunately, its light has died.” Again, more mumbling amongst the group. “These mountains will be our most difficult adversary to overcome. It won't be easy, and we must take every precaution to ensure one another's safety. It has also come to my attention that not everyone present at this meeting will be making the rest of this journey. Farrin.” He motioned for the giant to stand up.

  Farrin stood and walked to the center to stand next to Tristandor. He addressed his giants. “Lads, I can't go with ya’ back home."

  "What! Don't talk crazy, Farrin. We need ya’ back there! What are ya’ into that's so damn important?” Treigan was visibly upset—so were Ganzif and the others.

  "I'm goin’ with these elves ta’ make sure Haarath pays fer what he did ta’ us and those townsfolk,” Farrin shouted angrily, pounding one fist into his other open hand. “I made a decision and I'm stickin’ with it. I know I can count on ya’ lads ta’ put the tribe back in order, rally them ta'gether and get ready fer battle. Is that too hard fer ya'?"

  Though upset, the giants backed down and nodded in agreement. They knew it best not to argue with their leader; they respected him. “I'm sorry fer squabblin’ with ya', Farrin,” Treigan said quietly.

  "S'all right. This is a bad time fer us all.” Farrin sat back down, and Tristandor spoke again.