Then he ran. He had no idea where he ran to, only that he ran away from the howls. The boughs of trees passed as dark blurs around him and as he ran, Vilmos imagined that Xith was beside him and that the shaman urged him to race faster and faster.
They lead us, whispered an old voice in his mind. He nodded in understanding. He veered right instead of left where the unnerving calls sought to lead him.
His race became a race of desperation. He ran to escape, only to escape. On and on he raced. He used his hands to ward off branches that seemed to reach out to grab him as he passed. He mounted a rise and started down its backside. There, he found his second wind. The path muddied at the bottom of the rise. He came to a stream, kneeled briefly to drink of its cool waters, then hurried on. The calls were never far off.
Completely winded, he stopped. Clutching his chest, panting for air, he hunched over. His face, cold despite the perspiration that dripped from his brow, stung where branches had caught his cheeks. He fought to get his breathing under control and bit back the pain of sore muscles.
Gradually the splotches before his eyes cleared and he brought his breathing under control. He straightened up and looked around, noticing then that the forest seemed suddenly too quiet. His face blank and expressionless, he panned his eyes slowly from left to right.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement and perhaps, a flash of white. Suddenly, the voice of the past was in his mind again, From this lesson stems the basis of your magical shield, the shield that will protect and keep you in dangerous times…
Vilmos conjured the magical shield now, just as he had then. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a great black blur sweep toward him. A yelp followed as the creature struck the invisible barrier. Still, its momentum carried him to the ground with it.
Disoriented, he shook his head and inhaled. The force of the blow had knocked the wind out of him. For an instant, it was as if he didn’t think at all. All his bewildered thoughts stopped, the magical shield fell away, and then the beast howled and struck again.
He struck back with his fists. He clubbed the side of one of the Wolmerrelle’s two heads. The creature wheeled back. He crab-crawled backwards as fast as he could. Only his back slamming against the trunk of a tree stopped his crazed retreat. Then without even realizing what he was doing, a trace of blue-white light danced across his fingertips. The bolt raced outward and caught the Wolmerrelle full in the torso. Howling madly, it staggered backward.
Vilmos pressed his back against the tree trunk, and, using his knees, inched up to a standing position. Still, he was terrified and his every thought screamed out to him, Escape! Again magic raced from his hands and struck the howling Wolmerrelle. The smell of singed fur and flesh choked the air. The creature charged, but managed only a single stride before collapsing.
For the longest time he didn’t move. He sat wide-eyed, his thoughts still racing, still screaming, Run! Escape! Get away! But the Wolmerrelle was no longer moving.
Cautiously, he crept forward. He reached out with his foot and nudged the beast. He jumped back as it convulsed. Then, it moved no more.
He was elated, tired from his flight and drained from the brief fight. He collapsed to his haunches, but was given little time to recover. A glimmer of movement out of the corner of his vision caught his eye. Suddenly, he knew more of the creatures lurked just beyond his view in the shadows. He raised the magical shield. Again it saved him. Only this time the great beast did not carry him to the ground with it, and this time he maintained the shield.
They came at him then, one by one in a great wave. He struggled to maintain the shield and keep his feet. Magic surged wildly through him as he drew in more and more energy. Consumed by it, he turned wild eyes on the five Wolmerrelle that circled him, waiting to pounce.
Again his thoughts were propelled to the past. In his mind as he poised for the attack and turned in a tight circle, it was the great black bear that he saw. Reared up on its hind legs, it towered over him, a mountain of black fur and dark eyes.
He was no longer gripped by terror as he stared up at it. The voice in his mind no longer screamed, RUN! It was chastising him. Control! Always stay in control, it said.
He fought to gain control of the rampant energies within him. Perhaps sensing a moment of weakness, the Wolmerrelle charged.
His shield held them at bay and the charge served to focus his thoughts. Suddenly, he realized something. Xith had traveled through Vangar Forest to reach the clearing beyond his village. He had all but admitted it. He had arrived on horseback and no horse could have descended into the valley from anywhere within many miles of that clearing. And that night when Midori had left the camp, she had taken the horse with her, for the animal hadn’t been there the next morning.
Vilmos’ own voice rang in his ears, You weren’t expecting hunters and trackers were you. Who were you expecting, shaman?
There is no need to trouble over the could have beens, returned Xith’s voice, and Vilmos was now sure that the great black bear hadn’t mauled and killed the girl from Olex Village. The bear hadn’t attacked him during that fateful encounter and it probably wouldn’t have. Evident anger in his eyes and on his face, he turned to face the first of the great two-headed beasts.
Do what you must… rang Xith’s voice in his ears.
The urge to let the magic flow unchecked through him was suddenly strong. He fought to control it and instead channeled that strength carefully to his hands. Bolts of blue-white lightening sprang forth.
The bolts struck one of the beasts. The creature died.
His magical shield fell as the remaining four attacked and overwhelmed him. White-hot fire shot through his right leg as a pair of powerful jaws clamped down on it. He let out a scream that shook the trees and rang through the forest.
Pain flooded his thoughts, panic took over. Wildly, he lashed out again and again, wielding his magic, punching, even kicking when necessary to fend off the relentless beasts.
Again, he found himself with his back to the trunk of one of the great trees of the forest. The last of the great beasts stared him down. He could barely stand now, and only the tree at his back kept him on his feet. Too weary to focus, too weary to find his center, he knew only that the magic was gone now, gone with his rage.
He didn’t think it odd that this beast had only one head, though he did take note of it. This Wolmerrelle was smaller than the others, still somehow more powerful. Its eyes, glowing even in the light of the new day, regarded him in an almost human way. Though badly wounded, it dragged its hind legs while howling a tormented wail up at the heavens and came at him.
In an attempt to flee, he stumbled and fell. The injured leg that had held him while his fervor raged, collapsed under his weight. His face slapped the hard earth first, his hands were too slow to brace against the fall. With his face pressed against wet earth, muddied with blood surely his own as well as the fallen beasts, Vilmos lay where he fell, too drained to move.
A shadow blocked out the daylight filtering in through the forest canopy. He rolled his eyes up to see the Wolmerrelle standing over him. He shielded his face with his arms as it set upon him. The creature latched onto the arm and shook its head wildly.
He groped frantically with his free hand and kicked at the beast’s head with his one good leg. His hand found only leaves and dirt, but there was something on the ground just outside his reach. He could feel the edge of it.
Shape your power, use it to your advantage! Concentrate, control, focus! screamed the voice in his mind. Vilmos squeezed his eyes tight, fighting the pain, fighting to concentrate.
He focused on the object just out of his reach. It was the clubbed end of broken branch, he could feel it now vibrating on the ground. It wanted to inch forward into his grasp. Then suddenly it was in his hand and he began bludgeoning the beast.
The weakened Wolmerrelle howled and hissed. Repeatedly, it raked his chest with its forepaws. For an instant as he beat with all his migh
t on the creature’s head, he swore he saw a human face—his weary mind and body were surely playing tricks on him. He mustered the strength to deliver a last desperate blow and then dealt it, putting every bit of himself into the blow. The crunching sound of bone and wood followed. The branch broke. The beast collapsed and just as suddenly as the attack had come it was over.
Blood covered his face. His hands. His arms. He knew not whether it was his own. He didn’t care. He had won.
“I did it,” Vilmos whispered to the voice in his mind. You performed excellently, the voice whispered back. Vilmos managed a smile. Then, weak from blood loss and battle, he collapsed.
“If you strike,” Xith said, regarding the clawed hand raised to his throat, “know that our arrangement is void. In addition, if you do not kill me with that single blow, know that I will kill you. Know also that the boy’s powers pale in comparison to my own and that my memory is as long as time itself. One day I will return to Under-Earth. It is in your hands whether I make my life’s last work the siege of Ril Akh Arr or other matters…”
Deftly Erravane swept back her hand. “This is far from over.” She said it evilly. She was hiding something and apparently Xith knew it.
“If you have designs on Prince William, think again. I need him alive.”
“So do I,” hissed Erravane.
“It is over, Erravane!” Xith grabbed Erravane’s throat with a mystical force that Adrina couldn’t see but knew was there. Erravane’s beasts raced to her aid but crashed against an invisible barrier. Viciously they attacked the unseen wall but couldn’t break through.
“Do not dismiss me,” hissed Erravane despite the pressure of the phantom’s grasp on her throat. A dozen more Wolmerrelle emerged from the shadows and, suddenly, the woods were full of long wailing cries. “You kill me and you will never leave the forest alive.”
Xith pointed his finger at one of Erravane’s beasts. A line of fire raced from his hand and engulfed it.
Adrina gasped. She realized the source of Xith’s mysterious powers. “Forbidden magic,” she whispered.
Erravane screamed a tortured wail that matched the dying Wolmerrelle’s. Her face twisted and contorted as she sought to change shapes, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t break free of the phantom’s grasp.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Deep blue eyes looked in Adrina’s direction momentarily, then suddenly the figure was moving with inhuman speed among the pack of Wolmerrelle. “Seth,” whispered Adrina. The still figure whose head Adrina held answered, Yes, and there was evident relief in the tone.
Xith matched Seth’s blows one for one with a stinging magical flame. One by one the Wolmerrelle fell. Eyes bulging, Erravane clawed at the air and before Emel and Prince Valam could gain their feet and join the fray, she cried out, “Enough, enough. Stop!”
Mid-blow Seth stopped, drew up to his full height and cast a sidelong glance at Erravane. The remaining Wolmerrelle made no move to attack him. Dumbfounded, Emel and Valam looked to Xith.
“It is over,” Xith said. “If you leave here alive, Erravane, it will be up to you… Cease struggling, the grip will be relaxed accordingly.” Erravane hissed but ceased to struggle against the unseen phantom. Xith turned to Adrina then, “Ease your fears, Princess, those creatures cannot break through.”
Xith then turned to Seth. “You are bleeding.”
It is only a scratch.
“As superficial as that single scratch may seem, it could kill you if not cleaned properly. Untreated, it will fester like nothing you have ever seen.” He paused, then turned back to Adrina, “I must apologize for waiting so long, but I had to be sure—”
“What of our deal?” interrupted Erravane, “You promised I’d go free.”
“I made no such promise, though you did promise to return to Ril Akh Arr and meddle no longer in affairs that do not concern you or your kind.”
Adrina broke her trancelike gaze on Xith. She looked once more to pitiful Erravane, then beckoned to Seth. “Sit beside me,” she said, “let me clean your wound.”
Xith smiled fondly at Adrina, as if remembering a thing from the past. Then he turned back to Erravane, who had begun to howl.
“Let me go,” Erravane hissed, “you have what you wanted.”
Xith forced the phantom’s grip. “Answer this question with care, your life depends on it. When will William meet King Jarom?”
“I do not know… You must let me go.”
“She lies,” Emel said. “Adrina and I overheard her speaking to Prince William. His commanders will join him at his camp tomorrow.”
Erravane cringed and cowered away from Xith’s stare. She began babbling. “His army is ready to march. The encampments are spread out all along the northern edge of the forest. William awaits the arrival of King Jarom’s army before he strikes. King Jarom’s advanced guard has already struck against Quashan’, they lay siege to the city days ago.”
“Where is Jarom’s army now?” questioned Xith. “Where is King Jarom?”
“Quashan’, but the bulk of his army has just entered the southern edge of the Vangar. Even with the paths cut by William’s path forgers, days will pass before they arrive.”
The unseen hand lifted Erravane off her feet. Xith asked, “William doesn’t know this?”
“He knows only what I see fit to tell him.”
Momentarily, Adrina saw surprise or perhaps glee cross Xith’s face. Xith said, “The games end, Erravane. I would sooner cut out your tongue than listen to you speak. If you lie about King Jarom, I will kill you now and be done with it.”
“He is an overzealous man who thinks he cannot lose. My beasts took great pleasure in harrying his soldiers… They are truly afraid of these forests now.”
Xith seemed pleased with the answer. “You are free to go, Erravane. Know that I make no empty promises. If ever I see you again, I will kill you, and more… Return to Under-Earth for it is there that you belong, and not here.”
The expression in Erravane’s eyes as the unseen hand released her, matched that which had been in Xith’s eyes moments earlier. Adrina and the others watched as Erravane and her beasts slipped away into the shadows. As Adrina had finished cleaning his wound, Seth now saw to Galan’s needs. He held a water bag to Galan’s lips and she drank heavily.
Emel spoke first, voicing the thoughts also on Adrina’s mind. “Do you really believe Erravane will do as you asked? I don’t trust her.”
Neither do I, sent Seth.
“Though, eventually, she will keep her promise, Erravane is hardly one to be taken at her word. She is strong willed and wants what it is she came for, this I am counting on.” Xith turned to Galan and Seth, “Can she walk unaided?”
Alas no, Brother Galan is weak from thirst and hunger…
Valam, who had been quietly regarding Galan’s lithe figure, said, “I will carry her.” Adrina had never seen such a look in her brother’s eyes. Valam was smitten by Galan’s angelic beauty, or so it appeared.
“Good, good,” Xith said. “We have little more than this day and the next to set matters straight… But first we must find Vilmos.”
Adrina turned to Xith. “I must ask,” she said. “Where have you been these many past days? Where is Father Jacob?”
“Know that this way matters have turned out better than they otherwise would have. I had very important matters to attend to, and I am truly sorry if you feel that I abandoned you when you needed me the most.”
“What of Father Jacob?”
“Jacob is well, but surely irritated,” was all Xith said.
Chapter Eleven:
Full Circle
“Well met, Keeper Q’yer. What brings you to the walls?” asked Sergeant Danyel’.
“A dream,” responded the keeper, his voice distant, his eyes searching the horizon.
Sergeant Danyel’ turned about on his heel and looked out at the campfires that dotted the landscape like a swarm of lightning bugs. “At dawn they will come again. The
y attack alternately from the south, east and west, leaving only the north wall alone. They toy with us and keep us occupied though I know not why. Perhaps Great-Father truly smiles upon us, for if they ever once attacked in full force, we would be swept away.”
Danyel’s voice became soft. “What I would not give for a spy among them.”
Keeper Q’yer seemed to only half listen to Danyel’ as he stared, then as he turned away he asked, “What of Chancellor Van’te?”
“He sleeps awaiting the attack. I beg you not to disturb him if it is your plan. It is the first he’s slept in days. We need his direction tomorrow.”
“I bring good news, I think he would approve.”
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