Scions of Nexus

by Gregory Mattix

  Elyas and a handful of soldiers who were nearest rushed to cut off their attack. The Ketanian man before him was brought down with a spear to the chest. Elyas severed the shaft of the spear with a slash of his sword then opened up the attacker’s belly. Another foe swung at him, but he parried, his greater strength shoving the man away. One of his fellow soldiers stabbed Elyas’s opponent through the ribs. Elyas noticed Krige fighting beside him, the colonel’s blade slipping neatly past his foe’s parry and stabbing through the Nebaran’s ear. The group of attackers were swiftly finished off. Elyas looked around for Mons and the others, ready to rejoin them and clear out the camp.

  A strong hand descended on his shoulder, halting him. “You there, big man. I need a courier to deliver an urgent missive to the king’s camp. You look as if you can handle yourself in battle.” Colonel Krige regarded him gravely. He was a sturdy man in his fifth decade with iron-gray hair and a long mustache.

  “Sir?” Elyas said.

  Krige surveyed Mons’s gathered men as they methodically advanced through the camp and nodded curtly in approval. “Come with me.”

  They walked back to the command tent where Captain Palam awaited them with a missive in hand. His face was pale with fright, and his eyes looked bleary from drink.

  “You wrote down what I told you?” the colonel demanded.

  “Yes, sir,” Palam replied.

  Krige turned to Elyas. “Take that mount, and deliver this to the king’s encampment at once.” He pointed at the uninjured horse of his fallen retainer.

  Elyas secured the horse, patting its neck reassuringly. He could imagine himself returning at the head of a column of the king’s knights to crush the Nebaran scum underfoot and turn the tide.

  Father would be proud, he thought as Krige stuffed the rolled-up missive into a courier’s satchel.

  “Ride northeast to the king’s camp, about five miles hence. Stop for nothing, man. I don’t care if Shaol himself is standing before you—ride that bastard down. Deliver this into the hands of Lord Lanthas or the king himself.” Krige handed the satchel to Elyas.

  “Aye, Colonel.” He slung the satchel across his chest and mounted up.

  A low rumbling sound that had been barely noticeable was swiftly growing louder, followed by battle cries voiced from dozens of throats.

  “Attack!” a panicked voice cried. “We’re being attacked—Nebarans pouring out of the city!”

  Elyas belatedly realized the rumbling sound was that of thousands of boots pounding the ground as the enemy poured into camp.

  “Get moving!” Krige shouted at Elyas although the look of despair on the colonel’s face sent a cold spike of dread through him. “And may Sol watch over us all,” Krige muttered.

  Without another word, Elyas turned his steed and spurred it forward into the night. He passed through the lines of officer and supply tents, then open field spread out before him. The muddy ground flew past beneath his horse’s hooves, and after a few dozen paces, the fog abruptly thinned and disappeared. Soon, a chill wind in his face, he was alone under the night sky and racing for reinforcements as if the fiends of the Abyss were on his heels.

  Chapter 36

  Sianna awoke in the night with a gasp, the boom of thunder seeming to shake the walls in its fury. Her dream had felt so real. She had seen her father and brothers asleep in their camp, several miles from uniting with the southern forces at Ammon Nor, when they had been beset by treachery in the night. Nebaran assassins and worse things had slunk from the darkness, murdering men in their sleep by the hundreds. She could still hear a desperate horn sounding in the distance and frightened screams as throats were cut and daggers thrust through hearts.

  The storm rumbled outside, and a flash of nearby lightning and a deafening crash of thunder made her jolt upright in her bed. The shutters were open, and a cold wind-driven rain was blowing into her room.

  Iris awoke across the room with a strangled cry, eyes blinking and face pale with fright as she peered fearfully around the dark chamber. She looked even more unnerved than Sianna felt.

  Poor Iris. She’s had a tough time of it of late. I’ll get the shutters. The chill wind cut right through Sianna’s sheer nightgown the moment she slipped from her warm bed, and she clutched the garment more tightly about herself. Stinging rain lashed her face as she approached the window.

  “Sianna, let me get that,” Iris protested, struggling to free herself from her covers.

  “It’s fine—I’ve got it.” Sianna reached out and grasped the shutters, first one then the other. She paused, awed by the ferocious lightning storm lighting up the sky over the castle, the night exploding into dazzling brilliance. Almost as if the gods are at war. I’ve never seen such a violent storm. She shivered as the rain soaked through her nightgown nearly instantly, plastering it to her body.

  Propelled by the wind, the shutters slammed shut with a loud bang. The room was dark once more although the flashes of lightning were visible through the slats of the shutters. But at least the rain and biting gusts were blocked out. Sianna latched the shutters and breathed a sigh of relief though she was shivering.

  “Sianna? Gods, you’re soaked and trembling! Let’s get you dry.” Iris fussed at her like a nursemaid, leading her away from the window.

  Sianna could only stare at the flashes of lightning through the slats in the shutters as the thunder nearly shook the castle’s foundations. Her belly was clenched with a sudden knot of fear. This storm and the dreams must be ill omens… All this yet no news from Father and his army. After drying off and changing into a dry nightgown, Sianna lay there a long time, shivering beneath the covers and trying without success to get back to sleep.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t shrug off a deepening sense of dread that the war effort had suddenly gone very, very wrong.

  ***

  The magical fog suddenly ended as if constrained by an invisible wall. Once free of the mist and the dangers within, the night was clear and dark, with a black moon. A vast, glittering banner of stars stretched overhead.

  Mira didn’t stop to ponder the absence of the fog, instead continuing toward the ruins ahead. As reassuring as the newfound visibility was, the downside was their enemies would be able to see just as clearly.

  “Thank Etenia that cursed fog is gone.” Kennitt’s breathing was ragged as he helped Mira support Taren’s weight.

  The young mage had fallen unconscious shortly after they had begun their flight, and with an arm across each of their shoulders, they half carried and half dragged him. He wasn’t particularly heavy, being tall yet slender of build, and he’d appeared to have missed a few meals, but even Mira was fatigued by the time they neared the ruins.

  About thirty paces separated the wall of fog from a steep incline ahead. The street abruptly ended, and the ground grew rough and stony, further slowing their pace to little more than a crawl. The path ascended a rocky bluff, the trail loose with gravel and broken stone. They labored up to the summit of the rise to find the hilltop perfectly flat, as if milled smooth by ancient stonemasons. Remains of an ancient building, perhaps a temple, ringed the circular hill. Shattered walls stood around them, nearly intact in places and all but reduced to dust in others. Mira glimpsed fluted columns, broken off and crumbled on the ground. Ancient runes were carved into portions of the columns.

  A path wended its way from their hill deeper among other bluffs barely glimpsed in the darkness of night. Shattered wreckage of ancient structures scattered along the hilltops gleamed dully like bleached bones in the faint starlight.

  “Let’s stop here,” Kennitt puffed. “I’ll keep watch over the path.”

  They eased Taren down to a seated position, leaning him back against a section of fallen column.

  Kennitt took a long drink of water and wiped sweat from his brow. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he took up watch in the shadow of a column providing him a view of the path and fog-shrouded Ammon Nor below.

  Mira studied the yo
ung man she was bound to protect. His face was pale and sweaty, his long, dark hair damp from the mist and plastered to his head. A scruff of beard darkened his cheeks and jaw. He looked a bit underweight from his recent travails. She remembered well his unusual rust-colored eyes, which had glowed when he unleashed his magic. She briefly adjusted his shimmering cloak tighter around him, surprised that the garment’s color shifted, blending with the bone-white color of the column and the dark ground, nearly concealing him from sight. She left Taren to his rest, hoping he would be all right when he woke.

  Mira partook of her own water skin and sat atop the fallen column. She let her thoughts drift, suddenly unsure of the path before her. The long road of the past month had finally led her to her charge. Having found Taren, she realized she hadn’t given much thought, if any, to what would happen next. As she considered her future, a sense of excitement burgeoned at what might lie ahead, for she knew the young mage was bound for great things—his skein in the Weave surely indicated that.

  A short time later, Kennitt warned her that others were approaching. The crunching of stone underfoot and ragged breathing announced the presence of the warrior and young girl who had accompanied Taren earlier. They were moving even more slowly than Mira and Kennitt had earlier.

  The warrior was in rough shape. A bloody bandage covered a hole in his gut just below his leather cuirass although the heaviest bleeding seemed to have stopped. He looked ready to pass out at any moment.

  Kennitt walked down to help the exhausted girl support the warrior. She thanked him, and together they brought him over and sat him down near Taren.

  “I’ll be fine… just need to rest a few moments… get my wind back.” The warrior squeezed the girl’s shoulder affectionately then leaned his head back on the fallen column. Within moments, he was unconscious.

  “He doesn’t look well. We should remove his armor and tend to that wound as best we can.” Mira shot Kennitt a concerned glance. She could tell from the ranger’s expression the warrior likely wouldn’t survive the night.

  “Don’t bother. He’ll be fine… based on previous experience, at least.” The girl waved it off as if he was suffering from naught more than a shallow cut.

  Mira regarded her in astonishment before shrugging. “Well, if you say so. I’m Mira, and this is Kennitt.”

  Kennitt grunted acknowledgment and walked back over to resume his watch.

  “Ferret,” the girl replied. “That’s Dak… or Creel, as he goes by.” She hoisted herself up and sat atop the column beside Creel.

  Mira nodded. She offered Ferret her water skin, which she accepted gratefully. “And his name is Taren, am I correct?”

  Ferret lowered the skin after a long drink, and her eyebrows rose. “Aye. I thought you knew him already.”

  Mira shook her head. “I’ve been seeking him for a long time, but I knew not his name for certain.”

  “Well I don’t know him well. First bumped into him at the Bandit last night, in fact. Then saw him again earlier when Dak and me went to the inn and he was burning some Nebaran bastards. You should have seen him—’twas like a curtain of flame around him, his eyes burning like coals!” Ferret clearly was in awe of him. “But he seems like a decent sort. Bought me a cup of wine when I was cold and soaked from the rain. Can’t say anyone’s ever done that before. We brought him with us when… ah, gods… poor Enna.” She shuddered, remembering the fate of her friend, who Mira assumed was the woman slain by the demon.

  They were silent for long moments until Ferret asked, “Why were you searching for Taren? What do you know of him?”

  “He’s bound for a great destiny. My duty is to remain by his side as a guardian… and hopefully friend, if he’ll have me.”

  Ferret nodded as if Taren’s great destiny was a foregone conclusion. “Where are you headed?”

  “I shall go wherever he leads.”

  “A grand adventure, then.” Mira thought she heard a tinge of jealousy in the girl’s voice. “And what about him?” Ferret nodded to Kennitt.

  “He shall return to his home very soon, I should think.”

  Kennitt cupped his hands and called into the night, a sound nearly indistinguishable from an owl’s hoot. Within a couple minutes, a dark shape swooped silently out of the night sky and landed atop a chunk of rubble beside the ranger.

  “There you are.” Kennitt stroked Whisper’s breast, and the owl made a contented sound. “I knew you weren’t fool enough to get caught up in that mess.”

  “He’s a ranger, isn’t he?” Ferret asked, captivated watching him and Whisper.

  “Just so. Kennitt lives in the forest near my order’s monastery and was kind enough to help me search for Taren. And what of yourself?”

  Ferret shrugged. “I’m nobody special. I grew up on the streets of Ammon Nor. The farthest I’ve ever been from here was the battlefield south of the city. Never had a need to leave, till now. I reckon nothing’s holding me there anymore, so might as well go elsewhere now.” She glanced over at Creel. “I freed him from that cage, so he owes me one. Mayhap I’ll stick with him a while.”

  “If he’ll let me.” Mira sensed Ferret’s unspoken thoughts in the nervous yet hopeful way she eyed Creel.

  Mira looked up at the sky and noted dawn would come soon, judging from the slight graying on the horizon. She relaxed her tense body and whirling thoughts and slipped into a calming meditation for a time.

  Chapter 37

  Taren blinked awake, groaning because of his stiff neck. Sunlight streamed into his face, and he squinted then looked around with no idea where he was.

  He was leaning against a fallen stone column. Creel was slumped against the same column beside him, unconscious or possibly dead, judging from the amount of blood staining his clothes. Someone, who he guessed was Ferret, was asleep, rolled up in a dark cloak on the other side of the warrior.

  The mysterious young woman who’d come to his aid the night before was sitting with her eyes closed a short distance away. Miralei’s legs were crossed, and her palms rested on her thighs, facing upward. As if sensing his gaze, her eyes opened, and she gave him a tentative smile. Her warm eyes were the color of honey.

  “Are you well, Taren?” she asked.

  “I’ve been better, but I’ll survive. Thank you for your timely aid last night.” He stretched, wincing at the aches and pains from the uncomfortable position he’d slept in. “You said your name is Miralei?”

  She bowed her head. “Yes, or simply Mira will do. I’ve been searching for you for a long time, Taren, son of Neratiri.”

  His eyes widened. “So you said before, but how do you know about my mother? And where are you from?”

  “I am a member of the Order of the Illuminated Path. This is my Balance Quest—to find you and accompany you on your travels. Your mother did my order a great service years ago, and we are repaying our debt.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say to that.” He realized she must be a monk. The last thing he’d ever expected was for a young monk to show up to travel alongside him, especially when he had no clear idea where to go or what to do other than seek out his mother.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Taren, though I hope you’ll agree to allow me to escort you.” Her smile widened although he detected shyness in her manner. “The Weave guides me in service of the Balance. This Quest is what I’m destined to perform. Fear not, I won’t distract you from your path, and I give you my word that I’ll protect you from harm as best I’m able. I’ll be like a quiet observer—you’ll barely know I’m even here.”

  At first, he was hesitant at the idea of having a stranger accompanying him, but the road to Llantry was a long and possibly dangerous one in such unsettled times. Mira certainly was able to take care of herself, judging from the past night, and safety existed in numbers. Also, she certainly didn’t seem deceitful or untrustworthy—quite the opposite, in fact. Her frank appraisal of him was without guile.

  “Well, um, I suppose so. You don
’t have to remain silent, though… That could get uncomfortable, I guess. Just be yourself.” He scratched his head and suddenly felt embarrassed. “I’m not exactly sure where my path will lead. I had a notion to travel to Llantry and then to Nexus to seek out my mother.”

  “Thank you, Taren. Then we shall discover the path together.”

  Taren returned Mira’s smile, deciding he liked her shy smile and honest demeanor.

  Creel suddenly started awake. “Where… The ruins?” He looked around at the group, frowning, then shook Ferret by the foot. The young girl mumbled something in her sleep but sat up blinking owlishly after a moment, her hair sticking out.

  “Yes, Ferret directed us to come here,” Mira said.

  Ferret yawned. “How’s your wound?” She peered at Creel’s bloodstained tunic.

  Creel took off his cuirass and raised his tunic, which was crusted with blood and had a large hole in it. He unwrapped his bloody bandages and probed at his stomach for a moment. “Well enough,” he pronounced. “Another damned tunic ruined, though.”

  In spite of all the dried blood, Taren didn’t even see a wound.

  “That’s remarkable,” Mira said in wonder. “A few hours past, you looked as if you wouldn’t survive the night.”

  “Aye, he tends to do that a lot.” Ferret rolled her eyes, but she was obviously pleased.

  “Nothing a good bit of rest won’t fix,” Creel said. He got to his feet and stretched then donned his leather cuirass once more. After tightening the straps, he walked over near where Kennitt sat against the pillar. A large owl tilted its head to watch him curiously from the top of a nearby stone arch.

  Taren got up as well, curious to see what had become of Ammon Nor. His neck and back protested, and he tried to work out the kinks.

  “We won’t be wanting to go back that way,” Kennitt said, his voice gravelly as if from disuse.

  The ranger spoke truly. The fog had vanished as though it had never been. Smoke rose into the clear morning sky from Ammon Nor. Dozens of homes and buildings had burned to the ground, leaving smoldering black scars. Soldiers dressed in black and gold swarmed around the town, clearly having seized control. They were conducting house-to-house searches.