by Dan Gillis
“And how have you been faring? I understand you had quite a duel of power. You say you are in fine health and need no aid. How can this be? Tey’ ur cannot explain as he was dealing with the Serpentine whelp. How is this possible, Seeker?”
“It was simple, I was able to counter his abilities, and he departed from us after Zyr broke the cursed machine.”
“Hmmm. As you say, we have no other witnesses or story to rely upon, and Zyr will probably forget these past days, even weeks. Still, I’m confident you will have your Mihyl back soon.”
“Thank you, humble Servant, for doing this. I know it wasn’t easy for you …”
“That is the way of the Servant, young one. I serve all from the least to the greatest. I accept no payment or acclaim. To serve others is to be beneath all others. It is the path I have chosen. Now, come. You have not eaten in quite some time.”
“Perhaps I’ll stay a little longer … my voice may comfort him.”
“The time for words is past. Please tend to yourself before you are as weak as he.”
“Yes, humble Servant.”
The voices leave. All is silent now and I am clearing the mists, lightness is so near … so close to touch … like her voice … like her.
***
The breeze swelled within the body of the resting monk, and passed. Yet the memory, unlocked from its long slumber within the mind, remained. As the weary monk lay strapped within the tarp, a smile caressed his lips and a tear collected outside his eye. It welled over, sliding silently down his cheek, and then it was gone.
A Question of Loyalty
C6-51, 3rd Darkwood, New Moon, Celi
I wish I knew where to start. I thought that life was so simple until recently. I felt everything was settling into a certain sense of order. Now I cannot escape the chaos which has distorted everything I see about me. Why do I care? She is all but a stranger to me, mysterious and deadly. She is all that I despise.
Then why do I still care?
I cannot believe that she is the same person I knew. I should leave and try to figure out what is happening to me, and stop associating with those who would bring my death. And am I any better? I have destroyed so much life! I am a murderer of the coldest kind. What terrible power has coursed through my veins, and scraped like a razor all that was green and lush from the land. My deeds are as black as her skin at midnight. I tremble to think I had feelings. Why do I still care for her?
I do not care one whit for these people - not one whit! I am a survivor and always alone. Soon it must be so again. I must be patient and wait for the proper time. I cannot live with beasts and demons. Why …
***
The camp was bustling with motion, as the White Guard unpacked shelters and supplies. The hunting party required many provisions and goods to assist in the long tours. The men moved cautiously around the center of camp, casting quick glances toward the visitors and moving along swiftly. Large elms loomed overhead, as the forest became an effective living wall to the south. After picking up the unknown guests (Tey’ur had taken them personally into his own tarped waggon) they had moved swiftly south and pitched camp at the Veiled Forest. The trees and undergrowth stretched along the base of the Tamers Reach for miles. Why Tey’ur had chosen to pause here was a mystery. The men would never question an order from their Lord, but still, the degree of secrecy surrounding the new guests was unnerving. As dusk approached, the men shuffled about their chores hoping to glean some gossip to help answer the many questions which floated through the air.
“You are very kind, Tey’ur, but I can manage from here,” Firah replied as she adjusted the tent poles and bindings. She had erected her shelter personally, turning aside repeated attempts from others to assist. She now wielded a small hammer in an almost menacing way, to clear off any more male assistance.
“I must say,” Tey’ur chuckled, “you are a remarkably resourceful young woman.” He stood back, his large frame silhouetted against the sky. Firah began to hammer in the last support peg. Her locks of ebony flowed through the air with every hammer stroke. She grunted with the last blow, stood slowly and snapped the tarp absently for tensile strength.
“I’ve lived alone for all my life, well except for Tohm, of course … while he’s a dear friend, he’s not a father.” She wiped the sweat across her brow, her pale arms glistening in the dying sun. She stretched her small wiry form and placed the hammer down next to the tent. “I suppose I had to learn to do everything myself.” She cast her ruby gaze upon the large soldier. He simply looked upon the girl with a slight tilt to his head. She was not sure what to make of his unusual sense of chivalry, but she intended to learn more of the modest soldier. “So, where does the White Guard reside?” she inquired while tying her hair back into a manageable pony tail.
“Our guild hall lies to the north-west. It’s modest in some respects, but we call it home. I have rarely seen visitors to our plains, aside from the enemies of Mehnin. Your appearance is unexpected if not somewhat strange. What caused you to leave the southern trails and take a route across that charred wasteland?” He had moved closer to her, his large armoured body towering over her. Firah appeared to be unperturbed.
“That would be our business, Lord.” She turned and moved into the tent, releasing the ropes which bound the entrance flap. His expressionless face slid from view as the tarp fell across the entrance. Firah slumped to her knees and clutched her chest, her breath coming fast. Lord Tey’ur frightened her, with his constant prying into her life. Slowly, he had uncovered aspects of their journey in their talks and she feared that the longer they stayed the worse it would be. The worst part was that she had no idea where they were to go next. She looked across the tent to see Zyr resting peacefully. When would he rise? She desperately needed his wisdom! Tohm was somewhere in the camp, at least so she thought. Since stopping near the forest, Shien had disappeared. ‘The ignorant mutton-head!’ she cursed silently ‘I’ll be happy if he becomes some forest-stalker's lunch!’ She couldn’t understand his cold and callous behavior to her recently, especially since she thought they were …
Angrily, she cast her jacket from her shoulders and rose to her feet. There was a wash basin and a crude mirror set upon a small table, which she moved to slowly. She untied the leather strap, and grimacing, watched her brown hair fall about her shoulders. It was hopeless. She would be a wreck, an utter hag with this tangled mess until she could find a decent stream to wash in. She moved close to the mirror and checked her complexion. She looked into her own green eyes and mused to herself ‘Maybe that’s why he’s acting so odd. Hmmm … if I could …’ She tossed her hair and patted her cheeks till they tinged a rosy color. Humming to herself, the girl pursed her lips in the mirror and then smiled. After a moment, she sighed and turned the looking glass down to the table surface. ‘I need to stop this!’ she chided herself.
A low whistle came from outside the flap. ‘Not again’ she thought. “Who is it?” she asked a little more sternly than she intended.
“The guild healer, m’lady,” a voice called out, muffled by the tarp across the entrance. “I’m here to check on your companion.” Firah glowered with disgust. This was a common ploy of the guild, to ensure their stay. The monk would come in, make a nuisance of himself, and after several minutes of bustling, would say something like “No change.” It aggravated her, as it was a constant link to their hospitality, and the more they remained with this troop, the more indebted she felt. The ride to the forest was the only reason that she stayed with them. The healer had done nothing for Zyr, and that was the most frustrating part of all. She had begrudgingly accepted Shien’s logic about an alternate purpose for the White Guards help. It stung her ego like a swarm of thirsty Menil-bees.
“Come in,” she blurted out, with exasperation. The healer pushed the tent flap aside and walked in slowly completely indifferent to her obvious flustered state. He nodded to Firah and brushed past her, his robes billowing with his stride. As he passed she felt that same
tingling sensation, she felt every time he came to see Zyr. As the monk reached her motionless friend, the feeling left. The guild healer spent the next short while checking and adjusting things, essentially doing nothing in Firah’s opinion. Finally, he stood and opened his mouth to speak.
“No change?” She interjected in an apparent sarcastic tone.
The monk closed his mouth and stared at her. His mouth was set slightly downward; she knew she had jangled a nerve. “Indeed,” he replied curtly and stepped out of the tent without a further word. Firah waited until the flap was fully closed before leaning toward the doorway and casting her ugliest face in the passionless healer’s direction. She smiled with satisfaction and slid into the wooden chair near Zyr’s resting place. She touched the brooch she wore, which brought her a strange sense of comfort. She sighed heavily and watched her humble friend’s chest rise and fall below the blanket which warmed his body. The smile was fading fast under the tide countless worries.
“Oh, Zyr. Please come back to us soon. I don’t know where to go anymore. Just show us what to do, please.” The room fell silent as the tarp tossed and floated, resisting the cooling breath of nature.
“She is a feisty one,” the monk submitted to his Lord. Tey’ur smiled slightly, and clasped a hand upon the healer’s shoulder.
“Bear with this task a little longer, Menhol. It is not entirely her companion that I am truly concerned about. What of her condition?”
“It is progressing.” The monk rubbed his bare scalp in thought. “I feel something will happen tonight, but it is hard to gauge such things. I am not a master of demonic lore.” Menhol cast a look to Tey’ur.
“Nor I. Yet any fool can clearly see the signs of change upon her. They always show the same. How I wish that her companion was awake. I would have certain words for him. You say it will be any day now?” His grip clenched the monk’s shoulder, to which the healer’s eyes raised in question. Tey’ur removed his hand and turned himself towards the near fire which blazed bright upon his armour.
“Any day. Might I inquire …?” The healer began.
“You may not.” Tey’ur snapped, his voice a harsh growl. Menhol politely bowed his head and moved away from the troubled leader. Tey’ur’s grey eyes followed him, like a wolf’s glare. Quietly, Tey’ur placed a trembling hand over his face. How long had it been since he had lost control like that? His eyes strayed to the girl’s tent where the coward lay.
What was it about that self-righteous traitor that unnerved him? It was strangely predictable that where trouble brewed, that ingrate would follow. How he wanted to punish him, and then cast him into the fire and purge the traitor’s stain from his mind. But he could not act yet; he would keep them here and he would have his answers when the time came. He would not let the traitor or the girl escape his grasp. Inside his throat, a small growl emitted. He found it impossible to rest while the past, and all of its blood, cried for vengeance. Judgment was screaming in its terrible wrath, issuing forth from the remains of the Broken Halls. Unspeakable betrayal warranted a suitable punishment. At this thought he shook his head wearily … nothing could bring back the dead after they had walked the Unknown Path. While the Defilers had their way with the corpses, the spirit or soul was long departed upon its journey back to Llian. No, the hand of justice would fall to him, one last duty for the Order.
***
Tohm lay low to the ground and waited. The wind was shifting and soon the time would come. The master had warned him days earlier; if he ever came to harm or had to leave, Tohm was to tend to the girl. The burly man grimaced, his brow furrowed. It was deep into night and the men and women were settled down for the night. He had felt overwhelmed by the masses of newcomers and attempted to stay away from the cluttered and busy camp. As a result, he had spent the day roaming the forest, letting his senses feast upon the diverse odours which prevailed in the air. Now he sensed the change. Something was about to happen. He lay crouched between two knolls just outside the camp perimeter. He would have to be quick and silent. The rational side of his mind was not resisting this time. Rather, his splintered mind was oddly unified in one purpose, that the girl must be protected from what lay within her body. Suddenly, Tohm lifted his face into the chilling stench upon the wind. It had begun!
Moving like lightning, Tohm crossed the perimeter into the camp. His dark eyes flashed in the torchlight as he threaded his way quickly and undetected through the darkness. He ran upon all four limbs and dodged from shadow to shadow. Her shelter lay ahead, and Tohm could smell the black demon stench flowing from within the tent-folds. He dodged from the shadows in a direct course toward the tent.
Just as he neared the small shelter, he sensed movement. “Hold!” Two soldiers stepped quickly from the shadows next to the tent. One held a large broadsword out toward Tohm, who continued his rampant strides toward them. Perceiving Tohm’s noncompliance they prepared to hew the large man down. Tohm’s rational mind retreated deep within. It would not interfere. The released animal leapt high as one soldier swung a wide arc across its path. The fevered beast felt the sting as the sword bit across his thigh, but ignored the feeling and stretched a long muscled arm out and wrapped it about one soldier’s neck. He twisted the head around quickly and firmly until he heard the satisfying crack. The other had reacted, but the bestial man was already whirling about and smashed a fist into his victim’s throat. Tohm had reached the flap by the time the second one had fallen to the earth gargling froth and spit spraying from his mouth.
Growling within himself, Tohm recalled in fury how the demon had caught him off his guard the previous night, when all was in chaos. It had not killed him, and for whatever purpose the frenzied warrior cared not. It would prove to be the undoing of the forsaken specter.
Tohm ripped through the tent flap and moved swiftly to where a large billowing cloud was forming. He ignored the master lying quietly upon the ground as he charged past. The beast would need its predatory sense to “see” this night. He thundered into the growing blackness, which swallowed him up wholly. The large man sensed the black creature within the cloud, in front of him clutching a dark blade. Reaching out, he contested the hold of the blade. His hand covered the creature’s grip. At once the demon began to thrash about; however, the beast resisted its struggling, as the demon had yet to achieve its full form. Tohm had since learned that every death would make it stronger. 'Appease the dagger with living blood' the master had said. Quickly, Tohm shifted his grip above the hilt. As the creature writhed in fury, the blade slid across the flesh inside Tohm’s clenched hand. He felt his hot blood flowing like a river of magma down his arm.
“Leave!" he cried out gruffly to the demon. The dark demon screeched loudly in response and Tohm felt it clawing with its free hand and feet, his skin burning from the scathing black claws. “Leave!” He bellowed again more forcefully and then in one swift motion, reared back and laid a blow full into the form that he was struggling with. Firah’s body flew across the tent space before colliding against the tarp and collapsing to the ground. The dagger lay a few feet from her hand. She was completely unconscious. The black cloud dissipated with echoes of tortured screams that faded into the night air. Tohm howled with satisfaction and then heard the sound of turmoil outside. Quickly, he dashed out the other end of the tent and sped away into the night. He had done what the master asked. Now he was through with people. The forest called.
***
The approaching militia had emerged from the night and descended swiftly upon the unsuspecting White Guard camp. The sentries must have been removed skillfully without a whisper of warning. Shien determined the strength of the enemy from his high vantage point. They more than doubled the White Guard company who numbered a hundred strong. Most of the enemy were adorned in many different types of armour, with no coherent colouring. Mercs, he thought to himself dolefully. Shifting his gaze he noted that the White Guard’s forward defence was in disarray from the ambush, and would be cut down soon. He watched as wa
rrior met warrior, axes and hammers swinging viciously in attempt to beat down the opponent. A warning horn had just sounded loud and long throwing the camp in chaos. But it had come late. Many struggled to put on a semblance of armour, while some simply grasped their weapons and moved to the east side of camp where the battle was ensuing. Shien closed his eyes slowly. Death had followed him for so long, and again this night many more would die. He wrapped his cloak tightly around his body, as the wind chilled his bones. Agonizing screams of men filled his ears. He knew that it was time to leave, and yet he hesitated a moment. He adjusted the pack on his shoulders; he could feel Kuros and Isil throbbing with his own pulse. It was if they had become attuned to his soul. He grit his teeth and turned his face southward. A three day trek to the southern pass across Tamers Reach and he was free! Free to live off the land once again. Yet, his feet would not move, and he cursed his lack of resolve.
“Forget her! Just forget her! Leave while you can!” an inner voice demanded. More sounds of metal upon metal rang out as he heard a deep voice calling to arms, directing orders. Something within that voice was inspiring and powerful. He took a long breath in and descended the hill toward his future.
***
“Form forward ranks!” Tey’ur boomed out above the noise of war. The attack had been swift and well designed. His attempts to counter and regroup had met with failure. The attacking force was fairly commanded and had utilized the element of surprise to their advantage. A soldier next to him gasped in horror and then fell to the ground dead. Tey’ur took a moment to glance at the arrow that punctured through the white painted plate mail. The intricately designed feathers told the story he wished were not true … Grey mercenaries with at least one Wilder in their ranks.
