by Tim Marquitz
“We are too late,” Zalee told him, her voice without emotion.
His head filled with clouds, Cael tried to shake them free as he stumbled over to where Zalee stood. His eyes followed hers and he saw the great spires of Lathah that stood majestic in the distance against the backdrop of the Fortress Mountains. He could see the great outer wall still stood strong. Though wisps of dark smoke rose up from behinds its sprawling whiteness, he could spy no obvious damage. He could hear no commotion rising from the city, no horns or the clatter of men at battle, nor did he see any forces laying siege.
“Too late?”
Zalee nodded, her finger tracing the line of the trees on the far side of the city. “The Grol are here, lurking in the woods, though they do not hide.”
Cael narrowed his eyes and stared hard across the barren killing field, but he could see nothing moving amidst the distant woods. He cast his sight to the walls and blocked his eyes against the sun that crept low in the western sky, hovering above the mountains and the city below. He could see a number of shadows flitting along the wall top, but nothing that confirmed Zalee’s statement. Despite that, he knew to trust the Sha’ree’s judgment.
“What do we do?”
Zalee stood quiet a moment, her pink eyes flitting back and forth along the edge of the trees. “Grol soldiers are moving slowly through the woods, likely in an attempt to cut off the city to ensure no one flees. That gives us little time. We must go now if we are to collect the warrior and flee before the city is surrounded.”
Cael glanced at the open field before them, knowing full well it existed to keep intruders from doing exactly what they were intent upon doing. “They’ll see us.”
Zalee smiled in her way, an expression that Cael had come to recognize, despite its lack of warmth. “I am not without my tricks.” She held out her hand.
Cael breathed deep and took her gloved hand in his own, wondering what she had in mind. She gripped him tight.
“For this, we must travel slowly, but do not let loose of my hand. We must remain in contact and stay quiet; our voices will carry if we are not mindful.”
Cael tightened his own grip and nodded. Zalee wasted no time, pulling him forward and walking them directly onto the killing field. His eyes darted about as they walked, almost casually, across the soft dirt of the field. Any moment he expected a shout to come from Lathah, arrows to follow, or worse still, for the Grol to notice them. He shuddered as he remembered the horrid tales his father had told him about the beasts. The thought of his pieces warming their bellies as the rest of him waited in a cage to join them, turned his stomach. He’d welcome an arrow any day.
Despite his fear, the possibility of death all around, there were no shouts of discovery, no whistle of arrows, nor any angered growls rumbling from the woods. Against all sense of their open passage, they continued forward without notice. The shadows on the walls loomed larger, until taking shape as men when Zalee and he drew closer. Still they approached unnoticed.
Cael cast a glance over his shoulder and nearly stumbled, clasping tightly to Zalee’s hand to keep from falling. The Sha’ree glared at him and tugged him on. Cael mouthed an apology and kept pace, casting one last look behind to confirm what he had noticed. Despite the soft dirt of the killing field he felt crunch and shift beneath his feet, they left no trail behind, the dirt unmarred by their passage.
He had believed he had experienced the greatest wonder he could ever witness as he helped the Sha’ree contact the Goddess Ree, but Zalee continued to prove him wrong. The calming of the river bolstered his awe of the ancient race, their current venture only adding to that amazement. He had known wonder at the golden rod he carried, understanding it was only a piece of the Sha’ree magic, but he could never have imagined what Zalee’s people were capable of before having come to be in their presence. It was humbling.
A gentle tap on his shoulder drew him from his thoughts. He glanced to Zalee as they came about on the near side of the great wall that kept the residents of Lathah safe from harm and them from entering. The look up at the summit set his eyes to swimming.
Zalee leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. “Stay here, tight against the wall, and hold your tongue. The Grol have yet to come about far enough to spy you and the Lathahns would never think to look down this close to the wall. You will be safe until I retrieve you.”
Cael nodded, hoping his face reflected more confidence than he felt. Zalee paused and smiled at him, dispelling his hope. He’d come this far, he saw no reason not to see it further. Cael waved her on, pressing his back against the cold stone of the wall.
Zalee nodded in return and set about removing her gloves and boots. Once done, the items held fast beneath her sword belt, she set her hands upon the wall, her arms stretched out over her head. Once more she gave Cael reason to wonder.
Like a spider, Zalee pulled herself up the wall, her hands and feet seemingly able to latch onto tiny holds that were invisible to him. She climbed with the same smooth grace she displayed when walking or running, her body moving as though it knew not the impossibility of what it attempted.
In but a few moments, Zalee had reached the top of the wall and disappeared between the shadowed crenellations. Cael’s wonderment was overshadowed only by the feeling of aloneness that he felt when slipped from his view. Despite her assurance he would not be seen, Cael felt exposed sitting against the great white wall, the Grol army circling around the city.
His pulse raced and he could feel its energy at his throat, each beat causing the skin to dance. He worked to slow his breathing certain Zalee would not have left him had it not been safe to do so. He kept his eyes on the trees and willed his chest to ease its thunderous beat, almost assured it could be heard on the walls above.
Though he knew not how long he’d waited, each beat of his heart was like a lifetime, every sound, no matter how distant, set him to jump. While he heard no cries from inside the city, he had just about given up home of Zalee returning when a line of silvery rope dropped to the ground beside.
His pulse went still as he spun about, resuming its beat once more as his eyes followed the trail of rope up the top of the wall where Zalee perched, waving to him. He grasped the edge of the line in trembling hands and noticed the small loop that was tied at its end. Certain Zalee did not expect him to scale the wall as she had he slid his foot into the loop and grasped ahold of the knot that sat roughly at the level of his chest.
The moment his hands locked about the knot, Zalee began to haul him up. She pulled him up with ease, the rope gliding smoothly as she pulled it through her grasp, hand over hand. Cael felt the wall at his shoulder, its cold touch scraping lightly along the sleeve of his tunic, its closeness keeping him from swaying as he rose.
Before Cael had time to grow nervous about the height, his eyes focused rigid upon the rope clasped in his hands, he was there beside Zalee. She helped him onto the comforting ledge of the wall top and he loosed the breath he’d been holding the entire ascent. He cast his eyes about, but saw no soldiers on their side of the wall. Zalee waved him forward, and motioned down the inside of the wall, the sudden realization dawning on Cael that they could not simply stroll down the stairs without meeting resistance, as he had hoped.
He nodded and let Zalee help to dangle him over the inside edge. He held tight as she lowered him to the ground, slipping into an alley formed by the tight cluster of tiny buildings that littered the base of the wall. Once he was down, the rope dropped beside him and Zalee slithered down just a moment later. She tugged gentle upon it and the silvery line pulled loose and fell in a pile beside them. Zalee coiled it and returned it to the bag she wore at her back.
She replaced her gloves and boots and turned to look at Cael, as if to gauge his readiness. He shrugged and motioned for her to continue on. He held his hand out.
Zalee waved it off and whispered, “We risk stirring Lathahn anger if we should penetrate too far into their city unnoticed. Though there may well
be questions as to how we came about being within their walls, we are better served by traveling openly and doing nothing that would make them think we wish to avoid notice.”
Cael groaned, but could find no fault with her logic despite his own wish to avoid notice. “Then let’s be about it.”
Zalee wasted no time, strolling boldly from the alley and out into the streets of Lathah. Cael followed close at her heels, giving her none of the space he’d grown accustomed to as they traveled through the Dead Lands. There he was sure the beasts were intelligent enough to steer clear of the Sha’ree and those they’d taken under their protection. He wasn’t certain the Lathahns could be counted on to have such sense.
He needed have worried. All around was chaos. Amidst the thick odor of sewage gone awry, was proof that the Grol had been set upon the city. Smoke billowed in dark spirals toward the sky as many of the small wooden buildings that cluttered the streets were bathed in flames, flickers of red and orange feeding into the black. He could feel the heat of their presence warm upon his face.
Zalee led him from the building conflagration and they strode in the center of the dirt street, veering off only to avoid the overturned market carts and debris that cluttered the way forward. There seemed to be few people still about, Cael imagining the rest having migrated upward through the levels to find safety far from the outer wall.
As they neared what appeared to be the gate to the next level, Cael noticed the charred metal and ash that stained the white wall black. The gate hung open on warped hinges. Zalee waved him toward them. Still lingering close, Cael spied movement out of the corner of his eye and cast a quick glance.
A disheveled young girl, her brown hair as wild as the look on her dirty face, dug amongst the trash that spilled out onto the street from a nearby alley. She looked up at him as he slowed. The steely hardness of her stare was unnerving. Dressed in tattered clothing that seemed sizes too big, and stained in soot and dirt, prowling as she was, hunched low to the ground, she reminded Cael of the skeletal wolves. There was something feral about the girl that made him pull his eyes away.
Zalee a short distance ahead, Cael raced to catch up. He drew up alongside her as she continued on, making her way through the damaged gate.
They continued on a ways until they encountered a small group of soldiers. Their silvered chain reflected the dying light and they marched with purpose down the dirt road, their boots kicking up dust in their haste. Zalee waved to them and stopped bold in their path. Cael positioned himself behind her as the soldiers called out and drew arms.
The Lathahn soldiers spread into a half-circle, closing upon them with careful slowness. As they drew up closer, Cael peering over Zalee’s shoulder, he could see their eyes widening as they examined Zalee. Though they stood just feet away, the soldiers seemed at a loss as to what to do.
Zalee took advantage of their pause. “I am Zalee, of Ah Uto Ree. These are grave times and I seek the council of your ruler, as well as a moment with another who is rumored to be amongst you, a warrior named Arrin Urrael.”
The soldiers cast uncertain glances back and forth amongst their number, each shaking their head in turn, until one of the men stepped forward. He stared at Zalee a moment longer and then sheathed his sword, the soldiers behind following his lead. Relief flooded their faces. He bowed short.
“Come with us.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Arrin stood quiet behind the rigid backs of Maltis and Barold, the Pathra siblings and their entourage at his side. He listened as a soldier passed a breathless message to the prince. The words out in a jumbled rush, Arrin felt the weight of every eye upon him. The smile that had been shorn from the prince’s face in the wake of the bombardment once more returned to its former glory. Its malice was plain for all to see.
“While it pains me to admit your wild tale has been proven true, exile, it would seem you play a far greater role in the Grol coming here than you would have us believe. You led them to us.”
Arrin felt a cold chill settle over him at the prince’s words. Though everyone in the hall had heard what the messenger had said, Olenn had twisted the words like a serpent-tongued, master bard. The message unexpected, Arrin could only stare, his own tongue too tied to come to his defense. His eyes drifted to Malya to see disappointment lurking in their emerald depths. Its weight was like the lid of a casket, sealing him in darkness.
Olenn followed his gaze. “Do you see, my sister? He has brought nothing but grief to your life and now he brings ruin down upon our people.” He spun and pointed at Arrin. “He is far worse than just an exile that escaped justice upon the gallows, he is a traitor.”
The words struck him as though they were a physical blow. Arrin stood in rigid disbelief, his hand shifting to the hilt of his blade without thought. The prince’s guard drew steel at his movement and crowded closer, their voices raised in anger. Malya was pushed aside by the mass of warriors as they closed, a handful of men at the rear keeping her from fighting her way through.
Only the dark-glared defiance of Maltis and Barold kept the men from attacking Arrin, despite the insistence from Lord Xilth who crowed from behind their armored ranks. Kirah set her hand upon Arrin’s arm, gentle reassurance in her touch.
Olenn called for silence. “The Grol offer us renewed peace in exchange for the exile and I see no reason to deny their request.”
“You cannot believe the Grol,” Arrin shouted, his tongue coming loose at last. Kirah’s grip tightened and he was glad for the restraint.
“But we can believe an exile that would conspire to steal the throne?”
Arrin felt his anger at his cheeks, the collar growing warm about his neck. “I never-” he started.
“You never bed the princess? Never hid your affair from the crown? Got her with child?” Olenn grinned, baring his teeth. “If only to yourself, admit that you intended to claim my sister as your patron and use her influence to remove me from my throne so that you might sit in my place. You are a traitor, Arrin, as surely as if you had dared to stick a blade between my ribs.”
“That is untrue.” Malya practically spit the words at her brother.
He turned his razored smile upon her. “Is it now, sister? And you would have us believe you did not bed the exile and bear him a child?”
Malya’s cheeks reddened, though Arrin could not tell if it was from anger or from shame. “However our relationship appeared to you, brother, it was never one of collusion against my father’s kingdom.”
“Perhaps in your eyes it never was, but I have no faith in a man that would sneak about like a snake to sway a princess into his bed.” He waved Malya off, Lord Xilth coming to stand between her and the prince. “He stands before us an exile, not as a member of our populace. I would gladly be rid of him again, his worthless life gaining a measure of value for his sacrifice for our people.” He turned to his guards. “Take him to this Vorrul. Let the beast decide his fate.”
The prince’s guard inched forward as Maltis and Barold drew their own steel. The Pathran emissaries drew about, uncertain. Malya screamed at her brother for reason, the narrow courtyard walls reflecting the cluster of sounds in a maelstrom that rang in his ears. Arrin tightened his grip upon his blade and willed the collar to life.
A single, scything voice cut through the noise and silenced the room.
All eyes turned to see who had spoken, the anger on their faces washed away in surprise. Hesitant to turn away from the crowd, Arrin gave in and cast his eyes behind him.
Surrounded by Lathahn soldiers, an unkempt boy close alongside, was a being long thought to have been gone from the earthly face of Ahreele. For all his doubt, Arrin could not find it in himself to question what he saw before him. There outside the Great Hall of Lathah stood one of the ancients; a Sha’ree.
The attention of everyone upon her, the Sha’ree spoke. “I am Zalee of Ah Uto Ree. I would have urgent words with the ruler of Lathah.” Her pink gaze swept the courtyard seeming to pause in acknowl
edgment of Olenn, but her eyes settled on Arrin.
“I am Prince Olenn, honored Zalee. If I might have but a moment to clear the refuse from the yard,” he gestured to Arrin and those gathered around him, “We may speak in peace.”
“I would have them stay.” She drew closer, the way parting before her as she came to stand beside Arrin. The dark-skinned boy was at her heels. Of the Pathra, only Kirah stayed close. Zalee met Olenn’s gaze without fear. “My people seek the bearers of the magical gifts we Sha’ree imparted so long ago.” She motioned to Arrin. “Of which, this warrior is one. If we are to end the war that has descended upon Ahreele, he must come with me.”
Arrin’s thoughts spinning wildly in his head, he looked to the Sha’ree as Olenn blustered.
“I know not your need of the exile, but if we are to have peace in the here and now, I must graciously refuse your request. He is to be given to the Grol in exchange for their withdrawal.”
The Sha’ree shook her head. “This cannot be. The Grol seek only to further assure their dominance by robbing us of yet another piece of our magic that can be used against them. I cannot allow you to surrender this warrior.”
Arrin growled and stamped his foot. “I am owned by neither of you. You do not decide my fate.” He stepped away from the Sha’ree, pulling his arm from Kirah’s grasp. “I have returned to Lathah for no reason other than to find my child and help the people escape to safety ahead of the Grol invasion. Your will and desires be damned, the both of you.”
The Sha’ree looked at him, her pink eyes narrow, but she said nothing. Olenn filled the void with fury.
“You are nothing if I do not allow it, Arrin Urrael,” he screamed as he waved his guard on. “Seize him.” Olenn drew back out of his men’s way.
