The energy signature that the spirit-being searched for was, at first, weak and unfocused, but as time passed, it grew stronger. The spirit now knew that it must concentrate its search in the lands far to the south of its mountain prison, beyond the territory it had once ruled over as a mortal man. There, it felt certain it would eventually locate the vessel that contained the Key.
But finding the Key wasn’t enough. The spirit would also need the talisman that it had forged and charged with its mortal hands over a millennium ago. Only by reuniting the Key with the magic of the talisman could it regain its full power and put its plan into motion.
The combination of the two magical energies would unlock the barrier between the living world and the Void—that trackless, howling vortex wherein dwelled unnatural creatures of darkness, fearsome and terrible beyond description. Opening the barrier would release a vast army of these creatures that could be bent to the spirit being’s will. With such an army at its back, it…hewould be invincible, the Destroyer of Nations. No longer The Nameless One, he would reclaim his name and power, and all the peoples of the world would be under his dominion.
This had been his intent a millennium ago, until he had been betrayed by those he most trusted. His magic had been stripped from him. The Key had been stolen and hidden beyond his reach, and his body slain and buried deep beneath the shattered fortress of his enemies. They had sealed him up and warded the chamber, trapping his immortal soul and stifling all self-awareness.
His enemies obviously hadn’t anticipated that their magic might fail.
He didn’t devote much time to wondering why they hadn’t kept a more close watch on the wards; his emotions were distilled down into two only—hatred of all living things, and the desire to conquer and destroy. He would accomplish his plan when he located the Key and the talisman.
He was very close.
Chapter 9
The Good Son
Thunk!
An arrow pierced the center of the target, its fletched end vibrating. Ashinji Sakehera withdrew another arrow from the quiver at his hip, and in rapid sequence, nocked, drew, and fired. The second arrow embedded itself nearly on top of the first. A third arrow followed the first two, then a fourth. Within the space of a few heartbeats, he’d emptied his quiver. Shooting practice always calmed and focused Ashinji’s mind, and ever since his return home to Kerala two weeks ago, he’d been doing a lot of shooting.
Captain Sakehera had been given leave to make the journey home from his posting in the capitol at Sendai in order to fulfill a special family obligation. His brother Sadaiyo, eldest of Lord Sen Sakehera’s five offspring, and Heir to Kerala, was to be wed. The marriage of the Heir of one of Alasiri’s most powerful and important families was a very big event, and as such, no expense would be spared, and all of the obligatory rituals would have to be executed to perfection. As second-born, it was Ashinji’s duty to perform the Ritual of Welcoming on the day before the wedding ceremony itself, thereby officially accepting the bride into the House of Sakehera.
Tradition and ceremony were the very foundations of elven society, and Ashinji truly did honor them; yet, lately, those traditions were beginning to feel like heavy chains wrapped around his soul, slowly crushing him with their great weight.
Ashinji walked down the yard to the target and began pulling the arrows one by one from the tightly packed straw. A fly buzzed around his head and tried to land on his nose. He swatted it away as he pulled the last arrow from the target and dropped it into the quiver with its fellows. Wiping his perspiring brow with the back of his hand, he glanced upwards.
The sun, a white-hot eye gazing down from the cerulean sky, made the day unusually warm for early spring. The deep shade cast by the high wall of the yard beckoned invitingly. Ashinji ambled over and sat down in the dirt, back pressed to the smooth-cut stones.
Absent-mindedly, he tugged at the three gold rings that adorned the lobe of his left ear. At the end of each five-year period of service, all soldiers received an earring as a token from the king. In two more years, Ashinji would earn another ring and quite possibly a promotion. Eighteen years was a long time to spend doing something for which he had no real vocation. He would not have chosen the military life for himself had he been allowed to choose.
The second son of Lord Sen Sakehera was a thoughtful young man, and within his highly trained warrior’s body resided the soul of a scholar. His temperament had always been more suited to the life of an academic, rather than to that of a captain in the king’s army.
Ashinji usually spent much of what leisure time he had studying the texts and treatises of the great mathematicians, both elven and human. His father had always been a little bemused by his offspring’s interests but had never actively discouraged them, for Ashinji had always been a dutiful son, ever mindful of the role in life that his family and position dictated for him.
Lately, though, Ashinji had begun to question that role. The second child of every Sakehera generation was bound by tradition to be given to the military. Lord Sakehera himself was a second child, as was his mother before him. It had always been so. The tradition of obedience to one’s parents dictated that Ashinji acquiesce to his father’s decision that he remain a soldier, rather than pursuing his own dream of a very different life.
Obedience was a virtue he found increasingly hard to live with.
Ashinji laid the bow and quiver aside and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. He reached around and undid the ties of his light cotton tunic and pulled the garment away from his sweaty torso. Kerala Castle lay quietly drowsing in the heat of midday. Ashinji’s emerald-green eyes became increasingly unfocused as his thoughts turned more deeply inward. He hadn’t been sleeping well since he’d returned home—due in large part to his ever-growing desire to quit the army. The strain put on all of the family by the upcoming nuptials played a part as well.
But mostly, it was the dream.
Since childhood, Ashinji sometimes dreamt visions of such strength and clarity that when he awoke, he could not immediately separate the waking world from the dream state. These special dreams were always prescient, and he had learned that to ignore their message was to do so at his own peril. All elves possessed some psychic abilities, commonly referred to as Talent. Those with the strongest Talent were usually trained as mages. Lady Sakehera—Ashinji’s mother—had, as a young woman, trained at a very prestigious school of magic, but had chosen to give up a career as a professional mage for marriage and family. It was she who had first told Ashinji that his dreams were a manifestation of his Talent.
This particular dream always began with him standing alone on the bank of a slow moving river, the sun high and hot overhead. A sound, like the cry of a great beast, caught his attention. He turned his head to seek out the source but he could see nothing save the ranks of silent trees marching down nearly to the water’s edge.
Suddenly, he no longer stood alone. A woman appeared before him, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant. She was very young, with a wild mane of dark, tightly coiled hair and eyes that were full of sorrow and loneliness. She appeared to be elven, and yet, there was something different about her that Ashinji could not quite fathom. Within the body of this not-quite elven woman glowed a core of pure, radiant blue energy that pulsed with each beat of her heart. He could sense the immense power of it and its inherent danger, though he also could sense that the woman herself posed no threat; in fact, he felt a powerful affinity toward her, as if she were someone for whom he had been waiting a very long time.
In that peculiar, disjointed way of dreams, he and the woman suddenly stood in a jumbled landscape of fractured, snow-encrusted boulders. The low ceiling of gray clouds overhead spit flurries of stinging ice crystals down upon Ashinji’s head. As he watched, the woman’s expression slowly changed from sorrow to fear. Darkness bled from the rocks, slowly coalescing into a massive black shadow that loomed over her. A palpable air of menace flowed from the shadow, and the w
oman shrank from it in terror.
Help me!she cried, reaching for Ashinji with pale, long-fingered hands. As he grasped her hands in his, he saw that, upon one finger, a tiny beast crouched—a miniature griffin. Its feathers were wrought of silver, and its eyes were glowing red pinpricks. The beast hissed and struck. Ashinji cried out in pain as tiny fangs ripped into his flesh. Reflexively, he let go his grip on the strange woman’s hands, and she was pulled backwards into the shadow and engulfed.
He always awoke in a sweaty panic, the woman’s screams echoing in his head. Unable to return to sleep, he then spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling of his bedchamber, trying fruitlessly to wrest some comprehension from his tired mind. Nothing he had ever dreamed before had carried the sense of urgency of this particular dream. He instinctively knew that it presaged an event that would radically alter his life, but whether for good or ill… that wisdom remained hidden from him.
A stray lock of hair, the color of honey, fell across his face, and he pushed it back behind one ear. A hound barked off in the distance. The fly, or possibly its kin, returned to buzz in an annoyingly persistent, erratic flight path around his head.
I really need a bath,he thought.
He rose to his feet, dusted off the seat of his breeches, slung the bow over his shoulder, and headed for the gate.
~~~
“Youngest Son! There you are. I need to go over some things with you.”
Ashinji, still damp from the bathhouse, came to sit at the massive oak table that was the central feature of Kerala Castle’s main hall. Ashinji had always liked this room for its stark simplicity. The whitewashed walls, unadorned save for the family crest above the flagstone fireplace, sturdy oak furniture, and darkly polished wood floor, gave the hall a feeling of unassuming grandeur.
“Father,” Ashinji replied, pulling out a chair and seating himself across from the Lord of Kerala.
Lord Sen Sakehera had been a soldier his entire adult life. Multiple gold service rings adorned both ears, and a very large diamond glittered in the lobe of his right, a symbol of his rank as Commanding General of Alasiri’s armies. He had served the royal house of Alasiri for nearly ninety years and was the present king’s oldest and closest friend. He ruled over Kerala with a firm, yet compassionate hand, and his people loved him.
Despite his exalted rank, Lord Sen was a humble man —a simple soldier, he’d say, who just happened to have the ear of the king. Today, he was dressed like a gentleman farmer in a plain, unbleached cotton tunic, baggy breeches, and sturdy leather sandals. He wore his tawny hair in a soldier’s braid, which reached almost to his waistband.
“Do you wish to discuss the wedding, Father?” Ashinji asked. “I assure you, I’ll have the Ritual of Welcoming completely memorized by the time I have to perform it.”
“Oh, that. Bloody thing’s still eight weeks away, but you’d think it was tomorrow if you listened to your mother. May The One preserve us!” Lord Sen rolled his eyes. “No, no wedding talk. Something much more serious.”
“What could possibly be more serious than my brother’s wedding?” Ashinji asked, a touch of sarcasm coloring his voice.
“Hmm, yes. What, indeed,” Sen replied, a tiny smile drawing up one corner of his expressive mouth. “I’ll tell you what, Youngest Son.” He held up a sheaf of papers in one hand. “These are reports from the Saihama River district. Several farms have been attacked within the last month by human bandits coming across the river from Soldara. The local sheriff thinks it’s the work of a single gang operating from a camp near the fords. She has requested that I send a posse to clean them out.”
“You want me to lead it,” Ashinji stated, leaning forward with interest.
“Who else but you? Sadaiyo is far too busy being the center of attention as the soon-to-be married Heir, and besides, I can trust you to do the job right.”
“Father… Sadaiyo is a perfectly competent fighter and quite capable of performing this task,” Ashinji chided gently, “but of course, I will do as you command.”
“I just hope that this isn’t the beginning of something worse,” Sen said, shuffling through the stack of papers in front of him. He pulled out one that bore several official seals. “This report just arrived from Sendai today. It seems that we out here in the east are not the only ones suffering from human incursions. There’ve been several incidents in the Tono Valley district. Soldaran patrols have been spotted on the Alasiri side of the border, and there have been raids as well. There’ve been rumors that the Soldaran empress has designs on Tono… that she plans on taking it back.”
“Tono rightfully belongs to us,” Ashinji said. “Elves have lived and farmed that valley for centuries. It was only because the Soldarans invaded and stole it away from us that it ever became part of the Empire.”
“Hmm, yes, and Keizo the Elder won it back for us at the cost of many elven and human lives. The Soldarans have been smarting over that defeat for a long time. Looks like the empress has finally decided it’s time for her to avenge her great grandfather.”
“How are the Soldarans getting past the Tono garrison, Father?” Ashinji asked. “I thought that Lady Odata kept her troops vigilant.”
“She does,” Sen replied. “The humans must use trails through the mountains. It’s very difficult terrain… treacherous, horse-leg breaking. That’s why the raiding parties have been relatively small.” He paused for a moment, tugging at his earlobe, then continued. “There’s something else that’s very disturbing. I’ve a letter from Prince Raidan. He asks if any of our people have fallen ill with a mysterious sickness. He tells of a plague striking border folk, particularly those living close to human settlements. He says that it appears that a human disease has begun to infect elves. All humans die from it, but our people seem to be able to survive, though it leaves them in a terribly weakened state.”
Ashinji frowned with worry. “The nearest human settlement to Kerala is that big castle to the south of us… I forget the name of it, but it’s at least three days ride from here.”
“Umm, yes. Amsara Castle, seat of the duchy,” Sen replied. “It’s not the duke’s people that I’m worried might bring disease to our folk… it’s those bandits.”
Lord Sen swept up his papers into a neat pile, pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet. He stood taller than average, a well-built man and still fit, despite being well into his middle years. “I want you to ride out tomorrow morning. Take some of the guard with you. Go to Saihama village first and talk to the sheriff. Find out if she knows of any folk in the village or on the outlying farms that have fallen ill of this mysterious plague. Then, find those bandits and clean them out.” His tanned face settled into the hard mask of a man who had come to the conclusion that a terrible calamity loomed on the horizon.
“I fear the future, Youngest Son. I can’t shake this feeling that war is coming, and soon. If we have to fight, we cannot afford to have our people weakened by illness. The Soldarans have always had an advantage of numbers over us. Without an army at full strength, we haven’t much chance.”
“We have to believe that somehow, we’ll be all right, Father. What else can we do?” Ashinji rose from his chair. “I’ll leave at first light.” He turned to go.
“Don’t forget to say goodbye to your mother. I know she’s all wrapped up in this wedding business, but she would kill me if I didn’t insist that you interrupt her for a proper farewell.” Sen smiled wryly.
“I will, Father,” Ashinji replied. Emerald eyes met gray-green ones in acknowledgment of the unbreakable bonds of love between father and son. “I’ll see you when I return.”
Chapter 10
A Conflicted Heart
"Ashiiii!”
The two little girls leapt up from the floor and flung themselves upon their big brother, shrieking with delight. Jena and Mariso were identical twins, the youngest of the Sakehera brood. Twinning was very rare among elves, and the twins themselves were believed to bestow special luck upo
n their families.
“Whoa! You’ll knock me down, you demons,” Ashinji cried in mock fear, then burst out laughing as the twins swarmed over him. He scooped up one child under each arm and carried them, giggling and squirming, into the center of the large, open room where two women sat on a low couch, each one bending over something in her hands. The older of the two women looked up, and her handsome face broke into a gentle smile.
“Mother! Mother! Look who’s here!” the twins shouted in unison.
“Yes, my pets, I can see perfectly well. You don’t have to carry on so. Do let your brother alone so he can come and greet me properly!” Lady Sakehera held out her hand.
“All right, monkeys,” Ashinji said, lowering the girls gently to the floor where they collapsed in a giggling heap. He clasped his mother’s warm, strong-fingered hand in his and kissed her tattooed palm. He then bent over and kissed his oldest sister Lani’s cool cheek, and was rewarded by a demure smile.
Lani was tall, like their father, and just blossoming into young womanhood. She possessed an elegant beauty and a calm maturity far beyond her years. Like Ashinji, she, too, found great pleasure in intellectual pursuits, but she also nurtured a serious artistic talent as well. At present, she and her mother were working in tandem on a large piece of needlework. From the look of the fabric and the complexity of the design, Ashinji surmised that they labored over a wedding robe.
“Come sit by me, Son. Can you stay and talk awhile?” Lady Sakehera asked.
“Of course, Mother,” Ashinji replied, settling down on the couch beside her.
The twins immediately began clamoring for his attention. “Ashi! Your hair…” cried Jena. Mariso took up the sentence and finished it. “Can we braid it? Pleeeeese?” Ashinji found the children’s exuberance impossible to ignore. Their small bodies hummed with the wild energy of the very young.
Griffin's Daughter Page 11
