by Matt Heppe
“How do you know they have no horses?” Hadde asked.
“I know the Tysk,” he said sharply. “They don’t ride.”
“Very well.” She held up her hands to fend off his anger.
“This is where the Messenger will meet us.” Astor said. “Let's leave the road and take shelter. I know a place.”
“You're certain he will show?” Morin asked, craning his neck to look up the road. “How long will we have to wait for him?”
“He will ride to this place late each afternoon and then ride back toward Ost-Oras. He should be here soon,” Astor said with a glance to the afternoon sun. He wiped his forearm across his brow and then rubbed his palms on his trousers. “Come, follow me.”
Hadde wondered at the sweat running down his temple. It was a sunny day, but it was still just past midwinter and a cold breeze blew down the shallow valley. She and Morin followed Astor as he led them off the road and into a gully. The surrounding trees were bare of leaves, and many showed signs of Wasting-sickness. They were no healthier than the trees of Landomere. It was a stark reminder of the Wasting's strength.
The rocky gully was clear of trees. An old firepit had been built up against a large boulder. It made sense, the gully made an excellent sheltered camp. Except for one thing. “Astor, we can't see much from down here. What if the Tysk come upon us?”
“I'll stand watch,” he said as he dismounted. He started back up the slope toward the road. “Take care of the horses and have something to eat. There is food in Windwalker's saddle bags,” he called as he disappeared.
“Morin, there's something wrong with him,” Hadde said.
“Just nervous,” he replied. “I have to admit, I am too.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth. “The Orb changes everything.”
“I don't know,” Hadde said. “I don't feel it.” She took their provisions to the rock near the firepit. The rock formed a natural table, if a little sloped. “I've seen your magic, and your brother's. I've also seen the varcolac. I suppose the Orb should not seem so impossible to me.”
Hadde drew her knife and cut thick slices from a dry sausage. She offered a piece to Morin, but he waved it away. “Not now,” he said. She shrugged and took a bite. As she chewed she glanced up the slope for a sign of Astor. She'd cut some for him, although she doubted he would have an appetite.
She saw some motion, and then Astor appeared at the top of the slope. And he had someone with him. Hadde's eyes widened in surprise and she quickly swallowed her mouthful. “Look!” she said, pointing with her knife.
Morin quickly rose from where he crouched next to her. Hadde wiped her blade, sheathed it, and stood with him.
The white-cloaked figure stood tall and broad-shouldered. A deep hood concealed his face. Astor beamed as he led the stranger into the gully. “Who are you?” Morin asked as the figure approached. Morin's hand rested on his sword hilt.
“Well met, Prince Morin,” the stranger said. He had a strong, deep voice. “I am Brother Resnam, Messenger of the Order of Eternal Knights. I am here to lead you to the Orb of Creation.”
Morin looked to Astor and then at Resnam. “The Orb is near?” Morin asked.
“Not far. It awaits you.”
Hadde stared at the stranger. His robes concealed all. She peered beneath his cowl, but it shrouded his face too much for her to see anything. The robes were as white as any she had ever seen. She noticed Helna's Orb stitched in gold on the right breast.
“You are the Orb's true master,” the man continued. “You are the rightful heir. You will restore Salador to glory.”
Morin stared at the hooded man in silence.
“We should listen to him,” Astor urged. “Here's the chance you’ve—”
Morin cut him off with a raised hand. “And how can I trust you, Brother Resnam? You who won’t even show your face.”
“Very well,” Resnam said. Hadde gasped as he removed his hands from his sleeves. Both were the color of liquid silver and shone brightly even under the shadow of the trees. Slowly, he lifted his hands and drew back his hood. His face, his hair, his eyes—every feature gleamed in flowing argent.
“What manner of creature are you?” Morin asked. Hadde couldn't believe how stoically he reacted to the sight of the man's skin. She’d recoiled two steps without even realizing it.
“I’m a man, like yourself. But I’m also an Eternal Knight.” Spreading his hands in front of him he said, “I’ve touched the Orb of Creation and been blessed by it. It has granted me eternal life and health. It’s the fountain of all life. There is no need for doubt, Prince Morin. Permit me to lay my hands upon you, and you’ll feel the power and the glory of the Holy Orb.”
Smiling, he stepped toward Morin.
In an instant Morin’s sword flashed from its sheath and pointed at Resnam’s neck.
“Morin, no!” Astor stepped forward and grasped Morin’s hand. “Let him touch you. I’ve felt the touch of a Messenger. There is nothing to fear. Their blessing is like touching the source of life itself. You can feel the goodness in it.”
“You said nothing of this to me,” Morin said, his voice cold. “You didn’t tell me that this was what a Messenger would be.” Hadde slowly stepped aside, moving herself closer to Lightfoot and her bow.
“I am unarmed, my prince,” Resnam said. “My only wish is to show you the glory of the Holy Orb. Let me lay my hands upon you and then take you to the Orb of Creation.”
“No,” Morin said. “You’ll instead come with me to Ost-Oras. There—”
“Morin, you can trust him,” Astor said. He faced Resnam. “Will you touch me, and demonstrate your trustworthiness to Prince Morin?”
“Come forward, Sir Astor, and feel the blessing of the Orb.”
“Don’t do it, Astor,” Morin warned.
The men paid Hadde no attention as she pulled Hawkeye and her arrows from their case. Five arrows!
“I’ve felt their touch," Astor said. "It’s good. To touch them is to touch Helna. It is to touch the hand of the goddess.”
Astor knelt before the Eternal Knight. Hadde watched, awed, as the eternal placed his hands upon Astor’s head. Golden-silver light poured from Resnam’s hands and suffused Astor’s head. For a moment, Astor’s head gleamed as silver as the Eternal Knight’s.
“Be blessed, Sir Astor,” Resnam said.
Astor sagged for a moment as the eternal lifted his hands.
“It’s goodness,” Astor said. He turned to Morin, a rapturous expression on his face. “Let him touch you.”
Morin sheathed his sword. “If anyone but you asked me to do this, I would refuse.”
“You can trust me, Morin.” Astor stepped aside as the eternal approached the prince.
“No. Don’t,” Hadde said. She glanced from Astor to Morin. “It doesn’t feel right. I don’t trust them.” She gripped the arrows in her bow hand, ready to nock and loose in one swift motion.
Morin paused. “If I can’t trust Astor, I can trust no one at all.”
“This... it just isn't right.” Hadde said. She didn't know how she felt what she felt. She glanced around, a sudden feeling of oppression overcoming her.
“I would give my life for Morin!” Astor shouted. His hands shook as he spoke. “He’s my prince, my captain, and my friend. I’d do anything for him.”
“Hadde,” Morin said, “Astor is my brother-in-arms. We’ve faced death together. I trust him.”
“But I don’t,” she said. “He—”
“Stop,” Morin cut her off. “I’m a magus elementar. I can handle myself. And if this is the path to the Orb of Creation, I must follow it. Believe in me.”
Hadde took a deep breath and glanced from Morin to Resnam. Was it really happening? Was Morin going to get the Orb? It was too simple. No more suffering. No more pain. After all these years the Wasting would finally end.
The eternal stood in front of Morin and then dropped to his knees. “Let me take your hand, my prince.” Morin
sheathed his sword and then pulled off his glove and offered his hand to Resnam.
“My lord,” the Eternal Knight said as he took Morin’s hand in both of his own. For a moment nothing happened. And then Resnam said, “Open yourself to me, my prince. You shield yourself from the Orb of Creation.”
“No. Unhand me.”
Morin pulled his hand back, but the eternal clasped Morin’s wrist. “Please, my lord,” Resnam begged. “It’s easier this way. There is no harm.”
“Unhand me!”
Hadde cried out as the Resnam lunged forward and tackled Morin to the ground. Showers of sparks and fire erupted from Morin’s hands as he fought off the eternal.
Resnam’s robes burst into flame, but still he pinned the prince beneath him.
“Get him off!” Morin shouted.
Hadde drew her bow and shot Resnam in the chest. She was only strides away, and the arrow penetrated deep into his body.
He grunted in pain but didn’t let go.
“Stop!” Astor shouted, his voice frantic.
Hadde shot another arrow into Resnam, but still he held Morin fast.
The Eternal Knight’s robes burned away, revealing silver skin beneath. But where Morin’s magical fire was strongest, the skin went iron black, as had two large patches where Hadde’s arrows stuck.
“Stop, Hadde!” Astor charged at her.
She ignored him and shot again. The arrow struck within a handbreadth of the others, and finally Morin cast the eternal aside.
Morin leaped to his feet, his sword suddenly in his hand.
“Don’t!” Astor turned from Hadde and grasped Morin’s sword arm.
“What are you doing? Leave off!” Morin shouted. The two men struggled for his sword.
Resnam staggered to his feet. Hadde stared as he pulled one of her arrows from his body. It was impossible. Silver blood dripped from the shaft. The drops turned black as they fell. The eternal cast the arrow to the ground.
From the forest came shouts and footsteps crashing toward them. Hadde wanted to turn, but Resnam was advancing on Morin. As the eternal lurched forward, he pulled another arrow from his chest.
Astor reeled as Morin punched him in the face. Leaping past his stunned friend, Morin struck the eternal a savage stroke to the neck. A raised arm partially deflected the blow, but the sword sank deep into the eternal's throat. Brilliant silver blood gushed from Resnam’s neck as his body toppled heavily to the ground.
Astor fell across Resnam’s body. “What have you done?” he sobbed.
“Run, Hadde!” Morin shouted. Startled, she looked up to see a dozen eternals, dressed in white and gold, charging toward them.
“The horses!” Morin turned to face the attack. He raised his arms and a wall of fire descended on the eternals. Four fell, their robes engulfed in flames. But most charged through the inferno.
Hadde turned to Lightfoot only to have an eternal lunge for her. She desperately dodged him and was knocked to the ground. Hadde rolled to her feet, but the eternal was past—heading for Morin. The eternals had nearly surrounded him. All wore cloaks and armor scorched by flame. But none except Resnam, had been slain.
“Morin! Behind you!”
He turned and a jet of fire struck the eternal. He fell back, clothes afire, but still standing.
As the eternal reeled back from Morin's fire, his companions advanced. The prince turned his fire on them. But the flames were weaker and the eternals pushed forward. Morin staggered, although he hadn’t been struck by any blow.
An eternal leaped and tackled Morin from behind. A swirling maelstrom of dirt and leaves rose around the melee, and he disappeared from view.
“Morin!” she shouted.
The war-cries of a score of varcolac overwhelmed her cry. Silver-eyed warriors poured over the slope and into the camp. Hadde loosed an arrow, felling the first. Her last arrow struck another in the leg.
With no time to even mount, Hadde scrambled to the firepit and put her back against the boulder. Dropping Hawkeye, she drew her knife, knowing that it was hopeless.
The wind roared. Hadde turned as Morin leaped from the cloud of debris, buffeted by gusts of wind. He landed outside the ring of eternals, staggered to his feet, and stumbled toward her. He fell at her feet just before the first varcolac arrived.
Hadde lifted a stone from the fire-ring and heaved it at the varcolac. It caught him flush in the forehead. He stood in front of her, stunned, just two strides away. The varcolac behind him roared in anger.
Morin staggered to his feet as three varcolac cast javelins. The missiles veered off, caught by a gust of magical wind. All cracked into the boulder behind Hadde.
Morin fell to one knee. His breath came in ragged gasps. The white-clad eternals he had just escaped surged in their direction, blocked from closing by the varcolac.
Hadde snatched a javelin from the ground. As she rose, two varcolac leapt at Morin. He slashed at them with his sword and they fell back. Hadde raised the javelin.
Morin feebly waved his sword at the varcolac. A short jet of fire flickered and went out. It was hopeless. There would be no escape.
“Back! Leave off the prince!” an eternal shouted, but two varcolac had already thrown themselves atop Morin. He toppled backward, his sword clattering to the ground.
Hadde lunged at a varcolac just as another hurled his javelin at her. She watched as its gleaming head spiraled at her. For an instant she felt helpless, more helpless than she had ever felt in her life. Arrows had been shot at her before, an axe swung at her, but always there had been some hope of evading them. Not now.
The javelin struck her in the chest with terrible force. Harder than any blow she had ever taken. Her breastbone shattered as the speartip plunged into her and slammed her against the boulder. Her hands clutched the smooth javelin shaft as she slumped forward. So smooth. Polished.
Blood covered her hands. Her blood. She toppled to her side. Pain. So much pain.
She tried to draw a breath, but choked and gagged on the hot blood filling her mouth. Her lungs burned as if filled with flaming embers.
The varcolac held Morin fast in front of her.
He stared at her. His mouth opened and closed, but she heard nothing.
She tried to say his name, but couldn’t draw a breath, tried to reach out to him, but couldn’t move her arm.
She wished she could touch him one last time. Then she died.
Chapter Twenty-one
Hadde stared through the open cottage door at the two corpses huddled together in front of the cold hearth. They had starved to death in each other’s arms. The Wasting had taken them.
She was too late.
“Mother?” she whispered into the dark room. “Father?”
“Return unto us, Hadde,” a man’s voice called out to her.
She ignored him. She would die here, with her parents. She didn’t deserve to live.
“Depart that fell place,” the voice ordered her.
She ran down a dark stone corridor. Maret’s anguished screams urged her on. But no matter how fast she tried to run, some invisible barrier held her back.
Hadde saw the dagger as it was drawn across Maret’s face. She saw the terror in the girl’s eyes. “Save me, Hadde!” the maiden screamed.
“Where are you?” Hadde shouted. The corridor went on forever, thousands of doors lining both walls.
The dagger plunged into Maret’s chest.
Hadde fell to her knees. It was all her fault.
“She lives yet. Return unto us, fair Hadde.”
The stones of Belor’s cairn lurched as if something under them moved. Hadde tried to step back, but her feet were rooted to the ground.
A skeletal hand burst from the mound. Flesh and muscle hung in tattered ropes from the bones.
“No!” She tried to close her eyes, but couldn’t.
Belor erupted from the mound. His worm-eaten corpse shambled up to Hadde. The stench of death overwhelmed her.
“You di
d this to me,” he hissed as he wrapped his hands around her neck.
She fell into a black abyss as fear overwhelmed her. Downward she plummeted, screaming her anguish. She had failed them all.
“Do not relinquish faith. Hold fast.”
She flailed her arms as she fell. There would be no return. Dromost would take her and reward her failure with an eternity of pain.
A hand grasped her wrist as light cut the darkness. Rays of gold and argent played upon her. She searched for the source but saw only its brightness.
“Live.”
Warmth engulfed her as the golden glow suffused her body. She wanted it to last forever.
***
She opened her eyes. Above her a roof of multicolored fabrics shimmered in the sunlight, mesmerizing her. A tent—a monstrous tent. So large even a Landomeri oak could easily fit within it. A spider web of ropes held the gay roof aloft.
She lowered her eyes to the tapestry walls surrounding her. The partitions were three strides tall—frameworks of wood covered with wonderfully embroidered pastoral scenes of people at work in lush green fields.
Light shimmered over her as the canopy wafted in the breeze. Laughter came to her from some nearby part of the tent—girl’s laughter. It reminded her of Maret and Jenae giggling over Morin. The sound was so full of life.
Life.
Hadde touched herself where the spear had impaled her. Her hand came to rest on a soft quilt. She lowered the quilt and stared at her naked chest. There was no wound. She sat up and stared closer, moving her Spiridus Token in case it hid any sign of injury.
Nothing. I am alive... but how? She remembered the chaotic fight, the eternals, and the varcolac. But how had she come to be here? She was clean, uninjured, and resting in a soft bed of white sheets. It made no sense.
The scent of roasted fowl wafted through the room. Her stomach rumbled. In the room rested a small table with two stools beside it and a camp chest. Next to the chest rested Hawkeye and her bowcase. She frowned. They had left her armed. They had even refilled her case with arrows. But why? She had killed varcolac and an eternal. Who held her?
