Tahr (The Days of Ash and Fury Book 1)

by Sean Hinn

  “I will, Master! May I ask a question, though?”

  “Of course, James. Ask.”

  “Well, ah, sir, how long will this last? This feeling, I mean.”

  Sartean did not bother to conceal his hungry leer. “Only for today, James. Only for today. You will need to return in the morning.”

  XX: THORNWOOD

  “This is ill advised,” Queen Evanti declared.

  “More than that, completely unadvised Lady,” replied Neral, as he sat alongside the queen on the wooden bench beside the Lovers.

  “Exactly my point. The Mistress was specific, this task is for Aria, though I do not understand it in the least.”

  “It is her wish that Mikallis join her, Terrias, and if it is indeed her task, then it must be her decision to choose her companions.”

  The queen shot Neral a look. “She did not choose him, Neral. He inserted himself, and Aria did not object. They are not the same thing. And in any case, The Mistress did not divine that any companions were required, Neral.”

  “Nor did she divine that they were not, my dear. Would you send Aria on this quest unaided?”

  “The Mistress is accompanying her. I do not fear for Aria in her company.”

  “Pheonaris is traveling with her to the Grove, Lady. Beyond that, her path is not known.”

  The queen was exasperated. “Fury, Neral, the boy will be a distraction!”

  Neral smiled ruefully. “My dear, you think as a mother, not a queen.”

  Terrias Evanti’s looked far past Neral, as if focusing beyond the horizon. “I am both, Neral.”

  “You are, Terrias. And you excel at both roles. But you are a queen first.”

  “Do not think to grease me, Captain Neral Evanti.”

  Neral laughed heartily. “I do not grease you, my esteemed Queen,” he smiled mischievously, Terrias warming slightly. His expression sobered after a thought, and he continued. “I speak from the heart. You are a wonderful mother, and equal to any ruler our people has ever sworn fealty to. Where those persons intersect, however, you are mired in confusion and uncertainty. I led elves once, and I was a father once. Your dilemma is not unknown to me.”

  The queen bowed her head. “Nu glahr ni, Neral.”

  “Your honor of me is kind my lady. But I have heard those words a thousand, thousand times, and I do not require them from you to know your affection for me.”

  “It was spontaneous, Neral. You must know that.”

  “I do. And as we speak of affection, let us return to the topic of my niece.”

  ---

  At the elven council several days past Neral had outlined the peril they face, if ambiguously. When he had felt that he had conferred upon the elven leaders enough information to allow for an understanding of the scope of the looming threat, he deferred to the assembly to determine the best manner to wage a resistance against it. Voices were raised, horror was expressed, and more questions than answers bubbled to the surface. Neral answered what he could, but in truth, he had not held much back from the council, nothing at least that would make their path clearer. Their enemy was ambiguous, their tactics unclear; the only distinct fact was that the evil dead of Tahr were somehow causing violent changes on the surface of the world, much as they had in the first days of Fury, and that they would accelerate the chaos to some cataclysmic end if they were not somehow opposed. The reaction of the elves was predictably hectic, until Aria noticed that Pheonaris was not only uninvolved in the discussion, but seemed to be…not present. Aria stood, the elven leaders looked to her expectantly, saw her looking to Pheonaris, and they quieted. All knew that the Mistress was having a vision.

  When Pheonaris surfaced again, after no less than ten turns of the glass, she opened her eyes and spoke.

  “Aria and I must depart for the Grove at daybreak. There her path will become clear.”

  No amount of coaxing or questioning could cajole more details from the Mistress, and even Neral could not be certain whether there was more she withheld, or if she was devoid of further understanding of her vision. The Mistress maintained that the words she spoke upon her return to the present were the only guidance that would be given, though from where that guidance came, the manner in which it had been conveyed, and an illumination on the dangers inherent in the young elf’s path were details that would not be forthcoming.

  A vote was cast, though barely a formality. It was agreed that Aria would go with Pheonaris, and the elves would await whatever wisdom resulted from her journey before they took further action. The queen gravely declared the matter finalized, and immediately upon her declaration, Captain Mikallis stood and made a declaration of his own: he would be accompanying Aria. All eyes were on the young elf, and the queen was dismayed to see him assert himself so inappropriately. She looked to Neral, whom she expected to chastise the young Captain, and instead the wizened old elf stated innocuously that he was sure his niece would welcome the Captain’s protection. Aria’s eyes widened at Mikallis; the queen’s eyes narrowed at Neral. Mikallis and Neral looked into one another, something substantial passing between them wordlessly.

  ---

  “You were quick to defend him Neral,” Terrias stated. She expected a reply, but none came. “Do you intend to tell me why?”

  Neral shifted uncomfortably. “I…yes, I was Lady. Though I am not sure why, and I have thought about it often in the past few days.”

  “You spoke before considering your words, Neral? I find that unsettling for one in your position.”

  “I did not…ah, it is complicated Lady. I cannot say that I understand it.”

  “Do your best to explain, Neral. I will be patient.” The queen’s word carried an air of command. Despite the gentle tone, Neral was compelled to respond, he knew.

  “My queen, perhaps I can explain it best this way. You heard Pheonaris’ pronouncement. Vague, yet precise all the same. Little detail, but what was there was quite clear. Do you understand?”

  The queen considered this. “I do, though not completely.”

  Neral nodded. “Nor do I, Lady. But I felt compelled to speak. I felt that it was somehow…necessary, and clear, that Mikallis accompany Aria.”

  “Do you mean that you sense some danger, Neral, some threat that he must protect Aria from?”

  The elderly elf shook his head. “No, not that Lady. Not in the way you mean. I mean that…well, that his presence on this quest is somehow…ah, I hate to use this word, but I must. Ordained.”

  “Ordained, Neral? Did you have a vision as well? It did not seem so…”

  “No Lady, not a vision. But perhaps a premonition of sorts. I fear there is a danger, Terrias. To Aria, or perhaps involving Aria, one that I sense in a way I cannot describe. But I feel that the danger is not one that Mikallis can protect her from.”

  “Then why should he accompany her? I do not know why it upsets me so, Neral. I love Mikallis like a son. Just something…I feel that somehow his decision to go with her is wrong. Is it merely that I fear his motives? For the Father’s sake, Neral, I know Aria is no child. Mikallis is an honorable and suitable admirer, and I know that when one cares for another they cannot bear the thought of them coming to harm. Surely that is Mik’s motivation here, is it not? And if so, why am I so disturbed?”

  Neral sighed. “I think perhaps that you sense the same thing I sense, my queen. I cannot know this for certain, but with your permission, I will stop censoring myself and speak freely.”

  Terrias Evanti did not want to hear what would come next, but knew she must.

  “Speak freely, Neral. Your wisdom and insight is valuable. You are free to conjecture, without reproach.”

  “Thank you Lady. Here is what I fear, the hazard I sense in my old bones. I fear that Mikallis is too possessive of your daughter, of my niece, of our Aria. More so than what he should be. I fear that he is…well, that he is somehow a part of the threat she faces. I fear that she will spurn him, and he will react with great anger.” Neral paused. “I fear,
Terrias, that Mikallis has the Fever for Aria, and that she does not share it.”

  “Oh Neral, please tell me you do not know this. Please tell me that you did not send our Aria out into the world with this danger knowingly.”

  Neral was deflated. “I cannot say I did, Terrias, and I cannot say that I did not. You of all people know that the Fever is a rare and powerful thing. It does not merely affect those within whom it resides. Do not look at me that way, please my dear Terrias. Even the king of Men, as you know, is not immune to the Fever. And among our people, it burns hotter. So hot that it can empower the one who carries it to persuade others to its cause. I believe, Lady, that when Mikallis declared his intention to accompany Aria, he persuaded me to support, unnaturally, and as he did, even as I caught a glimpse of what is to come, I could not remain silent. I was compelled, Lady.”

  Queen Terrias Evanti, for the second time in less than a cycle, recalled a young boy, chasing conjured sparkflies, joyous and innocent. She recalled now how that boy grew to a man, how he came to love her, then to desire her, then to burn for her. She recalled how she rejected him, not unkindly, but with finality, as she declared her love of another. The young man’s Fever, a gift for some, a curse for others, became a smoldering, unreciprocated passion, steering him to a seething madness, relentlessly driving him to seek an outlet for his lust. His spurned love of an elven woman transformed itself into an insatiable lust for power, and as he ascended the throne of Mor over the early grave of his father, his passion consumed him. King Halsen of Mor was no longer the young whimsical boy; that part of him was long dead. He had become a haunted, ravenous man, consumed by jealousy, and in his hatred, he had caused the death of Terrias’ true love, her husband to be, and father of her dear Aria.

  “Lady.” Neral placed his hand on Terrias’ knee. She recoiled.

  “Please forgive me.”

  Terrias stood, her demeanor suddenly decisive, stern. “There is nothing to forgive, Neral. I know the power of the Fever. What we do not know for certain is whether Mikallis is under its influence. Not yet. Come, Goodfather. Do not be downhearted. We will send a company to follow my daughter, and ensure her safety. You will help me choose the elves. I will choose to continue to believe in the virtuous intentions of our young Captain Mikallis, until he proves himself unworthy of that faith.”

  Neral stood. “And if he does, Terrias?”

  Queen Evanti regarded Neral severely. “There will not be another Halsen to wound my family, Neral. Ni oäsh’e en.” I vow it.

  XXI: HIGHMORLAND

  Phantom stamped uneasily, and Hope shied away from the great stallion, unsure of the cause of his discontent. Dawn was still not upon them, yet Barris was already awake, examining his unconscious patient, when the tremors began. The first sign of trouble was Phantom’s agitation, followed shortly by a slight swaying of the pines within which they camped. The Twins were on the wax again, offering no illumination as they were now beyond the horizon, yet the dawn was sufficiently near to impart enough light for Barris to see the movement in the trees. No wind, Barris noted, and he felt an insidious queasiness that he could not place. The uncertainty lasted but a moment, however, as the sway of the trees became a violent, roiling wave, needles and leaves falling wildly as the very land beneath Barris began to quiver and churn. Hope whinnied in alarm, and struggled to tear her reins free of the tree she was tethered to. Even Phantom was losing his composure, rearing and kicking at an invisible enemy. Barris was leaning over his patient protectively as the violence of the tremor reached an apex, and suddenly, as if nothing at all had happened, the forest was quiet and still, the wrath of Tahr spent, for the moment.

  Barris had never experienced such an intense tahrquake before, though he had heard stories of the great rending of the world that gave birth to the Morline and the Fang. He could scarcely imagine the force required to open up the land in such a manner, not before this moment. Barris suspected that somewhere, great damage to the world had been done, and was disturbed in a way he had never been before.

  Deciding after a brief analysis, and after collecting his own wits, that his patient was no worse for the experience, he went to Phantom and Hope to provide what comfort he could, though the two horses were already beginning to settle. Phantom had begun nuzzling against Hope, and was clearly having a calming effect on the mare. Barris spoke gently to the two horses for a moment, but did not get too close, for he could sense that Hope was still wary of him, and more than spooked from the tremors. He would allow her to quiet herself further before they broke camp.

  Barris faced a question, then. The young man, “Lucan,” Barris believed he called himself, was in poor condition, fevered and suffering some internal injury. They had spoken very briefly over the course of the previous several days, the boy only conscious often enough to give some vague explanation that he had fallen while riding, and that his horse, Hope, was his only friend. On discovering Lucan, he had determined very quickly that the boy would die without assistance, and the only solution he could envision was to bring the boy north with him, and leave him in the care of whomever was attending the Grove. Going had been excruciatingly slow, Barris having to tie the boy to Phantom, whose stride was much gentler, as he rode Hope and led the horses along the trail. He had done what he could to feed the boy and give him a crude paste of medicine the first day, but the second, third and fourth days, he could only manage to get him to drink a bit of water, and his strength was fading fast. This, the fifth day, Barris believed, the boy may die if they did not make the Grove. Perhaps even then. He had decided the night before that they would camp one final time, mostly for the sake of Hope, and then make haste north, not resting until they had reached the Grove. Barris estimated that they would arrive just before dawn the following day.

  Now, however, he was unsure. The tremor had certainly felled trees and opened chasms in the trail ahead, and he would not know what obstacles would lie in their route until the encountered them. That would make travel at night perilous, and while Barris did not wish to allow this boy to die from thirst or infection, he was concerned that too hard a ride would kill him just the same. Phantom could make the Grove by sunset, and he suspected that Hope could ride nearly as hard for a sufficient distance. The boy, however…

  There was no choice. The boy’s body was failing, and he had done what he could in the way of his own healing abilities. If Hope could not keep up, then she could not, and he would share a saddle with the boy on Phantom, and he felt confident that Hope would follow their trail. If the boy did not survive the ride, then he did not, and Barris would bury the boy with as much dignity as possible. He must try to make the Grove, however, and so he washed the waste from the young man as best he could, dressed him again, wrapped him in a blanket, and secured him over Phantom’s back with as much care as he was able. Barris had become practiced at the exercise, and the four were on the trail just as daylight began to pierce the canopy.

  Barris had not ridden Hope at a gallop since he had encountered the boy, and he was impressed with the ease at which she navigated the trail. The mare seemed to relish the workout, and Phantom followed a few lengths behind, his longer stride just swifter than a running walk. Barris slowed Hope repeatedly allowing Phantom to come astride so that he might check on Lucan, and by noon had only needed to stop a few times to retie his binding to the saddle. After each pause, Hope joyfully returned to speed with little encouragement from the elf knight. By midafternoon, however, Barris began to worry that Lucan was nearing his end. The boy had not taken water all day. He had stopped sweating, his lips were cracked and desiccated, and the skin of his forehead was inhumanly hot. Barris increased the pace, knowing now that time was more important than caution, hoping that whoever was attending the Grove would have the talent to heal the boy, though he feared that he was too far gone for any usual method of nursing to have any effect. The Brothers and Sisters of the Grove, however, could accomplish much more than usual healing he knew, and so he continued to rid
e, hope and possibility still not yet lost.

  Just before twilight, the four reached a narrow brook that Barris knew to mark the territorial boundary between Highmorland and Thornwood, the springs of the Grove but a few thousand paces beyond the crossing. The water was shallow, typically cannon deep to Phantom at its deepest. The pair ordinarily would jump the stream in all but the worst weather. The vault was of course inadvisable with Lucan strapped to Phantom, and so Barris slowed Hope to a walk, dismounted, and began to lead her across the rivulet. Phantom followed closely behind, but as Hope’s forelegs reached the far side, her rear legs sank in an unseen rift beneath the water that Barris had somehow stepped over. Hope reared, and splashed, and began to panic as she sunk deeper, unable to kick herself free and instead sinking nearly to her stifles.

  Phantom stamped and snorted behind her, distressed by the danger to his new friend, and Lucan began to slide off the stallion from the jerky lateral movements. Barris tried to pull the reins as best he could, hoping to give the horse some additional leverage, but as he slipped in the mud it became clear that the effort was of no use. Barris looked around frantically for help or something he could use…anything…but he was alone, and there was nothing. Hope was stuck, and he knew that there was no danger of the horse drowning in the shallow water, but she would certainly break a leg if she continued to panic and did not get free, a sentence just as lethal. Meanwhile, Lucan was dangling from the saddle precariously, and Barris had to make a decision – save Hope, or save Lucan. Time slowed to a crawl as the terrible choice became clear.

  Such a choice would be a simple one for most men, and even elves. While the life of an animal was to be considered precious, the life of a human was paramount. The decision, however, was not so easy for Barris. He did not merely love horses; he developed an instant Bond with them, one that allowed him to feel their emotions as clearly as his own. The connection the Bond gave Barris with a horse was more profound than any rapport he had ever had with elf or man, and though he knew what the world would expect of him here, perhaps what the First Father would expect of him here, his heart would not allow him to abandon Hope as she looked to him, screaming, terrified, Barris her only chance at salvation. Yet, a few paces away, a young man who had survived against all odds to reach the end of this trail was in grave peril, his head dangling between the hoofs of a massive and powerful stallion.