Running hands through her hair, she realized she was wearing her helmet for some reason. Frowning, she removed it and dug through her pack for Trestan’s greatest gift. Her nimble hands retrieved the Taef’ Adorina he had given her after their first adventure. The intricately woven gold designs played reflected lights across one brief smile on her face. She studied the charms adorning it. Each represented some moment or friend from that first quest. Cat placed the tiara on her head.
She honored his life by recalling their time together. As she kneeled before his grave, head bowed in respect, her mind journeyed. His eyes staring at her when she did her exercise routine that first morning leaving Troutbrook…practicing with swords on the road…the battle of the bluff when he was wounded…his healing touch…the first time they undressed…
Eventually, she hit a block in her memory. Cat had trouble getting past it, as if she had no memories past a certain point. She couldn’t recall images, though she started to hear sounds from a battle. Frustration was clear on her fine elven features as she tried to resolve the gap in her memory she could not cross. She couldn’t remember if she and Trestan had ever been joined in spiritbond.
What happened on that continent? After they saw the debris of the Doranil Star, did they beat Revwar and Savannah to the relics? A horrible, cold realization came over Katressa as she recalled squirming under the mentalist’s words.
Her eyes truly opened to the world around her. She faced a large rock. There was no grave, for Trestan was somewhere up on the ridge and very much alive. The sounds of battle persisted. Weapons clashed along with the unintelligible grunts of bodies exerting themselves.
The half-elf bounced back to her feet, the immobility spell long since faded. She ran with bow in hand. Her will drove her on in case she was already too late. In her passion to join her companions, Cat forgot her helmet on the ground. She was rushing into battle with the golden Taef’ Adorina upon her brow.
CHAPTER 31 “The Charmed Elf Warrior/Images in the Mind”
Cassyli arrived too late to protect the human cleric from Foyren’s hit. It shocked him that his brother could fall so completely under the manipulations of foreign mages. It further shamed him that he had been unable to save the kind woman who had healed him after his fall in the village.
He called out for his brother to stop and consider reason. The face that whirled on him held only the empty gaze of one whose mind was enslaved. Cassyli doubted that Foyren could even recognize his own brother. The spell incited the renowned warrior into a blind rage, same as the firbholg. The older elf stared upon his sibling without any flicker of recognition.
Hesitation cost Cassyli the use of his weapon. Foyren’s offhand reached out and snagged the spear; grabbing it below the raccoon tail at the base of the head. The kittane dove in fast. Cassyli raised the turtle shell shield in time to ward away the blow. He tried to jerk his weapon free to no avail. More violent swings followed in close quarters as the elves maneuvered. They danced in irregular circles around a moving pivot centered on the disputed spear.
Cassyli couldn’t out-muscle his brother. Foyren tried to use those opportunities to wrest it from his grasp. The scout fought at a severe disadvantage without control of the spear. Cassyli was stuck on the defensive as the elven war club chipped pieces from his shield.
Words were unable to reason with the crazed man, yet words were in short supply as the duel continued. Foyren used leverage on the spear to force Cassyli into desperate jumps over uneven terrain. The younger brother had to adjust or lose his grip. He nearly lost the spear, save for a shield-punch to Foyren that allowed him to retain a hold.
The last thing Cassyli wanted was to use a deadly weapon on his older brother. He needed the spear back for his own defense. The younger brother attempted to talk reason again. He tried to reinforce Foyren’s identity by reminding him of the nature of the strangers manipulating him. In effect, he merely furthered his brother’s confusion. Part of the elf warrior listened, but the rage of battle had his emotions further clouding his logic.
Furious energy drove the kittane to tear parts of the shell away. Cassyli’s arm grew pained under the onslaught. Sharpened pieces of flint from the front edge of the war club fell aside like broken teeth.
They had moved far from their original clash by the time Foyren switched tactics. He threw all his weight against the spear, trapping it against the rusted metal of a ballista resting among some rocks. The wooden shaft snapped. The effort must have been hard on the warrior’s body as well, yet the enchanted rage dulled the pain.
Foyren gripped the club two-handed. Strong blows rained down until the scout fell to the ground. There was nothing Cassyli could do but keep his battered shield above him as the hits came down. He felt sure that his shield arm suffered a cracked bone when Foyren delivered an agonizing strike to an unprotected leg.
Cassyli’s shield arm flew wide as he cried out, “Brother, forgive me! I couldn’t save you.”
The intimidating warrior paused with his kittane poised to take life. Foyren truly saw his younger brother through the haze of the spell. Even then, his grip on reason stretched tentative at best. A mix of hatred and confusion plain upon his visage as he looked upon his wounded sibling.
“Why do you protect the treasonous heretic of Ganden? How can you not see the games the agora and her human friends play on you? How can you be so blind, brother?”
Cassyli shook his head, “Nay, it is you who has been blinded. Listen to me…”
“Enough!” Foyren stumbled back, unwilling to hear anything Cassyli might say. He shook his head even as he spoke, as if trying to clear the mentalist’s fog. “We will have words between us when this is over…after I have dealt with the invaders who have undermined our city.”
Cassyli was no longer a threat to his strong brother. He lay there with a broken leg and arm, breathing heavily from his exertions. Foyren ran away from him, seeking out the human cleric to ensure that she was dead. It was the only destination in the tunnel of his mind.
* * * * *
It felt as if a tentacle of ice writhed underneath his skull. Savannah snaked through his mind, intent on whatever secrets she sought. Trestan tried his best to ignore the physical pain as he drove his will into the abbess’ thoughts. He felt her psyche recoiling from his path. He found some comfort in the fact that his intrusion proved as uncomfortable to her as the feelings of her presence in his mind.
He saw images from her mind pass across a horizon of memories. Trestan stopped to consider a familiar scene. He gazed upon the keep out in the shallow seas where they had fought and recovered the relics. Earthrin Stones. He had discovered their name, but he pushed past those fleeting bits of information to find something more useful.
Among the jumble of thoughts he began to understand the purpose of that keep. Savannah and Revwar had chosen the locale due to its abandonment and seclusion in order to use it as a base. A ring of conquest echoed in Savannah’s thoughts, but the memory shifted away in favor of a new one.
The failure of the band years ago had prompted them to abandon the idea of using that keep. Trestan felt a whisper flash past his consciousness, proclaiming a new location from which they could launch…an invasion? With alarm, Trestan followed the path of this thought. He felt he had to hurry before Savannah found what she wanted and broke contact. The squire continuously felt her icy presence clawing at his own mind for clues.
A new image came before him. He saw a structure much bigger than the small keep. This new place was a mighty castle, sporting several tall towers. It had a large inner courtyard surrounded by a wall, and further surrounded by outer ramparts. The entire structure sat on a rocky hill, next to a river, overlooking a large expanse of open plains. In fact, the river split and forked around both sides of the keep before tumbling into lowlands. The base of the inner wall and the castle had been carved out of the stony hill itself, before more stones were added on later to extend its lofty towers. The place looked bare of exotic de
signs, focusing on practical aspects, yet by the brilliant reflections of the stone walls it was also rather new. It thrived with people who farmed the nearby grasslands. As Trestan looked upon it, he got the feeling it sat on the very fringes of civilization. The grasslands beyond this place signified the borders of known culture. The castle stood sentinel watching the frontier of the world.
In a flash, Trestan knew its name and location. Trestan realized, “This is where the next battle will be fought. The forces mustered under Savannah, Revwar, and their allies will sweep into this castle and use it as their launching point against the rest of the world.”
He saw Savannah’s mind imagining a great evil arising from the wild lands beyond civilization. They heralded the oncoming winter in a storm of death. A horde of angry tribes converged from the wild lands to this place…consuming it…multiplying in number…and springing forth from the bones of the towers to darken the rest of the world. The Earthrin Stones, in the hands of Savannah, would once again be weapons of war that could starve and plague villages…or lay waste to stone walls. He could see the blight of the Death Goddess being cast across the realm.
If that fortress fell, the rest of the world might not be able to contain the evil that would spawn.
There was much that Trestan couldn’t understand about the terrible images before him. The goal of DeLaris would give rise to a new Godswars. How had the Covenant failed to protect against this threat?
Trestan felt he had found out enough to be able to warn others about Savannah’s plans. The fortress on the edge of civilization had to be defended, or the realm would be submerged in chaos. They still had to recover the relics before the other band in order to keep the scales balanced. Trestan decided it was time to see what was so important that Savannah had felt the need to pry into his mind.
His will flowed back to his own memories. He felt along the icy tendril of Savannah’s psyche until he found her. Trestan dove into the memory in which her consciousness lingered.
With a surprise, Trestan found himself inside the home of Petrow’s family. Before him, set like a play, was a scene from his memories. He and Katressa sat with Petrow and his wife, eating the meal before their journey south. Lil’ Willy dodged around the table to the safety of his mother’s dress. Leane relaxed in her crib. The one stranger to this memory was Savannah. Her image stood and glared at the conversation. She glanced up as Trestan’s psyche materialized across the table from her. The memory played on between them as Savannah glared at Abriana’s champion.
“Why are you here Savannah? What possible importance do you see in Petrow and his family?”
Savannah waved her hands across the setting, as if it should be obvious. “He has children! Two…born in the years since I last saw him.”
Trestan had no immediate answer. The squire felt a troubling sensation tickle the back of his mind, as if he was missing something obvious. He tried recalling his schooling at the seminary, but the exact lesson escaped him.
As the conversation played out in the memory, Inedra rubbed her belly as she talked about the child within. Savannah lost even more of her composure. “A third child fostered by a dead man!”
“Oh gods,” Trestan whispered as the truth hit him. “You claimed his life for DeLaris, didn’t you? When you fought at the keep on the sea he was helpless before you. Yet, you failed to kill him afterwards.”
The abbess’ eyes actually revealed a hint of terror. Trestan could only imagine the nightmares her deity had visited upon her. Her subtle nod confirmed her admission. “His life belongs to DeLaris as long as I live. I pronounced him dead, and it is my shame that he lived. I must undo that slight against my goddess.”
Trestan tried to put steel in his voice, despite the known futility of his next request. “He is beyond you now, Savannah. He desires only a peaceful life with his family. There is nay reason for a vendetta to hunt him down when he bears nay threat to you anymore.”
Savannah narrowed her icy blue eyes at Trestan, “He bore three threats to me. These children were fathered after I claimed his life for death. I won’t find rest until I finish my claim.”
Savannah reached her hand down like a claw, passing harmlessly into the memory of Leane’s body. The abbess clenched an angry fist where the baby’s heart would be. “They must die too.”
For Trestan, it was time to end this intrusion into his mind.
He called forth blessings of Abriana as he worked to close off his mind. Savannah withdrew easily, having all the information she needed, including the location of Petrow’s home. As the two of them returned to control of their physical bodies, Trestan tried to shove the abbess away. She fought with him. It seemed important to her that she remain close to him for one more trick. Finally, Trestan ducked down and rammed her backwards with his shoulder.
In order for Petrow and his children to avoid a death sentence, Savannah had to be killed. If Trestan used his sword to attack Savannah on this holy day, he would be banned from Abriana’s service forever.
A steel blade hissed free of its leather scabbard.
The abbess forced Trestan’s decision. As they separated, Trestan saw the Sword of the Spirit in Savannah’s evil hands. Trestan may not have been totally disarmed, yet the warhammer he carried could not destroy her spell-shields like the powers of the elvish blade. Savannah stood out of reach, holding his magical sword with triumph in her eyes.
The abbess began to chant a prayer. Dark energies coalesced around her empty hand as she prepared to destroy the squire from Troutbrook.
* * * * *
The flute Lindon Taleweaver had used for the wind attack stuck partway out of his magical pocket. The minstrel had changed tactics. Lindon finished a complex set of notes on his mandolin, even as a blast of fire engulfed the tree to his back. Any wizard could be a formidable opponent, and the minstrel knew he had picked a fight with a talented enemy. The notes from his latest tune coalesced into a physical manifestation in the air before him. A blending of light and sound created a form akin to a dancing fairy. It was obviously a magical construct rather than a living creature.
Lindon stepped away as smitten portions of the fiery tree began to rain down. He directed the magical fairy with a few words, sending her darting into the brush. The minstrel hoped he had enough time to put his trick into motion. By stepping away from the tree, he ventured into the direct line of sight of the elf.
Revwar’s tongue twisted around the syllables of arcane study as he raised a hand towards Lindon. Lindon attempted to counter the spell with his mandolin. The minstrel method sought to disrupt the act of spellcasting itself. Waves of sound took on a physical nature, forming a angry force of wind which hammered toward the mouth of the wizard. For Revwar, it was not unlike stepping outside on a frigid winter morning, with the tongue gagging at the feel of cold wind trying to force its way into the throat. The wizard struggled to maintain the effort of the casting. Meanwhile, Lindon also weakened under the concentration required to draw such magic from the harmonic web.
The toll would have likely been too much for the minstrel, yet he only needed to succeed long enough for his trick to work. Revwar almost completed his spell when the fairy made of multi-colored bits of light jumped into the path. The magical construct exploded into a dazzling brilliance of light and sound.
Revwar’s spell trailed off to nothing as the display dazed his senses. Lights danced all around his vision. Nonsensical music notes assaulted his hearing. The attack temporarily robbed him of sight and sound.
Lindon Taleweaver could only hope the effects lasted long enough to give him an opening. The minstrel began to chant a song which lent speed to his movements. His feet pumped forward even as he snapped the smallsword up for a lunge. He crossed the distance easily as the wizard struggled to find words for another spell. The performer from Orlaun went for the heart.
Lindon underestimated the nature of the magic-laden fabric. He hadn’t known how resilient it proved to be when stabbed by Cat’s rapier. Th
e point of his blade pushed the wizard back a step, bowing the blade slightly in the process. Vulnerable as the cloth seemed, the tip couldn’t pierce it.
The minstrel recovered his feet as his chant died out. He little time to puzzle whether the resistance came from the garment or a deflective ward. Revwar spit out a frantic spell as Lindon dodged to the side.
The desperate wizard, still effectively blinded by the minstrel’s trick, used a short range defense. Lindon barely got out of the way as a brief wall of flames erupted in front of the wizard. The minstrel felt the heat of the spell on his neck as he literally cut across to the elf’s side. His sword once again bounced off the fabric over an arm.
Revwar only needed to fear if the smallsword stabbed at his face, hands, or neck. He raised a long sleeved arm in front of his sparkling vision while blindly pushing a hand out at the human. With his magical strength in place, he succeeded in shoving Lindon to the ground.
The wizard backed up, swinging his ringed hand forward and barking a command. The agile minstrel back-flipped over a beam of light that sliced across the ground. The beam cut apart twigs, leaves and small rocks in its path.
Revwar never paused between spells. He went into his next arcane movements even as he backed away from the vague shape of the minstrel. The entertainer charged again while he had the chance, knowing his spell’s effects were ending. The elf threw his arms and sleeves up, suffering a wicked cut to one hand.
Any impediment to the hands was a hazard when one relied on them for spells. Nevertheless, his current incantation succeeded in its completion. Robes swelled and flapped outward like wings, propelling him into the air. Revwar soared out of reach of the sword.
Lindon gave a silent curse as the wizard ascended. He would be an easy target for spells on the ground. He could enact a spell that would allow him to jump great distances, but it was not a flight spell. Once in the air, he could not maneuver except to control a levitating fall. He had little choice. The human from Orlaun sprang into the air with a few plucks from the mandolin.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 48
