The Godling Chronicles:Book 05 - Madness of the Fallen

by Brian D. Anderson

  He could feel Aaliyah’s concern in the back of his mind, but didn’t allow this to distract him. She had slain all but two of the soldiers, and both of these were already badly wounded and falling back. But Nehrutu had every intention of ending his fight with the Vrykol long before she could come to his aid.

  Then he saw it – an opening. So focused was he on unleashing the killer blow, he failed to spot the Angrääl swordsman to his right, or hear the anguished cry of Aaliyah as cruel steel pierced his side. The blade pushed deep, causing pain to shoot throughout his entire body. As his legs buckled, the black cloak of the Vrykol closed in.

  The last thing Nehrutu heard before fading into oblivion was the beast’s foul hissing laugh raking at his ears.

  * * * * *

  Aaliyah watched in horror as the sword pierced Nehrutu’s side. His eyes squeezed tightly shut in the agony of the moment, blood trickling from his mouth. She did not need to be told that the blow was fatal; already she could feel him starting to slip away. Letting out a desperate scream and ignoring all danger to her own people nearby, she released a tremendous blast of fire that instantly consumed her two remaining attackers.

  By now, the soldier who had dealt the deadly strike had yanked his sword free and stepped back to allow the Vrykol to finish the job. The sudden eruption of fire startled both of them for a moment. Before they recovered, Aaliyah was already across the distance separating her from the two enemies. Her dagger plunged into the human’s heart, meting out instant vengeance. But the Vrykol was undeterred. It raised its sword arm to end Nehrutu.

  Without even thinking about her actions, the flow of the spirit leapt forth from Aaliyah and ensnared the beast. It struggled desperately to hold on to its life, but her rage would not be denied. In no time at all the creature’s spirit had been torn apart and its body crumbled to dust.

  Dropping her long knife, Aaliyah rushed to her husband’s side. His life was all but gone. Drawing every bit of power she could muster, she set to healing the massive wound. Had it been any other case she would have admitted that such an injury was beyond her skill. But such thoughts were never allowed to enter her mind. She would save him. Whatever the cost.

  Three of her former crewmembers saw her kneeling beside his body and hurried to surround her. The battle still raged yet she was no longer trying to protect herself.

  “Let us carry him away,” pleaded a tall elder elf.

  She did not respond.

  “If you allow us to help, we will not leave his side,” he pressed. “But we must get his body clear of the battle.”

  The sense of his remarks finally got through to Aaliyah. She nodded sharply and allowed the elves to carry Nehrutu to the rear. Throughout the withdrawal her hands never left him as she continued her efforts to save his life.

  The battle raged on until the sun disappeared over the horizon, the red sky matching the blood soaked earth. Finally, a deep clear horn blasted from the Angrääl rear signaling their surviving soldiers into full retreat. With Aaliyah engrossed in attending her dying husband, several of the commanders took charge and ordered that there be no pursuit. The day was theirs, but the fighting had taken its toll on their lines. The best strategy, they decided, was to regroup and attempt to push north at first light.

  Aaliyah was unconcerned with plans and strategies. Nehrutu’s life hung by a thread, and she knew that she lacked the strength to save him. But the thought of giving up was not even considered. Her kin from the ships assisted as best they could, but though their ability with the flow was strong, their skills at healing were limited. Mostly they helped by simply giving Aaliyah their strength and allowing her to use it in her own way.

  This continued without pause until dawn. The army was now ready to move, but Aaliyah showed no sign that she would be joining them. Nehrutu had been stripped of his bloodied clothes and his wound cleaned and dressed, though by now it was little more than a bright pink line just below his ribcage. Skin was easy to repair. The rest of him was something else.

  “My Lady,” said one of the senior human commanders. “We must march before Angrääl can recover.”

  Aaliyah lifted her bloodshot eyes and nodded. “Then go. I will remain here.”

  “But, My Lady,” he protested. “There is no hope. Even your own people say this.”

  “And they may be right,” she affirmed. “But he is my love and the reason I draw breath. However weak he may be, I still feel our bond. He cannot be moved - so I cannot be moved.”

  “But what if the enemy catches you out here alone?” he argued. “You will be killed.”

  She nodded with acceptance. “Then we shall die together.”

  “We will stay here with you,” offered one of the sailors.

  “No,” she replied firmly. “You must fight on and find a way to return home.” She smiled up at the circle of elves. “And when you arrive back on our shores, speak kindly of us.”

  It was clear that there would be no debate. The crewmembers bowed reverently in unison, then slowly dispersed.

  Hundreds of people came by to pay their respects as the army began to depart, though they all stayed at a discreet distance. After a few hours the sound of marching boots faded, leaving only the wind, the birds, and Nehrutu’s shallow breathing. Aaliyah continued with a slow yet steady stream of healing energy through the thin strand that remained of their bond.

  She rested her head on his chest. When the time comes, she thought, I will do as the elves of this land, and allow myself to follow you into death.

  Time now held little meaning, and when she next looked up the sun was once again breaking over the horizon. Nehrutu still lived, but Aaliyah could no longer detect even the slightest thought or emotion. She knew that before the day was over his spirit would finally lose its hold on mortal flesh and their bond would disintegrate.

  By midday, the heat of the sun was bearing down. Aaliyah caused a gentle breeze to waft over them and smiled down at her husband as it blew his silken hair away from his face. There was now only minutes remaining. She closed her eyes, continuing to send Nehrutu messages of devotion and undying love while a connection – however slight - still lingered.

  All at once, the wind began to rise and swirl around them. Aaliyah huddled closer to Nehrutu’s body in order to shelter it from the flying dust and sand that was stinging her eyes. But then, as suddenly as it had started, the wind was calm again. A bright light was shining only a few feet away: a light so bright and pure that Aaliyah could not bear to look at it directly.

  “Why are you sad?” came a voice. It was musical and kind in a way that she had never heard before. It was as if the earth itself had taken pity on her.

  From out of the light stepped the lone figure of a young human. His simple dress and youthful features were made beautiful by the heavenly glow that emanated from his earthly flesh.

  Aaliyah was overwhelmed by the vision. Tears burst forth. “He dies. My love…he dies.”

  In spite of his youth, the human smiled with a father’s understanding. “He will not die. Not if you wish him to stay with you.” He stepped closer. “Is that your wish?”

  Unable to speak through her sobs, she nodded her head vigorously.

  The man knelt beside Aaliyah. “Then it shall be so.” Placing his hands over Nehrutu’s chest, he drew in a deep breath.

  Aaliyah gasped as the power of the flow sprang to life with an intensity that she never imagined possible. She looked on in spellbound wonder as Nehrutu’s eyes fluttered open and a weak smile crept upon his lips.

  The man stood. “Now you can find joy again.”

  Aaliyah reached up and took hold of his hand, kissing it repeatedly and soaking it with tears. “Thank you. Thank you. I....I can never repay you for this.”

  “Of course you can,” he replied with a soft laugh.

  “How?” she asked. “Name the price and it shall be yours.”

  “My price is your friendship,” said the man. “You and your mate will come to Althet
as and aid me in cleansing this world of the darkness that so nearly took your love from you.”

  “I will come,” she promised. “But please. Tell me who you are?”

  He withdrew his hand. “My name is Melek. Come to me. Do not delay. There is much to be done and time is short. You will find no enemies to hinder you. You are safe now.”

  Melek moved back into the bright light. In a flash, he was gone.

  “Aaliyah…” whispered Nehrutu.

  His voice snapped her back. She gazed at her husband, now feeling their bond as strongly as the moment it was formed. She took his face in her hands and kissed him with joy and exaltation.

  “That man,” said Nehrutu, his voice weak and his eyes heavy, “the one who appeared to me. Where is he? He told me my work was not yet done.”

  “He saved your life,” she said, kissing him again. “His name is Melek, and as soon as you are able we will go to join him in Althetas.”

  He sighed and quickly fell into a deep, restful sleep. Aaliyah cradled him in her arms until the evening, then built a small fire. Nehrutu awakened only the once – just long enough to tell Aaliyah that he loved her before closing his eyes again.

  The next morning they both awoke refreshed and strong. The knowledge that war was being waged in the direction they must now travel did not concern either of them in the slightest. Melek had said there would be no enemies, and they believed him.

  They headed north at a leisurely pace, talking and laughing hand-in-hand as if still in their homeland and never having seen battle or bloodshed. Both were excited at the thought of meeting up with Melek again, hoping they could find a way to repay the miracle he had bestowed upon them.

  “He must be the same as Darshan,” suggested Nehrutu. “There is no other explanation for such power. As far as I know, only he and the Reborn King are stronger than you in the flow. That is, unless the enemy holds some secret power. But Melek was most certainly not the enemy.”

  “Perhaps he was sent by Darshan,” she suggested.

  “How could that be? Darshan is dead.”

  Aaliyah squeezed his hand and smiled. “Darshan…Gewey…he lives. I felt our bond renew itself during the battle. But I was so distraught by what had happened to you, then so joyful when you were returned to me, I only now have thought of it.”

  A mixture of unbridled joy and relief washed over Nehrutu’s face. “Then perhaps Melek was sent to aid us. If so, with two of Darshan’s kind fighting against our enemy…” He gave a heartfelt laugh. “I do believe this war may end sooner than we thought.”

  “And then we can go home,” added Aaliyah with a longing sigh. Both of them smiled wistfully at the thought of seeing the shores of their homeland once again.

  It was an hour before dusk when they caught sight of a lone elf seeker appearing through the brush. He raised his hand in greeting and broke into a dead run.

  He halted a few feet away, his face alight with joy. “Lord Nehrutu. You live! How is this?”

  Nehrutu shrugged. “I suppose you could say it was a miracle.”

  The seeker laughed. “Then the day is replete with miracles. I was sent to tell Lady Aaliyah that the way to Althetas is clear.”

  “So you have defeated the enemy?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “There was no need. Something else defeated them. Their bodies were burned and strewn about like Fall leaves. If you had not already told us of Darshan’s death, I would have thought it done by his hand.”

  Aaliyah smiled knowingly. “Perhaps it was. Come. Walk with us.”

  “Will we rejoin the army?” the seeker asked.

  “No,” she replied. “We are going directly to Althetas. There is much to do.”

  Chapter 17

  Lee and Millet were at last nearing the end of a slime-coated tunnel that began just beyond the western walls of Baltria and led directly into a ruined warehouse on the fringe of the city. Lee was hoping fervently that the invaders had not yet discovered this ancient smugglers’ passage and sealed off the exit. The filth from hundreds of floods was causing the air to reek so badly that Millet had already vomited twice along the way. Lee thought to tease his former servant, but Millet was every bit a lord these days and one stern glance told him that it was a bad idea.

  A story for a warm fire and good friends, Lee thought, grinning.

  When the pirates had shown him this tunnel many years ago, the warehouse was in the possession of a local merchant who had made most of his fortune by smuggling in goods from the west. It was in a perfect location for such dubious business, being near to the wall and frequently flooded. The repugnant smell alone was enough to keep most people clear, and those few authorities that could not be bribed imagined it to be long abandoned. The hordes of rats and other swamp vermin were also a big help in keeping any unwanted visitors well at bay.

  Lee held his breath while pushing up against the steel trapdoor and felt a surge of anxiety when it at first failed to move. He pushed again even harder, and this time it screeched open just enough for him to peer into the gloom. It looked like the place had now been abandoned for real, though not so very long ago. A few broken crates of goods, so molded and deteriorated that they were unrecognizable still lined the far wall. One thing was for certain. The rats were definitely far fewer in number. Without the pirates and dockworkers providing them with a non-stop source of discarded food, most had undoubtedly found better pickings elsewhere.

  With a grunt, Lee pushed hard yet again on the trapdoor, and suddenly there was almost no resistance at all. With an unexpected rush it flew completely open. The loud crash of metal striking against the stone floor caused him to wince and remain absolutely still until he was certain that no one was reacting to the noise. Millet scowled and shook his head.

  Once out of the tunnel, they took a closer look at their surroundings.

  “I thought this place could not have gotten worse,” remarked Millet. “I was wrong.”

  “At least the guards won’t likely come around,” Lee told him.

  Millet blew a blast of air from his nose as if this would banish the odor. “Not unless they enjoy smelling like the underside of a sewer.”

  Lee flashed a playful grin. “Look on the bright side. In our present malodorous condition, no one will want to come near enough to figure out who we are.”

  “Either that, or they’ll know we don’t belong in the city,” countered Millet. “We should avoid being seen...or smelled, if we can.”

  After pulling his hood over his head, Lee led the way across to the exit. Millet groaned several times as his foot sank deep into muck and mire.

  A missing board in the old and rotting wooden door had left a sizeable gap. Lee peered through and quickly established that there was no one about. The sun had set an hour ago, though the street lamps had not yet been lit. All the better, he thought, easing the door open just enough for them to pass through.

  Lord Lanson Brimm’s estate was on the other side of the city, so it would take them at least two hours of dodging in and out of alleyways and dark corners to get to the manor district undetected. Lee hoped that his old friend still lived. During their last meeting Lanson had indicated that he would no longer turn a blind eye to the crimes of Angrääl. Lee now regretted shaming the man into behavior that would most certainly place him at risk, and quite possibly get him killed.

  As they wound their way through the city they saw that, although the streets were empty of citizens, Angrääl troops were everywhere. Fortunately, they were far too busy to take much notice of Lee and Millet.

  “Word must have arrived that the elves are coming,” remarked Lee.

  “So it would seem,” agreed Millet.

  It took them longer than expected to reach their destination. Several times they were forced to hide while hundreds of soldiers marched from the direction of the docks toward the main gate.

  Normally at this time of day the avenues of the manor district would have been filled with wealthy merchants and nob
ility on their way out for an evening’s entertainment. But as with the rest of the city, no one was about, and only a few lights could be seen in the windows of the lavish homes.

  Lanson’s estate was as opulent as one might expect for a man of his outward extravagance and charm. The wrought iron gates and fence surrounded lush gardens and a veritable labyrinth of well-manicured paths, fruit trees, and marble fountains. The grand house itself was built in northern fashion – two stories of dark polished granite fronted with imposing columns supporting a broad marble porch. A wide veranda directly above the porch spanned most of the upper floor.

  Lee was relieved to see that the gates were unguarded and open. They followed the main drive for a while before turning off onto a red slate path that would take them to the servants’ entrance at the rear of the house. Millet, with his hood pulled down as far as it would go, led the way.

  The sturdy oak doors that guarded a large kitchen were closed, though the tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread escaped from within. Both men's mouths began to water.

  Millet pounded hard and took a step back. Curses could be heard coming from inside. Moments later the door creaked open.

  “We don’t give to beggars,” snapped a thin, middle-aged woman with dark hair.

  “I apologize, miss,” said Millet in his humblest voice. “But I have a message for Jansi.”

  The woman scrutinized the pair. “Give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.”

  “No ma’am. I was ordered to give it to him in person.” Millet could see that the woman was not about to make this easy. “We’ll take an awful beating if I don’t give it to him. It won’t take but a second.”