Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  “Bad idea,” said a reverberating voice. From the tree’s flickering shadows, Argus descended slowly, his emerald outline wavering dramatically back and forth against the ruddy heartwood. He smiled at the uplifted faces of his audience as he lowered himself, enjoying their stunned reactions. Then, floating between the humans and the seated elves, he bowed low, his phantom legs skimming the floor.

  With a gasp, Roth went for his sword. Gaelin stopped him with a firm rap on his knuckles. “That’s Terrek’s ghost,” he whispered. “The one from the castle.”

  “Oh no!” Roth groaned.

  “Oh, yes!” said Argus. “In this warren, everyone gets to appreciate my wondrous transparency, including you, bunny thief, which is why I have come. Lord Terrek here was kind enough to dispose of my scabbard, thus freeing me to flit aimlessly about the countryside. Yet still, I remain chained by Arawn’s curse to my blade.”

  “I didn’t steal that bunny! I’m getting tired of hearing about—” Roth broke off at Terrek’s look.

  One of the elders leaned forward, his gaze intense below his silver fall of hair. “Would you prefer to inhabit a lantern, respected one?” He nodded to the suspended lamps. “We Eris use ordinary flame, while on Tholuna, the Starian elves put spirits to work to light their homes. The Eris denounce this practice. We do not imprison—”

  “You speak as though our southern kindred are slavers,” another elder cut in. “If you researched further, you would know they are not. The indentured souls are returned to life after a brief period of servitude. They are permitted the honor of joining the Circle, living on as a spirit companion inside whichever magical animal they choose.”

  “Oh, goodie!” sneered Argus.

  “One of the Azkharren,” Gaelin whispered softly. “I would like that. To be able to fly would be my—”

  “Sir Knight,” Terrek said, silencing Gaelin with a frown. “What did you wish to say?”

  “Always in a rush are the living!” the specter snapped. “Fine. I’ll be brief. Deconverting Erebos’s priests so they stop feeding him is a waste of time. The knights tried that after the giants escaped. My brothers purged the catacombs of Mount Chesna, and for years, that husk stood empty, or so we thought. Little did we know Erebos lingered on in Chesna’s crannies, and over time, he and his dead priest, Arawn, formed this new cult.”

  “So we can’t starve him,” Terrek said, “but there must be other things we can try. We can’t let them win, Jahn.”

  “Understood,” said Oburne. “This isn’t how I imagined giving your father my service, but if it will help . . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced up, a sliver of lantern-light sheening on his dark skin. “I could spend the winter training those people. I could teach them to fight . . . like men this time.”

  Terrek nodded. “Exactly.”

  Avalar glared at her leader. “Mayhap there are also women with brave hearts among you. Have you thought of that? Why do they not battle for their families and homes? Do you deny them? Or do you fear to behold how females fight?”

  “Avalar,” Terrek said, his lips twitching. “We humans are few. The women we have left must be protected.”

  “This is all very well, Leader Florne,” Kildoren said. “I am pleased to hear your homeless will not be abandoned. We will give them our aid as well. But what of the giant? You have agreed to entrust your horses with us and take our shan instead, but Avalar cannot ride them.”

  “Nor could I ride the horses,” Avalar responded. “What of it?”

  “We think it best if she remains with us,” Kildoren went on. “This route along the Shukaia River is stained by the death of giants. For her, it will rouse memories that will tear her from herself, break her grip on reality. She could become savage and endanger you all.”

  “The sky could also fall,” Avalar said. “Or at dawn this tree might burst into flames. Do not trouble me with things that may happen. I have endured my father’s memories all my life. I do not fear their torment, nor will I ever harm Terrek or his men!”

  “You have no idea what that valley will do,” Kildoren argued. “You have only experienced the mental strife of your surviving people. In the valley there is nothing but death. You would see and feel how those giants died, just as though you were experiencing it yourself. Your people are driven by strong emotions, kindled by your blood. You have little understanding of what, under duress, you might become. For the sake of these men you claim to care about, we must ward you. You shall remain in our village and allow us to preserve your life.”

  “Long ere your race crawled from the brine of the sea,” Avalar said, glaring, “my people defended this world, yet when has what giants desire ever been a consideration? Why should it be now? No! I will not stay here! Leader Terrek, do you hear me? Thresher Govorian’s sword called to me! It spoke of the importance of freedom, and it bid me come here to play my part! All my life these elves have hindered me! No more!”

  “You needn’t yell,” Terrek said. He nodded as Silva hurried across the Nada’s sunken floor, the guard hoisting himself up onto the temple’s inner ridge to slide from their sight.

  Avalar stared at Kildoren. You have no right! she raged in silence. She stood, fists clenched, while the other humans filed past her. As Terrek walked by without a glance, his mouth clamped shut, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Avalar!” Gaelin gripped her arm. She saw the empathy in his gaze. “The Eris want you to stay,” he said. “But I need you with me, and so does Holram. There could be other dachs to heal, if you are willing, that is.”

  “Of course,” she said, trembling.

  “Terrek plans to depart at dawn,” Gaelin informed her. “He wants this over. The longer we delay in this village, the stronger our enemy gets.”

  “I know,” she said. “I see it in the way he carries himself. His ghosts are troubling him.”

  “Yes, Vyergin’s now, too,” Gaelin concurred. As he touched her forearm, her nerves tingled. Dazed, she allowed him to guide her from the Nada’s warmth.

  Terrek, Roth, and Wren stood waiting under the inky sky. Avalar took in their grim expressions as she stopped beside Terrek. “You agree with the elf?” she demanded. “You wish to leave me here?”

  Terrek flicked her a glance. Out of the darkness, a small procession appeared. She saw two elves leading six of the striped-legged shan, with Silva bringing up the rear.

  Avalar bristled as Terrek stepped away from her to greet the elves. Squealing, the shan shook their manes at his approach. Flipping its ebon-tufted tail, the largest of the six bared its yellowed teeth.

  “Respect them,” Kildoren rumbled behind her, “and they will serve you well.” He emerged from the glow of the great tree, a blanket draped over his shoulder.

  “Right now,” Terrek replied, “we must prepare for tomorrow.” He accepted the leads from the shans’ young handlers and tugged firmly. The largest shan, a bronze-colored beast with flecks of white along its withers, loosed a fierce bellow.

  Kildoren crossed his arms. “Either learn respect now, or they will teach it to you. Shan will not tolerate the kind of brutality your people inflict upon nonhuman animals. Drag at their heads like that again, and you may not live to see the morning.”

  Avalar rounded on the elf. “He is grieving! Why must you—”

  “Avalar!” Terrek passed the leads to Roth and hastened to her side. “Kildoren is kind enough to loan us these creatures, and he’s right. I should show respect. Though”—Terrek glared at Kildoren—“we do not brutalize our horses at Vale Horse.”

  The elf glowered back. “I suspect your human notion of gentleness differs greatly from my own. I am cautioning you now; our shan will abandon you to this winter if you do anything more to—”

  “We won’t,” Terrek interjected. “I am tired, Leader Kildoren. I will not mistreat your animals again!”

  Her throat suddenly tight, Avalar averted her face, for the sight of Terrek’s starlit eyes reminded her forcibly of Camron.

&nb
sp; “I have no plans to forsake you,” Terrek told her.

  Avalar sniffed. “You would rather not bring me. You would prefer that I stay here!”

  “And be safe, yes,” he said. “You heard Kildoren describe what awaits us. It will make you miserable. It could even destroy you, which is the last thing I want.”

  “That is sooth,” Avalar spoke bitterly. “My death would shatter the Circle.”

  “To blackest blazes with the Circle! Get it through your thick skull! I value you, Giant! You befriended my brother and have given me your trust! Is it wrong for me to want to keep you from danger?”

  Avalar inhaled sharply. “No, but if I wanted protection, I would never have voyaged here!”

  “Was Hothra so terrible,” asked Terrek, “that you would give up everything you care about?”

  “I love my home and my family,” Avalar said. “I am here to fight for them. Still, Govorian’s sword spoke to me. There must be a reason.”

  Terrek smiled. “I feel the same way,” he said. “My father and Vale Horse are all I have left.”

  Avalar sighed as he turned to instruct his remaining men, listening to his stern and quiet voice. He was human, yet she would never fear him. He was the brother Camron had loved.

  Chapter 35

  WHEN HER TURN came, Avalar bathed as the others had done. Weeks of travel made her desperate to be clean, enough to endure her father’s memories of his slavery underground. Summoning her courage, she wriggled through the cave’s steamy entrance, scraping her elbow on the dampened stone.

  She hurried to undress, placing her armor, sword, boots, and belt to one side, her jerkin, leggings, and fur in a pile next to them.

  Quick elven hands snatched away her clothing as she lowered herself into the tiny pool. A lithe figure shimmered in the mist like a creature of dreams. The she-elf smiled and bent to place a green woolen blanket where Avalar’s garments had been, the girl’s long black mane floating about her shoulders.

  “I thank you,” Avalar murmured politely as the elf left the chamber. She shut her eyes, savoring the warmth of the spring as it sank into her bones. With her knees to her chest, she sat still and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the comforting steam. From a small wooden vessel at the water’s edge, she scooped out a fistful of pellets, sniffing their soapy scent as they dissolved into bubbles in her palm.

  She hummed a dirge as she washed—for Terrek’s lost fighters and for Captain Vyergin, tears trickling over her breasts into the water.

  Climbing from the pool, she leaned over, dunking her head and scrubbing, her fingers combing through the tangled mass until her skin and scalp burned. Hastily she dried herself and wrapped the blanket snugly around her torso and hips.

  Squeezing out into the frigid night air, she trotted along the snowy path to the heated village.

  In an empty structure set apart from the massive warren, a candle flickered in a window frame. Avalar smiled as she slipped within the ball of roots that formed the little house. It was her candle and her refuge for the night, a place that, for the moment, she could call her own.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  AS THE SILVERY dawn brightened the sky, Avalar stood close to Gaelin and studied the shan. With their forelegs splayed, their short necks stretched to their fullest extent, the six pampered creatures munched contentedly, lipping at the moss and tree-cones their caretakers had fed them.

  Kildoren led the smallest beast to the side and coaxed it to raise its shaggy head, slipping the bridle on over its blunt upper lip and behind its hairy ears. “You position the strap that high on his nose?” Terrek asked. He stood by the elf, leaning with his hands on his knees.

  Kildoren nodded. “Any lower and it would cut off his air,” he said. “In truth, the shan have no need for such trappings. Nor do your horses for that matter. Which you would know if you bothered to learn their language. These ‘hackamores,’ as your wranglers called them, were constructed during the night for your benefit—just something familiar to hold in your hands. But you will guide the shan with your legs. Lower your tailbone when you want to stop, and”—the chieftain prodded the point where the shan’s neck dipped between its rounded shoulders—“nudge here at the withers when you want them to go.

  “Never kick! The shan react like prey animals when they are struck. They would change, and, trust me, you would not like what they become! Follow my instructions, and all will be well.” The elf leader stood beside the shan and lifted its reins, gripping them lightly. “Keep the straps loose like this and let them do the work.”

  Kildoren demonstrated how to mount the wide-backed little beast, and Terrek gave it a try once the elf jumped off.

  Avalar nudged Gaelin. “I wonder how the magic changes them they need to protect themselves. Have you heard?”

  “Holram could tell you,” Gaelin answered. “But he’s being quiet this morning.”

  “Gaelin,” Terrek called when the other men had taken a turn. “Come and try. This little one is for you. You should practice now, while you have the elves here to assist.”

  As Gaelin shook his head, Kildoren moved to embrace him warmly. Avalar stared at the odd mingling of affection and fear on the elf’s hard face. When at last Gaelin relaxed enough to respond to the chieftain’s clasp, Kildoren released him and hurried off to help with the shan. Gaelin rubbed at his eyes.

  “Holram?” Avalar queried.

  He grimaced. “No, it’s just me. Holram can’t understand why people say farewell. When I realized Kildoren needed him to, I . . . pretended.”

  “Ah.” Avalar reached for her pack when he moved to accept the reins of the beast Terrek gave him.

  As the six shan plodded from the village in single file, Avalar examined the cumbersome bundle of the extra tent left abandoned in the snow, deemed by the elves to be too weighty for the single calico pack-shan to bear. Sighing, Avalar squatted by the canvas and poles, then heaved them onto her shoulders.

  Chapter 36

  ICE GLEAMED HIGH on the river’s banks where the water had splashed, while lower down the current moved swiftly in the places it could still be seen—a rushing cataract beneath a wintry sheath of gray.

  Gaelin trudged along the narrow ledge between the water and the gorge’s stony base. On this path, the shan had journeyed before. He saw the creatures’ splayed-toed tracks, the frozen lumps of dung beneath the snow.

  He fiddled with his cloak, pulling the blue wool around his chest. Already he longed to rejoin the Eris village, to rest and feel safe even for a little while.

  “Sails!” Avalar gasped nearby as the ice cracked under her weight. Gaelin jumped back and pressed against his shan to steady himself, turning to embrace the beast’s muscular neck.

  “Gaelin,” Terrek said.

  With a reluctant nod, Gaelin struggled to mount at last as Kildoren had shown them, lifting his right leg over and easing into the saddle. The shan, unimpressed by his efforts, rubbed its bony cheek along the granite wall. Its tufted tail lashed his calf.

  Guided by Argus, Terrek prodded his beast atop the river’s steep border. Silva trailed him, followed by Roth, and then Wren Neche leading the calico shan.

  Gaelin clicked his tongue, willing the animal beneath him to catch up with the others. He frowned after several failed attempts. Don’t kick, he thought. Whatever you do, you are not supposed to—

  The giant next to him slapped the shan’s rump. He grunted as it scrambled forward, throwing his arms around its stumpy neck.

  “Sit up straight,” Terrek called back, his tone amused. “He’s only walking, Staff-Wielder.”

  Gaelin nodded and complied. He tensed as the ice beneath him snapped and crackled, yet still, unconcernedly, his mount shuffled on, swinging each hairy leg before taking a step. It’s like he measures where to put his feet, Gaelin thought, as his little beast tucked one cloven hoof under its belly and hopped across a fractured patch.

  “. . . smarter than horses,” Terrek said from down the path. “I can’t say
. . . agreement on that one.”

  Gaelin fought to make out the words, for the voices of his companions kept his mind from the dizzy fall to his left and the water far below.

  “Fear not,” said Avalar behind him as she patted his shoulder. He shut his eyes. The shan’s wide back swayed from side to side while the conversation ahead of him droned on. Gaelin let himself drift, his anxiety melting away.

  He was hovering between the stars, in a void of absolute cold and breathless beauty. Within his protection, Earth’s sun flared.

  Then he was plunging like a comet, a fiery fury blazing through the darkness. His weakness drew him down against his will, imprisoning him beneath Talenkai’s sky, surrounded by magic he could not touch.

  I do not slay, Holram thought, recalling Warder’s Fall and the desolation his landing had caused—the Erises’ homewarren destroyed and so many innocent elves and animals murdered. Hurting, killing. These are the works of my foe.

  Holram let himself drift, feeling his host’s body rocking back and forth. He marveled at how at ease he felt now in this soft and yielding prison. Yet the sensation was short-lived; a shan’s sudden bugle jolted Gaelin from his slumber, and once more Holram fell into the background of human thoughts.

  Gaelin clutched at his shan’s ebony mane and forced his eyes to focus as his beast stopped.

  The five creatures in front of him stood riderless, their bodies barring his way. An ancient flood had crumpled the wall of the gorge, allowing the path to widen above the Shukaia’s icy bank. Here his companions had dismounted. Huddled together along the ledge, they peered at the river below.

  Gaelin shivered as Avalar moved close again, her big hand extending to help him. He caught at her wrist and slid from his saddle.

  “What is it?” Fearfully he surveyed the slanted ice. Any misstep could send him careening to the edge.

  Avalar shrugged and positioned herself behind him, gripping him securely. “I know not,” she said in his ear. “Shall we go and see?”