A shadow fell on her, and she turned to an Ashen Elf standing nearby. He was six feet of gray skin, long white hair, and unnatural symmetry. He stood like a statue, looking down upon her.
Lord Nemuel said, “You are a brave one, to enter my woods.”
“Ithuriel told you to protect me.”
“And you think I am a mindless slave? We have fought the Norsil for centuries. When you decided to protect them, many of my people argued for your death.”
She said, “I needed to get away from the ghosts.”
“This isn’t a safe place for you.”
“It’s safer than the plains.”
Nemuel agreed with a slight nod. “Safer is not safe.”
“Where should I go?”
“Abandon the barbarians, and we will welcome you to Telessar.”
“But they died for me.”
“They fight each other as much as they fight us. For every thane that kneels before you, another will stab you in the back.”
“I can’t abandon them. The ones who died for me want me to protect their families. They are coming to Shinar.”
Nemuel seemed offended, and Marah wasn’t sure how to respond. She often relied on the voices to guide her through such conversations, and she wondered if she should have told him about the families. Another thought made her nervous. She looked at the trees for more elves.
Nemuel said, “We are not alone.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“That is good, but you brought a war party to our woods. Did you expect us to ignore them?”
“I wanted to talk to Dura.”
“A spirit like hers won’t haunt this world.” Nemuel tilted his head slightly. “How long have you spoken with the dead?”
“Always.”
“You do it without runes?”
Marah nodded. “But the woods are quiet. There aren’t as many ghosts here.”
“Few souls wander listlessly near the White Gate.”
“Dura called them echoes, but I don’t think they are all echoes.”
“That’s very perceptive for one so young.” Nemuel seemed reluctant to share more. “You need to learn to shut them out. Not all of them are echoes, nor can they be trusted. A few are very dangerous.”
“How do I shut them out?”
“Come to Telessar. The masters can explain it better.”
“I won’t leave the Norsil.”
“Stubborn little thing—the choice is yours. Talking to the dead will draw the attention of the shedim, and that is the path of damnation. You won’t know who you are talking to.”
“Do you mean the dark voice?”
Nemuel frowned instead of answering.
Marah said, “One voice is different. Not a dragon or an angel—something else. It frightens me.”
“You speak with dragons?”
Marah nodded. “Ashtaroth, the Cloud Queen.”
Nemuel moved forward like a dancer and knelt before Marah. “Dura should have taught you better than that. You must never speak with the worm again. She is a necessary evil, a compromise from the Second War, who protects the gate. But you cannot trust her.”
“But I need Dura.”
“Are you talking with Ashtaroth now? Is she awake?”
“She went back to sleep.”
“The woods are not as safe as you believe.” Nemuel stood and offered a hand. “Come, there is someone who wishes to meet you.”
They walked toward the plains. Marah heard a rustle of leaves as the wind danced through the oaks, and she saw silhouettes darting among the branches.
Marah asked, “Did God really abandon us?”
“Who told you that?”
“The dragon.”
Nemuel sighed. “That is an old lie, begun by the Father of Lies. He claims to be the only angel who cares about mortals. If God was gone, there wouldn’t be any prophets. You would have never been born.”
“But why can’t anyone else talk to the dead?”
Nemuel stopped walking. “Our masters can teach you about the Seven, but we watched them from afar. The nephalem do not have Reborns or prophets. Only your people receive such blessings. Why you can do such things, I do not know, but without the Seven, your people would have died out a long time ago.”
“Ashtaroth said I must protect the mortals.”
“The best lies are shrouded in some truth.”
VIII
In a clearing near the eastern border of Paltiel, Klay stood with Annrin and their two bears, Chobar and Laban. The other rangers watched either the clearing or the Norsil war band on the plains. They stayed near the trees while the dwarves rested in the center of the clearing with a few elven sentinels. Hours passed as they awaited the return of Lord Nemuel.
Klay worried they would lose the daylight without making a camp, but eventually, Nemuel led a party of sentinels into the clearing. Marah walked with him, followed by the Butcher of Rosh and the King in Exile of Shinar. Klay’s eyebrows rose at the unexpected guests, and he thought the rest of the day should prove interesting. The dwarves and elves seemed solemn until Marah squealed at the sight of Chobar.
Before Klay could react, the bear raced across the clearing, scooped Marah into a paw and rolled across the ground. The nephalem looked horrified, and Tyrus unslung his sword, which made everyone else draw blades. About a hundred warriors faced off until they heard Marah’s giggles.
Chobar rolled over. Marah climbed his chest, pulling at his hair, laughing as he pushed her with his giant claws.
Swords slowly lowered.
“Well,” Klay said. “That was weird.”
“Look at them,” Annrin said. “Even I can’t play with Chobar like that.”
Klay smiled.
Annrin asked, “Do you think you could kill a Reborn?”
“I could kill Azmon. He’s a Reborn.”
“I mean a child, like Marah. We fought so hard to keep her safe.”
“We did.”
“Samos and Bedelia treat her like an enemy.”
Klay agreed but didn’t acknowledge her point. He watched Marah and wondered how she could be at the center of everything. The songs about the meeting of powers would write themselves, though. The lords of the nephalem entertained a young prophet in the sacred woods beneath the White Gate.
“I know I can’t do it,” Annrin said. “Samos is better than this.”
“We all are, but our honor might be the end of us.”
“How so?”
Klay said, “If she is a dark prophet, we are going to regret saving her life.”
“She isn’t. Look at her.”
“I’m not so sure. She keeps strange company.”
Annrin shook her head. “This is Bedelia’s work. We are not assassins.”
“Nemuel says the seraphim want her protected.”
“Then why don’t they call off Bedelia?”
Klay said, “I guess the temple doesn’t listen to the seraphim.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. They never talk to me.”
“Nor me.”
“Priests or angels?”
“Pick one. I talk to drunks in taverns.”
Klay and Annrin shared a grin. He had kept august company the last few years. He had fought beside the red sorceress, the Butcher of Rosh, and possibly a new prophet. He had talked with kings and elven lords, but it seemed as though everyone else drew the attention of the angels and demons. Klay had never been important enough for divine messages. The powers of the world overlooked him.
Klay asked, “What shall I tell Samos?”
“The truth,” Annrin said. “A prophet is a hard thing to kill.”
“You believe she is a prophet?”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
Annrin left him to visit Lahar. Klay was surprised any of the Shinari Knights were still alive. They had been alone with the Norsil for weeks, and Klay would have bet good coin that they wouldn’t survive a day. Lahar’s presence was startling but not Tyrus’s. That man could survive anywhere. The large warrior approached Klay, but they kept a polite distance. Much had changed in the last few years, and Klay wasn’t sure where they stood anymore.
Tyrus asked, “Why is your bear playing with Marah?”
“They’re old friends. She doesn’t have many friends, you know.”
“I almost killed the thing when he charged.”
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you. Marah has killed to protect him before.”
“What?”
“A few priests attacked Chobar, and she defended him.”
Klay remembered a street with burnt stone and a priest with blistered skin. The memory was at odds with the girl before him. His fearsome war bear treated Marah like a cub and pretended she was strong enough to push him over. Chobar grunted, and his tongue lolled in his mouth. Marah giggled and climbed him while Klay groaned at the barding and packs still on his bear. Chobar was crushing rations and flasks.
Klay asked Tyrus, “Was this the only way to defeat Azmon?”
“We drove him off. But he’ll come back.”
“And until then, we fight you and the Norsil?”
Tyrus offered a small shrug.
Klay asked, “What happens now?”
“I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Every time I think we get a reprieve, another damn battle starts. And now you and Marah are fighting with the grigorns.”
“No, we aren’t. The grigorn is dead. The Norsil are free of him.”
“Are you certain?”
“I killed him.”
“Of course you did.”
Klay had heard many songs about the Second War and various factions of the sarbor. The seraphim, shedim, and grigorns had fought for thousands of years over which of them would control the mortal world. Only a madman would claim to have killed a grigorn, but if anyone could have done such a thing, it was Tyrus. The fact that he led an army of Norsil—a people notorious for killing outsiders—probably meant he spoke true.
Klay asked, “Is that why the Norsil follow you?”
“A few clans adopted me. Most of them are still in the west. They want to kill me.”
“I imagine so.”
Chobar snarled, but Marah laughed at the game. The bear rolled onto his back, and she scratched under the straps for his barding. Contented grunts filled the clearing. To Klay’s ear, they sounded like chuckles since he had known the bear since he was a cub. The austere group waited for Marah to finish playing, and Klay wasn’t sure if he should take Chobar away from her.
Tyrus asked, “Why are there dwarves in Paltiel?”
“They came to petition for aid. They’re losing their own war, in the Deep.”
Tyrus sighed. “Of course they are.”
IX
Lahar entered the clearing defeated. His allies had survived the war with Azmon and his beasts. The nephalem survived, as did the Gadarans, but he was the only Shinari present. He had been struggling with isolation for days because the Norsil had overrun his home—but in the woods, among allies, he was just as alone. No matter what else happened, his people had lost the war.
He spotted Annrin’s fiery red hair. She wore it in a long braid down her back that stood out against her heavy green cloak. She made her way toward him, and the closer she got, the more he smiled.
Their armor rattled as they embraced. Lahar wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into his chest, but the belts, scabbards, mail, and cloaks kept them apart. They squeezed each other more tightly, as though they could crush themselves together. In the end, they rested their foreheads together and closed their eyes, enjoying the only warmth they could share.
Annrin said, “I figured you’d be dead by now.”
“As did I.”
“Have you had to fight them yet?”
“Once,” Lahar said, “but Marah put a stop to it.”
“She controls them now?”
“Only a few. There’ll be more blood soon.”
“You need to leave Shinar.”
“I know, but I swore to protect her.”
Holding Annrin brought back memories of the room they had shared in the Welcome Wench. He breathed her in, inhaling the smell of her hair and the strange scent of bears on her cloak. He craved a public house with a roaring fire and a large tankard of ale. He had fond memories of his exile in Ironwall, despite having wasted a few years of his life in drunken brawls with Gadaran nobles. Annrin had been one of the few good things to happen to him.
“I miss the Welcome Wench,” Lahar said. “Have you spoken with Gordy?”
“Ironwall is a mess. People fear an invasion.”
They parted a little. The dwarves and elves looked impatient to talk, but no one wanted to interrupt Marah’s game.
Lahar asked, “Have you fought the Norsil?”
“We avoid them whenever possible. They like to raid the hill folk, though. Some of their best warriors are a match for a war bear. I saw one of their warriors take five arrows as he charged a ranger. He died, but not before he cut the ranger down. They charge our bears without any fear at all.”
Lahar said, “I’ve watched the thanes sparring. I’ve never seen such warriors.”
“If they had sorcerers, they would be unstoppable.”
“Which explains the strange messages from Samos.”
“Things are worse since we sent the birds. The temple is raising armies of mercenaries. Bedelia’s even contacted the Burning Isles.”
“But the Sea Kings joined the Norsil.”
“Each island has its own leaders. This won’t be the first time the Islanders have been on both sides of a war.”
“Wonderful. That’ll make a confusing mess worse.”
Marah’s game ended, and the dwarves gathered to talk. Lahar wanted to stand closer and listen, but he enjoyed holding Annrin more.
She said, “The rangers are going to stay in the woods, near Shinar. If you and your men can get her out of the city, we can protect you once you make it to the woods. If they are chasing you, use fire arrows to signal us, and we’ll ride out with the bears.”
Lahar sighed. “I doubt we can outrun the thanes.”
“We have to save her from the Norsil.”
“She doesn’t want to be saved.”
“Then put something in her drink. I’m sure one of the red sorcerers has a powder to make her sleep.”
“She’ll know. She knows everything.”
Annrin asked her question with a knit brow.
“She has strange powers. She might be listening to us right now.”
“We must try. Bedelia wants to kill her.”
“I haven’t given up yet.”
Annrin pulled away from him. “Do you have any messages for your cousin?”
“Tell him he would be a fool to march on Shinar. The thanes are as strong as everyone fears. And the Sea Kings brought sorcerers.”
“How many?”
“Dozens, and more arrive each day.”
“Does Marah work with the Sea Kings too?”
“No, and it looks like both sides are spoiling for a fight.”
“I’ll be here if you can get away from Shinar.”
“If I wander too far from the Ghost Warrior, the thanes will kill me. They call us Kassiri—if you can believe it—and they don’t say it like a compliment.”
“We have spent ages killing each other.”
“But the Kassiri have been gone for thousands of years.”
Annrin made a dismissive shrug, as though she couldn’t be bothered to understand the barbarians. Lahar wanted to agree, but he was surrounded by them. Guarding M
arah would be easier if he understood their customs and their language. All he really knew was how violent they could be and how much they despised his bloodlines. The Baladan Dynasty traced their lineage to the Kassiri emperors of old. Most of the great houses of Argoria and Sornum did, but that was ancient history. The Norsil blamed him for things that had happened before the Kingdom of Shinar was built.
X
Finding Chobar in the woods was a glorious surprise. Marah had not had any fun since she and Dura left Ironwall. She loved grabbing fistfuls of Chobar’s hair and climbing his massive chest, but everyone was watching her. They wanted something from her, and all the attention ruined the game. Too self-conscious to enjoy herself, she pulled away from Chobar and brushed hair from her robes. She returned to Tyrus’s side.
A dwarf in white robes with blue vestments approached her. He had an unkempt beard and a monstrous nose beneath bushy eyebrows. He wore a skullcap that made him look bald.
“I am Silas of the Stone Song, High Priest of Arioc’s Hammer. Many of my clan assisted in the siege of Shinar, but they were called away when cities of the Deep Ward began to fall. The demon tribes have united against us, and we need help to hold them back.”
“I am Marah of Narbor.”
“It is an honor. I’ve heard many stories of your sorcery. I was surprised to find someone so young at the heart of such tall tales.”
Marah had missed something, and she looked up at Tyrus. He loomed over her like a tower, which she found comforting. Without the voices, she had to fumble her way through the conversation, but she knew if things became violent, Tyrus would protect her.
Silas said, “I come as a beggar in need of help. My people are dying. We are the first responders. The demon tribes always attack us first. If the Ward fails, the armies of the Black Gate will have free access to the surface. It will be like the Second War again, when our peoples had to unite to push them back into the Underworld.”
Marah asked, “How bad is it?”
“The shedim attack us.” Silas lowered his head. “We’ve lost eight cities since we abandoned the Siege of Shinar.”
Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4) Page 17
