The Reborn King (Book Six)

by Brian D. Anderson

  Nehrutu grunted. He was still unsettled by the way desert elves were invisible to his senses. Their complete rejection of the flow seemed somehow unnatural and wrong.

  “They’ve been following us for at least an hour,” Felsafell added.

  “Why don’t they approach?” Gewey asked.

  “They are probably trying to figure out what to make of me,” Felsafell replied.

  Gewey laughed. “I can’t blame them. I’ve been around you for a while now, and I still find myself staring sometimes.”

  They halted and allowed the elves to watch for a time. Gewey noted that they were even more cautious than he'd known them to be in the past – far beyond their typical wariness regarding strangers. He hoped it was simply the sight of the first born that was causing their trepidation.

  Finally, four elves crested a nearby dune and made their way down to the base. They allowed Gewey, Nehrutu, and Felsafell to approach the rest of the way.

  “Greetings,” called out a stocky elf.

  Gewey guessed him to be a sand master. His bearing and manner at once reminded him of Weila. “Hello,” he responded with a welcoming smile, relieved that their first encounter in the desert was not going to be with Vrykol.

  “What brings you so far from the protection of the cities?” the elf asked.

  Gewey cocked his head. “The last time I was in the desert, the elves were far more courteous. I was at least afforded an introduction before I was questioned.”

  There was a long uncomfortable silence as the elf’s eyes darted from Gewey to Felsafell. “I know who you are, Darshan. And your presence is welcome. However, it is also unexpected. My people followed you west to do battle with your enemies. And yet now I find you here. I would know why you are not with them.”

  “It is for reasons I can’t explain, I’m afraid. But I can tell you that your people fight on, and have achieved a great victory in the city of Baltria.”

  This seemed to ease the tension somewhat.

  The elf bowed. “For this news I am grateful. I am sand master Maljahar.” He looked pointedly at Gewey's companions.

  “I am Felsafell,” He spoke without further prompting. “Last of the first born. Forgive me if my odd appearance has startled you.”

  Maljahar raised an eyebrow. “The first born? I’m sorry. Your race is unfamiliar to me. Though I do recall stories of the name Felsafell from my youth. If you are indeed he…” He shook his head, as if the thought was almost too much to comprehend.

  Nehrutu bowed. “And I am Nehrutu. My mate Aaliyah has spent time among your people.”

  “Ah yes, I did meet her briefly when she and Darshan first came here.” The sand master gave his companions a quick nod. In an instant, they turned and set off back up the dune. “There is a small oasis not far away,” he continued. “I would be pleased if you would join us there.”

  “And what of your friends?” asked Gewey.

  “They will be keeping a watchful eye.” The hint of fear in his voice did not go unnoticed.

  The sun was beginning to set by the time they reached the oasis. It was much smaller than the one Gewey had seen the last time – just a tiny spring bubbling up beside a meager cluster of moss covered rocks and bushes. The scattering of thin grass was large enough to allow only about ten people to escape the sands. Gewey wondered how such a fragile place could endure the blazing heat. He’d seen the power of the sun and what it could do to crops and flowers, even when growing close to a river. There must be a massive underground reservoir here, he guessed.

  Maljahar built a small fire and offered the group a flask of sweet smelling liquid, which they accepted gratefully. “Tell me more of what is happening in the west,” he requested.

  Gewey related details of the siege of Baltria, and of the impending march on Angrääl. This seemed to satisfy the elf. He relaxed a little more, though his eyes remained ever watchful.

  “The humans in the border towns say that there is an evil roaming the sands,” said Gewey. “I assumed they were speaking about the Vrykol. Have you seen anything?”

  Maljahar nodded slowly. “There is…something. But it’s not Vrykol, though we have also seen those vermin wandering about here and there. They usually do their best to avoid us and stay mostly to the areas with little or no water. Places where even we have difficulty traveling. My people have killed a few of them, but they’re not easy to catch.”

  “If it’s not Vrykol, then what is it?” asked Gewey.

  “We don’t know,” he replied. He glanced nervously into the distance of the fading daylight. “But it travels in shadow, as if the darkness is a cloak it can wrap itself within. Only a few of us have seen it and lived. It looks human, but its flesh is as pale as a spirit. It can move faster than any elf, and kills without hesitation. Even the bravest among us no longer venture out alone.”

  Gewey and the others looked at one another knowingly. It had to be a corrupted half-man. Gewey told him what little he knew.

  “Is there any way to fight them?” asked Maljahar.

  “They are faster and stronger than anything you could imagine,” Felsafell offered. “They will heal almost as quickly as you can wound them. If you have a choice, do not fight. Run. And if you must fight, do not fight alone.”

  The elf nodded thoughtfully. “I will pass on what you have said.”

  For the rest of the evening, Maljahar peppered Felsafell with questions, to which he was more than pleased to answer. It was well beyond midnight before they all laid down beside the dwindling fire and went to sleep. Gewey was the last to doze. He could hear the howling of wolves from far away.

  The wolves! Were they the same as those he had fought with Aaliyah and Pali? The name of Pali immediately struck a chord. He remembered the elf's kindness and good humor…and his death. So many had died: good people; caring people; brave people. But so few of them entered his thoughts any longer. Pali was a typical example. He had spoken to Weila many times since her son's death, and not once had he been reminded of why there was so much pain lurking behind her eyes.

  Have I seen so much death that it has hardened my heart, he wondered? So often he had dreamed of his return to Sharpstone, where he would raise his family and live out his life in a dearly purchased peace. But the reality was different. Gewey Steading was dead, and it would be Darshan taking up residence on his father’s farm. He could no longer even recall the boy he once was. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to bring its numbing comfort.

  “Gewey.”

  A voice inside his mind stirred him fully awake. It sounded vaguely familiar, yet he could not quite place it.

  “Gewey.”

  This time is was audible – but only as a whisper on the gentle wind. He looked to the others. No one was moving.

  Rising silently to his feet, he listened hard but could hear nothing other than the wolves and the wind. His keen vision and elf training was allowing him to penetrate the night, even without the use of the flow.

  The oasis was surrounded by a circle of high dunes; a far from advantageous position if one was forced to defend it. Gewey scanned the area, but there was no one about. He listened more intently. The elves who had accompanied Maljahar were positioned just to the north, talking quietly amongst themselves. The wolves’ cries were coming from many miles away to the south and were of no concern to them.

  “Gewey.”

  This time the voice came through sounding harsh…like a warning.

  Without thinking, he set off up the dune on the east side, careful not to make a sound as he went. On reaching the top he could see the vast expanse of the desert laid out before him. It was beautiful in its unpolluted continuity, yet ominous in its unforgiving nature.

  “Gewey.”

  This time he saw where the voice was coming from. A cloaked figure was standing less than a mile away. Were it not for his god’s eyes, he would not have been able to see it. He knew at once that this was no Vrykol. A half-man perhaps?

  As soon as he spott
ed the figure, it moved out of sight. After taking a quick glance over his shoulder, Gewey decided to pursue. On reaching the spot where it had been standing he saw clear footprints in the sand leading him over the next dune.

  He continued to follow this trail for about a mile. Then the sands began to flatten out somewhat. And there the figure was waiting for him. The hood of its dark cloak was pulled low to cover its face, but Gewey's eyes were immediately caught by a jewel-handled long sword hanging by its side. He had seen this sword before…and knew who owned it.

  “Lee?” gasped Gewey. “Is that you?”

  “Stay back!” The voice was broken and rasping. Even so, there was no question at all that it belonged to Lee Starfinder.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Gewey. “Why are you here?”

  “To warn you while I still can,” he replied.

  Gewey noticed his hands. They were pale white…just as the other corrupted half-man’s had been. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  “What did they do to you?” He took a step forward, but Lee retreated an equal distance.

  “I said stay back!” His fists clenched, and the sound of teeth grinding together came from within the darkness of his hood. “I can’t hold on for very long.”

  “Please let me help you,” begged Gewey. “Let me try to undo what they have done.”

  “There is only one favor I would ask,” Lee told him. “When the time comes, kill me. Don’t hesitate. Don’t allow pity or our friendship to stay your hand. Just kill me.” He pushed back his hood. His face was pale and sunken. His eyes black and vacant.

  Gewey could hear the struggle and pain in his voice. He gazed at his friend in horror.

  Lee's face twitched and quivered as he continued. “It is the Vrykol's doing. Their master has abandoned them, so they are planning to use me to help him destroy you. If they succeed, they hope to regain his favor.”

  “Do they control you?”

  “Not completely. Not yet. But they will soon enough. And when they do, I will not be able to stop myself. Do not allow them to distract you. When the time comes, you must keep your mind on your task.”

  “I will,” Gewey promised. “But I still want to help you if I can.”

  “There is just one other thing you can do for me.” Lee took another pace back. “When you unlock the door to heaven, please see that my wife’s spirit gets to meet her Creator.”

  With that, he turned and sped away. Gewey at first gave chase, but without the flow, Lee was able to elude him. By the time he eventually returned to the oasis, the others were awake and looking concerned.

  “You should not wander off alone,” warned Maljahar. “Even one such as you should use caution.”

  Paying him no mind, Gewey knelt in front of the others. “I saw Lee,” he told them.

  Both Nehrutu and Felsafell’s eyes shot wide.

  Gewey swallowed hard. “He’s been…corrupted.”

  “Did he attack you?” asked Felsafell.

  Gewey shook his head. “He isn’t completely under the control of the Vrykol....yet. He told me that it is them, and not the Reborn King, who commands these corrupted half-men.” He went on to recount the rest of the brief and painful conversation with his friend and mentor.

  “Curious,” remarked Nehrutu. “How is it they would know we are here?”

  “I think I know the answer to that now,” Gewey said. “And if I’m right, after we leave the mountains, I won’t have any need to go to Angrääl.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Nehrutu.

  His face was tight. “I mean, I may have sent King Lousis into battle needlessly. The Dark Knight has always known where we would finally face each other. I was just too stupid and blind to see it.” He spat on the sand, then turned to Maljahar. “Spread the word to whoever remains in the desert that they should make for the Waters of Shajir and stay there until they hear from me.”

  “I will, Darshan.”

  Felsafell pressed him to say more, but this time it was Gewey’s motives and mind that would remain a mystery.

  They thought it best to set out before the sun rose. Maljahar offered an escort, but Gewey respectfully declined.

  Little conversation was exchanged during the next few days as they pushed on. Gewey became increasingly withdrawn until his usual smile and good cheer had all but vanished completely. After several futile attempts to engage him, even Felsafell gave up and left the young godling to his own thoughts.

  The almost constant howling of the wolves persisted for three days, making any kind of meaningful rest impossible. Although this had virtually no effect on Felsafell's endurance, the lack of sleep, together with the heat of the day and the deep sand, was beginning to trigger a fatigue that showed clearly on the faces of both Gewey and Nehrutu. Each night the creatures' hollow cries came at them from a different direction. But on the fourth night, much to the party’s relief, it suddenly became quiet.

  Felsafell’s memory was indeed flawless, and early on the morning of the seventh day they came to a broad stone pillar protruding from the sand. A narrow entrance had been carved in the center.

  “How long has it been since you rode the sands?” asked Gewey.

  Felsafell grinned. “It was not long after I fell in love with Basanti…maybe a hundred years later as I recall.”

  That the first born could conceive a century as being just a minor span of time was mind boggling to Gewey.

  “I am not educated in matters of the desert,” remarked Nehrutu. “But how is it that the sands have not swallowed this place during all the many years that have passed.”

  Felsafell shrugged. “That is a good question. But as far as I can tell, nothing that is connected to the Blood of the Sands is ever touched by time.”

  “I wish I knew who build it,” remarked Gewey.

  “As do I,” said Felsafell. “But even one as old as I cannot know the answer to all of life's riddles. Perhaps we will find the answer to your question in the mountains.”

  They ducked inside the entryway and made their way down a narrow passage until arriving at a steep stairwell. At the bottom of this, the sands were flanked on either side by a stone platform rising roughly two feet above the canal. Slithas were piled carelessly along the near wall. Gewey quickly lashed three of these together, then, taking the one in the middle, gestured for Felsafell to lead and Nehrutu to sit at the back.

  Because of the elevation, they were forced to jump on simultaneously. The moment their vessels touched the surface the sands sprang into life, propelling them rapidly forward. Felsafell’s great height forced him to bend low just before reaching the tunnel.

  “Sometimes I very much regret shedding my human form,” he said. But his words were immediately followed by a good-natured laugh.

  “Why did you change?” asked Nehrutu.

  Felsafell chuckled and grinned almost boyishly. “Love and vanity, I suppose. Though Basanti could already see me as I truly am, there were times when she also saw the little old hermit that I still appeared to be in other people's eyes. After she had no further need to hide away, I could no longer bear for her to witness me looking so foolish.”

  His admission raised laughter from both Gewey and Nehrutu.

  “I’m sure she didn’t care how you looked,” said Gewey.

  “I cared,” he replied. “I suppose pride is another thing that all races have in common.”

  “And stupidity,” added Nehrutu. “Though I think they might well be one in the same.”

  They talked for a time – mostly about how they missed their respective mates. Felsafell sounded far more like a heartsick youth than the oldest being in the world when speaking of his time in Manisalia with Basanti. Gewey hoped with all his heart that the two ancient souls would find their measure of peace once this war was eventually over.

  Conversation made the trip seem short, and before they knew it, they had arrived at their destination. This time it was simply a matter of a short hop. Gewey watched as the t
hree slithas disappeared into the dark tunnel ahead, on their way to the vortex.

  “Has anyone ever ridden to the end?” he asked.

  Felsafell nodded. “One of my kin ventured there when we were still a living people. But the vortex is a dangerous place. No one ever discovered how he managed to return, and his mind was never the same again.”

  “What did he see?” asked Gewey.

  “He could not – or better said – would not describe it. But whatever he saw, it broke him. He spent the remainder of his days in solitude. In fact, he was one of the first of us that the gods chose to release into the spirit realm.”

  Gewey gazed into the dark hole one more time before moving on to the passage.

  The way ahead was steep and uneven, and the sandy grit on the floor said that this path was not one frequently used. However, when the exit opened up, Gewey was greeted by a sight that left him absolutely stunned.

  In the light of the new sun, towering unimaginably high and seemingly so close that they could simply walk to their base in a few minutes, loomed the Mountains of the Northern Desert. Hundreds upon hundreds of jagged peaks capped in pure white snow stretched to both east and west far beyond Gewey's ability to see. Like the broken teeth of a giant, they snarled down at him, daring him to enter its maw.

  The air was still and cold: a far cry from the scorching heat of the sands. Yet, as Gewey glanced over his shoulder, there was the vast expanse of the desert stretched out just behind him.

  “Impressive,” remarked Nehrutu. “Much like the mountains of my homeland.”

  “And very treacherous too, if the stories are to be believed,” added Felsafell.

  “So what now?” asked Gewey. “From what I can see, there doesn’t appear to be any way into them from here. Unless of course, you intend for us to climb.”

  “There should be a pass somewhere,” Felsafell replied. His eyes scanned the mountains, trying to determine which direction they should take. After a few minutes, he grunted and set off northwest at a quick pace.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” asked Gewey.