Shadow of the Ghost Bear (The Tale of Azaran Book 2)

by Arbela, Zackery

  "I..." Azaran shook his head. "I see..."

  "You don't believe."

  "You said it yourself, the storm was coming. We've both been on edge since landing on the shore. The wind was just the wind. Everything can be explained."

  "You want to believe that," said Segovac.

  "I do believe it..." But Azaran didn't. Not really. Lie to others if you must, but never to yourself. The silent passenger spoke in its quiet way.

  "As you wish. I know what I know." Segovac leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  Azaran couldn't sleep, no matter how he tried. He stared moodily at the pools of water beneath the the holes in the roof. The Mansion was reflected in this, wavering and shifting as drops fell from above. "Segovac," he said. "Tell me something."

  "Yes?"

  "What happened to this land? Who is Ganascorec? Who are these people who murder children and curse their bones?"

  "Ah," Segovac said, "that is a long story."

  "I have time. And I have a sense knowing it will be necessary in the coming days."

  "Indeed." Segovac thought on this. "As to the second question...the Ghelenai are...rather, were an order of holy women with a different view of the divine nature of things. I am a Rhennari, a servant of Saerec the One, of whom all other powers are but servants. The Ghelenai dispute this, they say the true powers are the three goddesses who between them encompass all Creation. Elegai, who is Life, Mataraia, who is Death, and Rheannia, who is the Shaper of things. Saerec, by their thinking, is merely one servant among many."

  "Who is right?"

  "The Rhennari, of course. But I imagine the Ghelenai would say the same of themselves, if asked. Most folk of the Four Realms don't have an opinion one way or the other, they worship the gods as they have always done and call on us or the witches when they have a need. In the past we learned to disagree and once they were worthy of respect. As the Rhennari have gifts, so do they. Powers of life and death, to ease the birth of children, or the passage of the dying. To control the beasts of the land and birds of the air. There were some who said we both had it wrong, that Saerec and the Three were but reflections of a greater reality...but I'm getting off the trail of this tale. Some years back, they changed. The old rites disappeared. In their place came new rituals that called for blood. First animals...then humans. Men, women, children...they drew power from such things. Their old powers disappeared, but in their place came new ones, power over the minds of men. To inflict disease on the healthy, to injure flesh and break bone. Some among their number kept to the old ways, but they were in the minority, driven out by their sisters who cared more about power in this life than what might come in the next. "

  "And where does Ganascorec figure in this?"

  "Soon, soon, friend Azaran." Segovac plucked a wooden splinter from the floor and scratched out a shape on the dirt floor. After a moment Azaran realized it was a map, depicting the northwestern part of the continent. The shapes tugged at his memory.

  "The Four Lands." Segovac divided the region into quarters. "Betasea to the north. Cavarag to the northeast, Aulercam to the east. And Eburrea in the south. Once the four lands were one, we were all one people, Aelennari, the Folk of Aelen. He was the first and last to rule all four lands. After his death the land was divided between his two sons and two daughters. Since then we are sundered in speech and custom, yet we hold to the same traditions, follow the same gods. There are Rhennari in the others lands and they are brothers to those in Eburrea. There were Ghelenai as well, though in the other lands they have disappeared..." He shook head. "Where was I?"

  "Four lands. You were once united."

  "Right. We are still united, in a sense. United in disunity. All four lands had kings and queens ruling them once, but we remember them only as legends. Now it is clans striving against clans. Chief against chief. Among the Eburreans there are two dozen clans, with four holding preeminence - the Aranacs, the Lesannirs, the Colamnacs (my old clan) and the Mabhrenas. Lesser clans swear fealty to one of the Great Four. For generations they have struggled with one another. Fifteen years ago, a new chieftain took power among the Aranacs. His name was Ganascorec and he was a man of vision. As a young man he'd fought as a mercenary in foreign lands and saw that the world was changing. A new age was coming, an age of empires, where free cities and independent tribes would be crushed. Warlords were on the march to the distant east and south. In time they would reach Eburrea. On that day our clans would fall, unless were stood as one people, one nation, under one leader."

  Azaran nodded. "Makes sense. Discipline will defeat disorder, even if outnumbered."

  "His words made sense at the time," Segovac continued. "The rest of the Aranacs and their sworn clans agreed. The other clans objected, as you might expect. But the Rhennari...we supported him. His words were also ours, his fears the same. A strong Eburrea, bound under a single lord, would dominate the four lands, end the divisions among Aelen's Folk. And together there is no challenge in this world we could not overcome.

  "Word came from Aulercam. Shiraan nomads from the eastern steppe raided their lands. Half the country was devastated before they were driven off. Next time they might not stop. A council was called and most clan chiefs came. Ganascorec made his case. There was...a lot of disagreement. None of the other great clans would accept Aranac preeminence, or swear any sort of oath to Ganascorec. The Rhennari brokered a compromise - the chiefs would form a league for mutual defense. Ganascorec would lead for a year, after which the post would rotate among the other Great Chiefs. Ganascorec agreed and even pledged to marry a daughter of the Mabhrenas and make other marriages with the Lesannir's and Colamnacs. All chiefs swore a sacred oath to honor the league, to come to the defense of one another and at least attempt to settle their own differences peacefully. To mark the occasion, Ganascorec called for a great feast.

  "They ate and drank well into the night, the chieftains and their men. Soon they were sleepy from bellies full of meat, drunk from wine and ale that flowed like river water. Even the Rhennari were distracted and why not? Peace in our time, our people set in on a better path. The drink dulled our senses...that's when he struck. Aranac warriors attacked the guests, slaughtering the chieftains where they sat. And fighting alongside them were Ghelenai witches, wielding strange weapons and stranger powers. Men dropped dead at their touch. Swords shattered like glass when they were struck, or so it was said. They filled the minds of warriors with phantoms and illusions, driving them mad before stabbing them in the back. Worst of all, a pack of great dire bears, of a size not seen in these lands for a hundred years, forced their way into the hall. They were under the control of the witches and attacked every Rhennari where he stood, pulling them down like deer on the hunt. It was a massacre. Ganascorec welcomed those men as guests, then murdered them at his own hearth. A shameful thing.

  "Word of this spread, but with so many chiefs dead there was confusion and the Aranacs found it easy to swat aside what opposition was raised. New chiefs were raised, pledging allegiance to Ganascorec even before they took their oaths to their clans. He claimed the title King of Eburrea and formalized his alliance with the Ghelenai by taking one of their leaders as his queen. As a wedding gift, he outlawed all Rhennari among the Eburreans, put prices on our heads. Those who weren't killed at the Feast of Bones went into hiding or fled to the other lands. The Ghelenai soaked the land in the blood of sacrifices, while Ganascorec stripped the clans of their young men for his armies, first to put down the inevitable rebellions and then to invade Cavarag. He will unite Aelen's Folk, but will prove a harsher Master than any foreign empire."

  Segovac fell silent and bowed his head, as if recounting the history of his land was enough to weaken him.

  Azaran pondered this. "Come the morning," he asked, "what shall we do?"

  "I don't know," said Segovac. "This," and he swept his hand around the ruined house, "has thrown any plans I had into chaos."

  "Perhaps we should leave. Head north, head east
to these other lands. There are other Rhennari there, they will give you shelter."

  "I've thought on it." Segovac shook his head. "But no. Saerec has pointed me here. The Eburreans have fallen from the righteous path. The least I can do is help them back onto it. That's is my duty."

  And with that he lay down and closed his eyes.

  Azaran remained sitting for a while. The fear was gone, the night did not seem so oppressive. But he knew bloody work was coming. He had no reason to stay with Segovac, this was not his land, his people. Not his fight. But come the morning he would follow after his friend.

  The righteous path is a hard path, said the silent passenger. Otherwise everyone would walk it and the world would be made right...

  "Shut up," he growled, lying down and closing his eyes.

  Dawn came, and with it clear blue skies and warm sunlight.

  Azaran woke with a crick in the back of his neck. He sat up, brushing dirt off his shirt. Mud caked the bottom of his boots and one trouser leg. Puddles of water filled patches of the floor, and one of them had flowed during the night to where he was sleeping. Azaran felt his toes squelch in his boot and sighed. It was not a pleasant experience.

  "Sleep well?" Segovac sat up, seemingly unaffected by the rough ground. Either that or he was better at hiding his discomfort.

  "Nothing a decent bed and warm breakfast wouldn't cure."

  "Ah, there I cannot help you."

  Both men wolfed down a breakfast of hard tack and a few strips of dried meat, washed down with mouthfuls of warm water from the canteens. The former was baked until it had the hardness of stone, the latter salted and dried to the point where the moisture was sucked from their mouths. It filled their bellies but did little to stem their appetite.

  They stepped outside into a bright world filled with birdsong. Wings fluttered overhead. Azaran caught sign of bright feathers slitting through trees, leaves swishing back and forth in their wake. He looked towards the forest and caught a flash of movement in the underbrush. Rabbits, or some other small game. None of that was present when they arrived they day before.

  It felt...different. Awake, alive. Cleansed. The sense of oppression that permeated the place before was gone. The sun seemed to shine more brightly. There was more color in the leaves. The anger and horror was gone, washed away by the storm, or it seemed. The land was freed from it's burden of sorrow. The dead rested easily, the natural order restored. Azaran breathed in and sensed even the air felt more crisp, filling him with energy, driving away the aches of his body.

  "A lovely day," was all he allowed himself to say.

  Segovac only smiled. He walked out of the house and towards the grave. "Look," he said, pointing at the spot.

  The rough, freshly turned earth from the night before was gone. Vines curled about the stone, almost hiding it from view save for the part where the spiral was cut. Small pink flowers sprouted from the vines, filling the air with a fragrant perfume. More flowers clustered about the base. A handful of bees buzzed about them, blissful from the nectar. By all appearances, the growth looked to be years old.

  Azaran frowned. "How?"

  "All things are possible through Saerec and his servants." Segovac walked around stone and pointed at a patch of ground a few few away from it. "Have a look.

  Azaran looked down. "All I see is grass."

  "Look closer."

  Azaran knelt down. He frowned, trying to see what Segovac saw. Just grass...lighter in color than the surrounding green. Lighter in color...the patch was shaped like rough bear paw.

  He stood. "I don't know what to make of it. Or this." He waved a hand at the stone.

  "Then don't make anything of it. Accept it for what it is." Segovac turned his face northwards. "As I recall, there is a road headed towards Aeresia about half a day's walk from here."

  "Is that a town?"

  "It's the stronghold of the Colamnac clan."

  "Can you trust them?" Azaran asked. "From what you said last night, all the clan leaders are Ganascorec's puppets. They might just shoot you down when you walk to the gates."

  "Then I expect you to avenge my death." Segovac laughed at the joke. "The laws of hospitality still hold strong, at least away from Ganascorec himself. The chief will remember his honor."

  "And if he does not?"

  "Well then, things will be very interesting."

  Segovac headed northward, leaving the homestead behind. Azaran followed after, then looked back after a few steps.

  The ruined house was still there. The flowers marked the grave. No voices broke the silence within the walls, no sounds beyond those of bird and beast. But one day men would return to this place. The roof would be repaired. Cook fires lit, voices raised in laughter and sorrow. Folk would return and the land would welcome them.

  All evil things pass in time. The silent passenger whispered to him.

  "Azaran!" Segovac called out to him, some distance away. "It's a long walk! Unless you want to stay here and become a woodsman!"

  "Coming!" Azaran went down the hill, headed north.

  Chapter Three

  Far to north, where the uppermost parts of Eburrea met the lowermost bits of the lands of the Cavaragi, there was a lake, squarish in shape, known for the pale blue waters that gave the place it's name: Talaar, the Blue Doorway. It was said that should a man find it in his ability to sail out to the center of the water and jump in and hold his breath until he reached the bottom, he might find a doorway that led to the Blessed Lands, to dwell forever with the gods. Every year men tried. Most came to their senses after fifty feet and swam back for the surface. A few were never seen again, proof some said that the tales were true. Those who pointed out the greater likelihood that the fools drowned on their way down were disregarded as impious wretches.

  But on this day, there was little talk of seeing if the legend was true. On this day, the green fields west of the lake would play host to another sacrifice, as two armies gathered for battle. From the north came twenty thousand men, drawn from the seven largest clans of Cavarag. Old enmities were put aside, their chieftains gathering before a stone idol of Maertalic, the Keeper of Oaths, pricking their palms with a obsidian knife, pledging their souls as surety should they betray one another.

  Facing them across the field were the Eburreans, led by the man whose name was on every lip, that haunted the thoughts of dreams of all Aelen's folk. Ganascorec, who now called himself King of Eburrea, come north with thirty-thousand men. Such a battle had not been seen in seven generations. The events of this day would be remembered seven generations after. Brave banners flapped in the breeze, bearing the marks of clans ancient and noble.

  Leading the way on both sides were the elite, the clan nobility, the sons of the leading families, armored in coats of bright mail and silver helms. Round shields were on their left arms, sword or axes in their right. They marched in tight formations, shoulder to shoulder, and if any felt fear in his breast he did not show it. To those who would rule, the gods demanded a hard price - the duty to fight. To march in battle at their chieftains call, to win fame everlasting through brave deeds, so that their names would linger in the minds of their kin long after their souls passed on to the next life.

  Marching behind the nobles and at least double their number were the the clan levies. Drawn from the common-born farmers and herdsmen, they marched into battle with any weapon they could find, armored in leather coats, moving in loose order. Many carried bows or sling stones, ready at their lord's command to shower the other side with stones and shafts. Bands of cavalry trotted along the flanks of the army, their riders drawn from the richest members of the aristocracy, proud and disdainful.

  And looming over both armies like deceptively slow-moving towers were the mastaercas. Twenty feet tall at the shoulder, great four-legged beasts, covered in brown fur. Long elephantine trunks drooped from their snouts, the tips waving in the air, sensitive to the slightest change in breeze of scent, occasionally swooping down to snatch a tuft of
grass or small shrub to stuff in their cavernous mouths. Four tusks jutted from their mouths - two small upper tusks poking from the upper lip and two long sweeping ones from the lower. Small, bright eyes surveyed the panjandrum of men below with contempt, secure in the knowledge that there was nothing in eye or earshot that could harm them. This fact was reinforced by the heavy armor draped over their bodies, long swatches of stiffened leather reinforced with iron plates. The lower tusks were hidden beneath iron sheaths studded with spikes the length of a man's hand.

  Riding on the top of the mastaercas, along with the driver in the front, was a team of four to six archers and seated on the higher point, a clan chief, gleaming in his armor, carrying a long spear tipped with a sharp curving blade. One man in particular drew all eyes on the Eburrean side. He sat atop the largest of the beasts, looming over his men in the same manner as a god looking down on the earth. Ganascorec. He was somewhere in his fourth decade now, a tall, burly man with a thick russet beard now turning to gray, a squarish face dominated by a pair of bright eyes that saw everything, knew everything, or so it was claimed.