He watched as the other two mounted their steeds. Then the gates of Oakhaven swung wide to allow them passage. Moments later all that remained of their presence was a cloud of dust, which quickly dissipated in the cool breeze of Winter’s Veil. A new year was coming in Wothlondia and Tiyarnon hoped that 66 P.A. would be an even better year than the last for the citizens of Oakhaven, and for the whole of Wothlondia.
The three of them traveled for hours heading south along the River Divide, whose current ran in a southerly direction hundreds of feet below them. The river was used by many to bring goods and services to other towns for trade along its banks. The three bridges that crossed the River Divide, including Nature’s Pass, were at extremely high points where ships could easily pass beneath them.
Nimaira repeatedly used her significant magical abilities to propel the horses forward at increased speeds for several minutes at a time to hasten their pursuit. This, of course, made Rolin feel very disgruntled. To him it was bad enough to be obliged to ride a horse at all, let alone having it run at two to three times its normal speed for minutes on end. The dwarf did not like it at all—not eighty five years ago, and certainly not today.
Tiyarnon and the others concluded that the priests had not taken the northern bridge, as the guards or patrols outside the city would have spotted them and reported this as being the case. Eyewitnesses explicitly expressed that the group headed south out of Oakhaven the evening before last. And they most likely would not have crossed the southernmost bridge. They would be too exposed to detection as the south was barren and known to be full of wild beasts, roaming those open plains.
This all meant that they had to have travelled over the River Divide at Nature’s Pass, which would have had them passing directly through the heart of Amrel and close to the forest elves who made their homes there. The elves of Amrel would have certainly noticed the acolytes within their domain, although such a route would have also given the travellers cover. No one—humanoid or otherwise—passed through Amrel without King Dorinthal’s knowledge, for his eyes were vigilant and ever-present.
Tiyarnon confidently spurred his horse further south toward the elven-made bridge, hoping his theory proved to be sound.
Tiyarnon could see the bridge in the distance. It was a beautifully carved bridge made from several trees that had fallen… or so the rumor went. Tiyarnon and a few other historians believed there to be ancient elven magic at work there, though this had never been verified.
As they got to within a hundred paces of the amazing bridge, Tiyarnon stopped and dismounted. From beneath his coat he removed his holy symbol. It was a depiction of a simplistic orb representing the Sun, with waves of sunlight emanating around its entirety in a symmetrical pattern. As he uttered a prayer to The Shimmering One, his eyes lit up with a radiant light. The horses whinnied, and Rolin was almost thrown from his mount as the brightness grew with intensity, but he managed to hold on, his short fingers clamped like a vise around the horse’s reins.
“I’ve been fightin’ to stay on the beast’s back with the wind in me beard for the last ten hours and now yer tryin’ a different method to toss me from its back?” Rolin growled accusingly.
“I am sorry, my friend,” Tiyarnon apologized in response to his oldest companion’s look of disgust. “But I sense other holy symbols of The Shimmering One nearby—perhaps within only a few miles. If we carry on at this pace, we may be able to catch them before they enter the thickest part of the forest of Amrel.”
The three of them understood that the forest was not very dense immediately after crossing into Amrel, but rapidly thickened thereafter. Tiyarnon hoped to catch up with them sooner rather than later.
“That be good news,” Rolin stated. “I’m fer getting’ off this durned beast as soon as I be able!” he added, pulling the reins to redirect the horse east across Nature’s Pass.
Nimaira followed suit as Tiyarnon slowly remounted his horse, a beautiful creature of chestnut hue and one that he had grown attached to over the years. Nimaira noted the effort which the elderly priest exerted in order to climb onto his steed, and speculated if this mission was as foolish as she believed it was. She shook the thought from her mind and continued, following the men with whom she had made a good living and enough fortune with which to begin construction on what was now the University of Wizardry. Yes, these two had often made unwise choices but, despite that fact, they all three survived.
The companions rode in silence for the next ten minutes and Nimaira continued to feel a strange sense of trepidation that bordered on hopelessness. She noticed that with each trot of her horse’s hooves, the doubt mounted within her.
Why are we even doing this? contemplated Nimaira, her wide blue eyes expanding even further. She spent the next few minutes quelling the emotion inside her and calmed down again.
Rolin Hardbeard trotted along next to his two closest friends. His thoughts suddenly turned inward to his family—his dwarven kin—and he began to give them some consideration, feeling strangely uneasy about having left home those many years ago. He had not seen or heard from them in decades, and now he began to think now of how he had ‘abandoned’ them, as his father and brother often put it, and about how he came to be where he was now.
This series of disconcerting thoughts had come to him as if from nowhere. He felt suddenly panicked and even slightly guilty about these past events. Nimaira and Tiyarnon had told him repeatedly that he left the confines of the Brimstone Mountains with nothing but the best of intentions, but he still felt like he had forsaken his family and kin, and they echoed that sentiment. It had been more than a decade after Ashenclaw had attacked Wothlondia, and was right at the time when the war between the giants and dwarves was nearing its end. Nonetheless, he had intended only to seek to help the people of Wothlondia rebuild, though his kin often misunderstood his leaving as cowardice or even disloyalty. These emotions had not surfaced into the hardened dwarf’s thoughts for decades.
His troubles quickly shifted from the past to the present as his horse once more bucked and threatened to throw him from its back. He steeled his grip on the reins and steadied the beast, then tried to rid his mind of the demons from his bygone days.
Tiyarnon, ignorant of the mindset and doubts mounting within the others, looked skyward, searching for a sign from The Shimmering One that he and his friends had made the correct decision to pursue the young acolytes. He felt confused and second-guessed himself about choosing those apprentices. Momentarily he doubted that they were worthy at all. He wondered if he had made the right choices as his horse trotted after his two friends.
He looked up at the waning sun and shook the feeling away, only to be visited by something new as a heavy sensation of guilt washed over him. Had he let these young priests down? Was The Shimmering One abandoning his hopes and turning his eyes elsewhere? It was a lingering and confusing set of emotions with which the High Priest struggled this late afternoon, and he did not know exactly why it was happening.
None of these human priests of The Shimmering One, nor even the other creature masquerading as one of the holy men, were worthy of carrying him, Cyrza concluded, though he did imagine how savory it would taste to turn them into his master’s playthings. The thought of consuming the one who now carried him, so pure and full of honor, was especially titillating to him. But, alas, it was not to be. He wanted to return to his former host, for this was the will of his lord and master—Sammael. The body of Sadreth was his and he wanted the human back… if human he could still be called, chuckled Cyrza, knowing the answer to that question.
Then Cyrza sensed a familiar presence approaching. He felt nearing the minds and emotions of the three he hated most in all the planes of existence. Oh, how those three had made things hard for him early on. How sweet it would be to own each and every one of them—those who had avoided his temptations and offers for so many years! It was Cyrza’s greatest fantasy to caress their innermost desires and allow them each to tap into that part of th
eir souls. He wanted so badly to tug at their pride as he had done to so many before them… to possess them as easily as he had done their friend, Sadreth.
This was not to be—it was not part of their future, realized Cyrza, as the young acolytes of the accursed Sun God continued their journey, so near as to cross the River Divide at the southernmost bridge within minutes. All of this just so he could be reunited with his former host… how sweet that would be.
Instead of attempting to possess any of the three, Cyrza immediately decided upon another course of action and began to slowly project thoughts of doubt and frustration upon them. It was the simplest of matters for the demon that was trapped within the amulet. He had spent countless years around these three in particular, and had seen their intimate secrets and desires. It was mere child’s play to manipulate them, and this was but the precursor to something more delightful. For Cyrza meant to destroy them once and for all this day. With that thought, he projected once more onto the trio of friends and sent emotions into them that tugged at their deepest conceit.
Their hubris will be the death of them, thought Cyrza from inside the amulet which dangled from the length of chain in the young priest’s hands. A sickening laughter filled that dimensional space within that only Cyrza could hear. It echoed within for a long time.
Tiyarnon looked to his left and saw Nimaira gesturing and speaking ancient words that could only mean a spell was being cast. He immediately spun around, thinking he’d missed an unseen enemy or supernatural beast moving in to attack them. He whirled, head whipping back and forth, but failed to witness a threat of any kind approaching their location. He twirled back to face her again as the spell reached its climax, and he realized uncomfortably that she had locked eyes with him. Hearing a strange sound from above, he looked up in time to see what appeared to be stars raining down, threatening to crush him.
“Wha—“ cried the High Priest attempting to dismount from his steed but falling to the floor instead. He uttered an incantation to his God and discharged a ray of radiant light, ‘Sun’s Rays’ as the spell was called, directing multiple beams into the approaching objects. One by one, the rays of light hit and shattered the huge masses, causing them to break into smaller pieces as they fell to the soil. Tiyarnon breathed a sigh of relief as he regained his footing. He had expended tremendous power to counter that spell and, he realized, he was lucky to be alive. Then he saw that his horse was not as fortunate, as it lay lifeless beneath a huge, stone-like object.
“What manner of behavior is this?!” yelled the elderly priest at the half-elf woman, whose eyes seemed distant at best. Before he could receive an answer, or even pursue a second line of questioning, Tiyarnon felt a strange sensation of irritation flood into his being. How dare she strike at me, he fumed. I am the High Priest of the God of the Sun. The giver of all life. The Shimmering One grants me powers that she can only dream of, Tiyarnon thought. But, before he could act on this new and strange emotional wave, he saw Rolin Hardbeard approach her from the side. Nimaira was so intent and focused on Tiyarnon that she did not see the mighty dwarf. The next thing the High Priest witnessed was the dwarf’s powerful fist connecting with Nimaira’s jaw, all but knocking the woman unconscious.
Rolin stood over the half-elf, breathing heavily and banging a gauntleted fist on his plated breastplate.
“Not such the ‘little one’ now, eh?” Rolin mocked at the top of his lungs, and with such anger that it brought Tiyarnon back to his senses. He clearly felt a moment ago as if he needed to prove something to Nimaira for having attacked him—to make her understand that he was the superior spell-caster. And then he felt it. It was so subtle, but it was certainly there—the presence of the demon creeping ever so sneakily into his consciousness, for he had sensed this before.
Cyrza!
Tiyarnon was gripped by a very real and completely overwhelming fear. They had encountered the demon within the amulet many times. It had attempted to appeal to their pride on numerous occasions, ever endeavoring to attract each and every one of his closest friends into claiming the object for their own. Even when they were aware of its advances, it was difficult to stop them. This was why they had tried so often to warn Sadreth not to use its powers… not to tap into the evil that surely lurked within the artifact. Finally, Tiyarnon steadied himself and his fear was replaced with anger… anger at this demon for once more manipulating his friends—for manipulating him.
Rolin approached Tiyarnon with a determined step and withdrew his great battle-axe. It appeared almost too large in the dwarf’s hands. Surely he would not be able to swing this mighty weapon with ease? But Tiyarnon knew Rolin did not wield this axe with clumsiness. Tiyarnon had seen the dwarf in action for decades and Rolin was a fierce and deadly warrior, never to be underestimated. With this in mind, he gripped his staff firmly and shifted it about in his hands, uttering a prayer to The Shimmering One. Rolin calmly walked toward him, muttering something to himself. As the dwarf got close to within striking distance, Tiyarnon distinctly heard him speak.
“Steel beats magic! I been sayin’ it fer years,” he cried, just as Tiyarnon finished his spell.
A funny look crossed the dwarf’s face at that instant as puzzlement reflected within his gray eyes and he came to a dead stop, just before closing in on the High Priest.
“Thank The Shimmering One,” Tiyarnon intoned as Rolin fell victim to a spell known as ‘Shackled Mind’. It was a simple enchantment he’d learned years prior but hadn’t used in decades. It attacked the mind of the victim, convincing them that they were paralyzed when, in fact, the body was completely unharmed and untouched.
Tiyarnon once more fought the demanding will of Cyrza as the demon reached for his very soul, striving to appeal to the hubris within him; to make him believe that he was the superior combatant and that his was the most effective method of combat. He began another spell—one intended to put a hole through the dwarf’s chest—but he stopped mouthing the words just in time. He pushed Cyrza from his consciousness as he fell to his knees in agony. It was an acutely exposed connection that Cyrza had developed with the three of them and, for some reason, the demon seemed stronger. Either that or they were weaker, which Tiyarnon believed might well be the case, for the demon was immortal and they were not.
The High Priest of The Shimmering One was callously wrenched from his contemplation once more as Rolin smashed his chest violently with the haft of his axe, driving him to the ground with a two-handed shove. Tiyarnon’s head bounced off the hard ground and his vision dimmed, blurred and cleared again.
As his senses returned, he saw the dwarf standing over him with his axe raised high in both hands. Sweat beaded on his leathered face and brow beneath his helm, seeming to well up in his white beard. Tiyarnon sensed that deep down Rolin, too, was fighting the possession of the demon, though his eyes were glazed over. He held out his hand, but before he could utter another word, the axe came down.
Tiyarnon closed his eyes, accepting his fate.
Nothing happened.
A moment later however, he opened his eyes. The head of the axe was to the left of his head and Rolin Hardbeard stood over him still, bent on one knee now and breathing heavily, the sweat pouring down his face. He tossed his helm to the ground and his eyes met Tiyarnon’s, the familiar fire once more behind them.
“That durned demon ain’t gonna claim you or me or any of us this day,” Rolin declared matter-of-factly to his friend and companion. He looked around and saw Nimaira unconscious on the ground many paces away and also saw the crushed horse, the chestnut stallion that Tiyarnon had grown to love.
“What in all of Pandemonium be this?” Rolin asked, truly puzzled by the scene.
“You… don’t recall,” Tiyarnon stated rather than asked. “The demon clouds your mind and memory when he takes it over.”
‘I… did I—?” Rolin asked, pointing to the unmoving body of Nimaira and looking at Tiyarnon with eyes so wide they seemed akin to silver coins. Tiyarnon shook hi
s head.
“She lives,” Tiyarnon replied with conviction. Rolin finally released the breath he’d involuntarily been holding and strapped the axe to his back again.
“I’m thinkin’ he be gone now,” Rolin said.
“Aye,” Tiyarnon agreed, nodding to the wise dwarf. “He must have been taken further away from us.”
“Then we better get movin’,” Rolin said, helping Tiyarnon slowly to his feet.
Tiyarnon shook his head. “We aren’t following the thing anymore this day.”
This drew a shocked stare of disbelief from the dwarf, who looked as though he had been kicked in the gut. His face began a series of strange expressions. His thick, white eyebrows raised and then lowered, his brow furrowed and wrinkled, making him seem as if he were physically injured.
“I ain’t one fer quittin’!” Rolin finally managed, as he watched Tiyarnon move over towards Nimaira and utter a prayer of healing over her.
“My supplications go unanswered as I have been spreading the word of The Shimmering One to those in need since the first light of dawn,” Tiyarnon admitted to the dwarf, when he had finished tending to Nimaira. “I am tired and beaten, and Cyrza is too dangerous for us—specifically us—to deal with. He knows us too well!”
Nimaira came to, hearing the voices through her fuzzy senses, and focused just as her two companions were arguing. She attempted to speak, but the words never formed as she flinched and grabbed at her injury, uttering something unintelligible instead. Tiyarnon’s healing abilities helped ease the pain, but could not mend the jaw, for he was weak and tired both mentally and physically. Tiyarnon and Nimaira both feared that it was most likely broken from the impact of the mighty dwarf’s blow.
The Beginnings Omnibus: Beginnings 1, 2, 3 & Legend of Ashenclaw novella (Realm of Ashenclaw Beginnings Saga) Page 18
