The Trials Of Ashbarn ( Book 5)

by Jeff Gunzel

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “A small price to pay for the lives of thousands. Wouldn’t you agree?” She left without waiting for a response.

  * * *

  There came a light rap at the door. Berkeni winced at the sound. “I’ve got it,” said Addel quietly. She opened the door a crack, then gasped. She flung it open before stepping back.

  Ilirra entered, wearing the most beautiful set of armor Addel had ever seen. The Queen seemed to glow in her white link chainmail, running down her front like the scales of a reptile, caressing her arms like a fine silk dress. It was a gleaming, polished white, with an even brighter yellow star branded on the chest. She wore a golden helm with small metal wings on either side. A long nose guard ran down her face. It held the likeness of a bird’s beak.

  At her side hung a black leather sheath, housing her white-bladed sword, the golden pommel’s crossbar encrusted with green emeralds. The very end of the pommel was shaped like a dove’s head, the beak hooking downward. “Is everything ready?” asked Ilirra, voice hard as steel.

  “Y-Yes, my lady,” said Addel, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. Never had she seen such an exquisite set. Such striking armor must have come from the world of dreams. It belonged on display, behind thick glass, not worn into battle. “We have their exact location and can begin whenever you’re ready. But Berkeni and I can only hold it open for a few moments. After that,” she sighed sadly, the gravity of the situation really sinking in, “the doorway will close. We will have no way of bringing you back.”

  “Won’t you please reconsider, my lady?” Berkeni pleaded. “Surely there must be another way.”

  “Alright then, I’ve reconsidered,” said Ilirra, hands suddenly folded across her chest. Berkeni stared at her with bewilderment. “I’ve decided to leave the people of Taron to their fate. Let our outmatched army hold out as long as they can before fleeing for their lives. Who knows, perhaps even a few loyalists may fight to the death.” The corner of her lip turned up in a partial smile.

  Berkeni seemed to deflate. He wilted where he stood, yet still managed to return a partial smile. “I understand, my lady. You must do your duty, and I must do mine.” He walked near the far wall, placing his hands against it. Addel moved to the other side, mirroring his pose. “Be careful, my lady,” he whispered, far too softly for anyone to hear.

  After a few nonsensical mutterings from each of the mystics, the wall itself began to crackle with energy. A staticky golden light shimmered across the paint before taking the shape of a circle. With her head high and jaw set, Ilirra stepped through.

  The people of Taron went about their business like any other day. Blacksmiths hammered away at iron ingots, slowly working their magic while blocks of metal gradually transformed into brilliant blades. Tavern owners rolled large barrels of ale from flatbed wagons, stocking up for another evening that promised more thirsty customers. Oil merchants, mercers, and spicers all went about their business as usual.

  The way they saw it, life was simply promised to them. Nothing could ever harm this great city, or threaten its existence. None but a handful knew what the Queen had risked to save her people. The common citizen needn’t be bothered with such disturbing knowledge. They went to work every day. That was enough. Let true sacrifices fall on the shoulders of others, thus leaving them alone. Let someone else pay for the price of freedom.

  Such is the way of being a silent leader, hidden in the shadows so as not to burden anyone. Such is the way of heroes...

  * * *

  Filista rode her horse out in front, allowing for a generous distance between herself and the other crytons. Her black mount, large and muscular with big blue eyes akin to an insect rather than a horse, whinnied before snorting in protest. It didn’t seem to like feeling so exposed, so out in the open compared to the tight formation behind them, most of who were on foot.

  But her mount’s unjustified fears were the least of her concerns. This was to be her moment of glory. The very moment in time when history was rewritten. And this time, the humans would be the ones on the losing side. But their roles wouldn’t be completely reversed. She had no intention of sending the humans into hiding, the way the crytons had been forced to do. No, she thought to herself. There must not be any future opportunities for revenge. They cannot be allowed to regroup years from now. They must be watched at all times.

  As always, the astute woman’s forward thinking was ten steps ahead. The humans would be no match for her forces, that much was clear. Once the crytons linked, grouping their energy circles, their victory would be a foregone conclusion. But was that really what she wanted? What good is a decimated kingdom filled with slaughtered humans? That would serve no purpose. I don’t want to crush Taron... I want to rule it!

  She never intended to end their society, but rather absorb them. Let them go about their daily lives as always, but do it under cryton rule, under the watchful eyes of a superior race that would still allow the pathetic creatures a modest amount of freedom.

  This was where the battle itself would be key. The loss of human life needed to be kept minimal in order to display some level of benevolence. They must fear us, respect us, and then ultimately, forget us. Within a years’ time they will feel as if they have always been under cryton rule. If there was one credit she could give humans, it was their versatility. They could easily adapt to a forced lifestyle, as had been proven by their multiple forms of government throughout the centuries.

  Filista had to remember to slow down. With the details of her plan coming to life in her head, the excitement building in her bones, she had lost herself and gotten far ahead of the others. She decided it was best to stop altogether and let them catch up.

  Suddenly, her horse reared up in a fit of terror, nearly throwing Filista to the ground. The air in front of them began to glimmer a golden yellow. The frightened horse stomped up and down on its front hooves several times before Filista finally regained control. Even then, it pranced sideways trying to get away from the eerie sight. Ilirra materialized through the golden doorway. It snapped shut behind her with a popping sound and a small burst of golden sparkles.

  At first, Filista didn’t know what to do. The alarming sight had caught her completely caught off guard. The eerie light show had not been a subtle thing, and she immediately heard the rumble of running feet behind her. The sound of her troops coming brought some much-needed courage.

  “I assume you are the commander here,” said Ilirra, staring right into the eyes of the mounted cryton before her. Although she didn’t understand her words, Filista had no doubt as to who this was.

  The standoff ensued, their eyes locked in an unblinking stare, neither looking away. Even when a swarm of crytons scampered up to the duo, surrounding Ilirra in a flash with a circle of spearheads pressed against her neck, the Queen’s eyes remained locked on Filista, ignoring the immediate threat as if they weren’t even there.

  Filista motioned to one of the men. He was very short by cryton standards, just under six feet, with not a single hair on his head. He scampered up and stood beside her, head low, awaiting his orders. But he already knew why she had summoned him. A researcher of sorts amongst their people, he had long studied the humans and was quite adapt at speaking their language. Filista spoke out, a guttural hissing language that always sounded angry. Ilirra didn’t think her tongue was capable of making those sounds, even if she ever learned their language.

  The smaller cryton looked to Ilirra and repeated the words in common. “You are either mad or a fool. I expected more sense from a Queen.” His pronunciation was perfect, but the words came out shaky and unsure. A decent translator he was; a proficient public speaker...not so much.

  Growing tired of the surrounding spears pointed at her throat, Ilirra unleashed her sword in a flash of white. In one fluid movement, she spun about with astonishing explosiveness; sheared spearheads flew up into the air. Completing her spin, she sheathed her glorious weapon, then dropped her arms to
her side. Metal points rained down around her while she stood passively in a nonthreatening pose. The surrounding crytons leapt back, suddenly holding nothing but wooden shafts, their eyes barely able to comprehend what had just happened. Filista calmly raised a hand, stopping the others from advancing.

  “I am neither,” said Ilirra, her voice ringing out sharp and clear in a stark contrast to the nervous man. “I am both,” she shrugged, eyebrows rising. “I am whatever the people need me to be.” The Queen burned with hatred in the company of this deceiver. The warrior within her stirred, pleading to make her presence known, begging to be released one last time so she could spill this traitor’s blood across the ground. With an effort, Ilirra suppressed the assassin within. Those days were over, and a queen must always carry herself with dignity, despite her dark urges.

  The short man relayed the message then promptly received another. This choppy exchange would have to suffice as far as communications went. He took a deep breath then delivered, “I assume you’ve already figured out that resistance is futile. So perhaps you’ve come to beg for your life?”

  The angry warrior stirred once again. Ilirra contained it by a hair. Of all the things she wanted to say, of all the traitorous accusations she should make on behalf of the people, one question burned on the tip of her tongue. One question required an immediate answer above all others. “What have you done to Shantis? Where is my friend and ally?”

  Filista’s ever-present smirk faded. Would she never be rid of that blasted woman’s legacy? She grabbed the short man’s collar angrily even before he finished translating the question, then barked into his ear. He turned back, pale and visibly shaken. “The traitor you speak of is no longer among us. She has run off like a coward to live in the woods with the other rebels. To scavenge for food, competing with birds, squirrels, and all other lower life forms. Offend me again and your people will join her.”

  Ilirra masked a sigh of relief. Shantis was still alive somewhere. She wanted to find her friend, to try and enlist aid from these so-called rebels. But all of that would have to wait. She had to stop this force from invading Taron, and no price was too high. “Enough of this game! As queen of Taron, I am charged with the defense of its people. Thousands of lives will be spared if the two of us can just reach a compromise.”

  Ilirra waited, watching the face of Filista as the man spoke. Her smirk returned, yellow eyes sparkling with delight even while she gave him her reply. He turned to Ilirra, a solemn expression on his face. The Queen felt a slight twinge of guilt at seeing his face. The poor man obviously didn’t want to be here. “The thousands of spared lives you speak of would be human, not cryton. What do you think to offer me that I couldn’t take myself?”

  Ilirra sighed, then for the first time, hung her head in defeat. She already knew it would come to this, and had made peace with herself over this sacrifice. Tugging at her buckle, loosening the leather belt that held her sheath, her glorious sword fell to the ground. “Despite your arrogance, you know both sides would incur great loses. And even after the dust settles, and the mighty walls of Taron are stained red with blood, the people will never follow you. Surely you know that.”

  Filista’s high-cheeked smirk faded once again while the man chattered in her ear. Were the humans more resistant than she once believed? Would they still not recognize her superiority, even after their army was beaten soundly? And even after that, still refuse to follow her? For the first time during this well-planned campaign, she felt a tinge of worry.

  “You ask what I have to offer. What can I give you that you can’t take on your own?” Ilirra reached behind her back, forcing many of the crytons to tense. Her clenched hand returned holding her golden crown, covered with colorful jewels. With a snap of her wrist, she flung it towards Filista, who caught it with one hand. The cryton stared at it, eyes wide with wonder and greed. “On your word, from one ruler to another, that none of my people be harmed,” Ilirra dropped to her knees, “I willingly offer you my title...as Queen. As long as no harm comes to my people, Taron is yours to do as you see fit.”

  Filista nearly drooled, eyeing the ornate headpiece. She gently placed it on her own head. Could she have ever hoped for more than this? With her hands stretched up to the sky, head leaning back, she spoke so softly the short man could hardly hear her. “I graciously accept your offer.”

  Chapter 14

  Eric, Eric, the gentle voice whispered in the wind. Now is not the time for sleep. You must rise. Eric’s eyes fluttered against the cool breeze blowing across his face. His limbs felt cold, his body numb. Faintly, he could feel the dust-filled spirals spinning gently around his body while icy winds gusted with a howl. The soft voice was a hollow sound, distant to his ears. Your time is up, Eric. You must rise. He ignored the bothersome voice that threatened his peaceful sleep. After all, this was nothing more than a bad dream. His father would come along any moment now and rouse him from this nightmare; pull him from his bed for yet another day of blacksmithing and training. Rise, Gate Keeper!

  His eyes jetted open, lungs filling with cold, dust-filled air. The sudden jolt forced him to cough, each spasm sending waves of white-hot pain through his ravaged body. Mercifully, the coughing began to slow, mostly due to his lungs running out of air. The weak coughs were now more like dry heaves. Eric sat up slowly, carefully, wincing in pain while looking around. Once again, seeing the rotted bodies scattered about made his spirit sink. This wasn’t a dream. He was here, alone, on this forsaken mountain in the middle of nowhere.

  But where was the giant? Where was the red-eyed, four-legged monster that had nearly killed him? The body was gone. Eric looked to where the opening in the mountain had been. It was sealed, walled off with stone as if nothing had ever come out. Gone? No, not gone, he thought. That creature is just another mysterious part of the trial. If another ever foolishly walks this path, it will be reborn again. It belongs to this mountain, a humble servant for all eternity.

  Ignoring his body’s protests of pain, he got back to his feet. The pathway before him was clearly marked, an uneven stairway carved directly into the stone. There was only one way to see where it led.

  In tremendous pain, Eric hobbled across the stone. But before taking the steps, something urged him to turn around. Something seemed...unfinished. He gazed around at the decayed bodies, most nothing but bone, and felt a peaceful sadness. Each of these men had given up their lives for something they deemed noble. Sure, more than one of them was almost certainly mad, but still attempted to do the impossible. And that, if for no other reason, deserved a bit of recognition.

  With legs unsteady, pain shooting through his body with each step, he approached one of the corpses. Its jaw hung open in a permanent laugh frozen in time, yet he remained forgotten by the outside world. Eric dipped his head with respect, then followed with a quiet prayer. He proceeded to stand before each of them in turn, lowering his head before offering words of peace. He made sure each prayer was different for each man. After all, these men were all unique, different people from different time periods. They deserved to be recognized as individuals.

  Returning to the bottom step, Eric addressed them all at once. Green lightning, still with no thunder attached, lit the sky, cascading Eric’s shadow in all different directions. “My fallen brothers,” he shouted, his clear voice slicing through the wind. “I stand before you now, humbled that I am able to push forward. And in this manner, I stand here not as your superior, but as your brother and equal. This cursed mountain has taken far too many lives. And I intend to end this dark game once and for all!”

  Jagged lightning struck the mountain just above the stone platform where he stood. The sizzling crack sent red-hot stones raining down around them. The wind picked up, howling like a wolf, wrapping his long, dark curls around his face. His dark-blue cloak began to flap wildly. He nearly had to scream to overcome the noise of the sudden wind. “Each of us were told that we must walk this path alone. But I don’t believe that. In my heart, I kno
w each of you is with me in spirit, and together, we will finish this as one.”

  Three more bolts struck the mountain in succession, two above and one on the stone platform. Its energy seemed to come to life, crackling about, leaping from body to body. The skeletal corpses began to glow, each one radiating its own light as if they were on fire. For a few moments, the light was brilliant. It was so painful to look at that Eric was forced to shield his eyes. After a few moments, the light faded away. Tentatively, he lowered his hands. The corpses were thoroughly charred, taking on a deep black color similar to coal. One by one, they crumbled to dust. Small piles of black soot were all that remained.

  Eric watched the piles of dust in disbelief. What did this mean? Had their long, slow sleep finally come to an end? “Be at peace, my brothers,” he whispered. Ready to resume his ascent, he started up the stone stairway before something grabbed his attention. A slight flutter from the corner of his eye. He turned back to look at the black piles of dust, only to witness something he could not explain. Shapeless wisps of gray mist hovered over each of them. The transparent clouds swayed back and forth to an unheard song.

  One by one, the bits of fog began to float towards Eric. He braced, not knowing what to do or what they wanted. Without warning, the first one rushed into his chest. Out of reflex, Eric threw up his hands to fend it off, but it was far too late. It wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. The wisp penetrated his cloak, funneling itself into his body. It left no open wounds, nor did it hurt, but he immediately began to sweat.

  His hands still up in defense, the others wisps surged forward, passing right through his arms and clothing. Each one slipped into his body with a whooshing sound. Eric dropped to his knees. Feverishly hot, he gazed around, his vision blurry. He watched as the piles of black ash sifted over the edge, carried away by a subtle breeze. The roaring winds were now gone.