Drun could do nothing but watch. Never in his long life had he felt so useless. Roth would ruin all their long plans. For it to die saving Tirielle would ruin all he had waited for. It would skew and shatter the prophesy. But then, what did it matter? The revenant had eaten the last wizard. They fought for nothing. There was no hope, only to fight until the last.
Perhaps, he thought, watching Roth scale the great beast like a mountainside, that was all there was come the end. To fight.
Tirielle watched with tears in her eyes as Roth, streaming flames, crawled up the revenant’s shoulder. She saw it meant to tear at the revenant, even as the rahken died, but it was too slow, dying as it was. Roth’s usual preternatural speed had deserted it.
The rearing beast roared its defiance as it snatched Roth from its shoulder and squeezed it in one enormous hand. Steaming blood dripped from its hand where Shorn had wounded it, but he too had died in vain. She could do nothing but watch as another brave warrior died trying to save her from her ultimate fate.
The great beast snatched her friend up. It was all Tirielle could do to close her eyes against the sight of the rahken’s death, but she could not drown out Roth’s cries of agony as it was crushed in that huge bony paw.
Mercifully, it was over soon. She turned her head away as the revenant stuffed Roth into its mouth and swallowed.
It was time for her to do her duty. She had lost enough. She was ready to go to her death.
What more could she lose? Perhaps the revenant would allow Drun to go. Surely he could continue the fight, even without the red wizard. He had power enough. He could rally the rahkens (who would tell Roth’s parents, now that she was gone?…but there was no time to worry about the living anymore).
She walked, once again, toward the beast. The pathway seemed unnaturally long, as though it stretched out eternally. But then she knew time and distance were the same thing, warped by pain. And her pain was immense. She only wished she had not lost more on the pathway to make her sacrifice. If only she could have given her life to save others, but instead it was a hollow death. She had saved no one.
She raised her hands in supplication and stood trembling before the beast. It roared, with pleasure, she thought…but its voice was cut off.
Suddenly, it was gurgling, bubbling like the boiling lava around her. Blood burst from its throat, spraying across the cavern in a great steaming arc, and Roth tumbled lifelessly out from the gaping wound, a burnt, dead husk.
The revenant fell silent, its throat torn out.
She watched in amazement, and terror, and pity for the fallen, as the monster slowly crumpled to one massive knee. Almost sedately, after the pace of the fight, it keeled over, dead.
The tremor shook her to her knees. Then its head fell into the lake of fire and caught light. The flames burned high.
She found her feet again. She ran to Roth, who lay steaming, crippled and lifeless.
At the last, Roth had saved her. How many had died to save her? And she had not even been able to save her friend.
“Oh, Roth,” she cried, cradling the rahken in her arms. “What have you done?”
She emitted a startled cry as Roth croaked, “Only what I was made to do. Mourn me not, Tirielle, for I was always the Sacrifice. It was my fate to bear, not yours.”
Its body was broken, a shattered lump of meat, but still it managed a smile for her. “I am only glad I found the courage in the end.”
“You are full of courage, Roth. A more courageous creature I have never met.”
“And yet, I knew fear.”
“We all do, Roth,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry…you lost…so much…” It managed, and the final death rattle came from its throat. She hugged it to her breast, crying freely now.
The flames licked the air around her.
A hand took her arm.
“We must go, Tirielle. There is no wizard, but the day is not yet done. My brothers need me. We must leave Roth behind. I need you to help me carry Shorn.”
“I’ll carry myself,” said Shorn, approaching from behind them. He was cradling his arm. Blood was streaming from a deep laceration in his scalp, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.
Drun stood, pulling Tirielle from Roth’s body.
“Come. We may have lost today, but we fight on until the last breath. The return is nearing, and we must fight with the tools we have.”
“Give me a moment to catch my breath,” said Shorn, his voice rasping and wracked with pain.
Tirielle’s tears fell freely, but she straightened her back and took Shorn around the waist. He winced, but he couldn’t be picky. He needed a shoulder to lean on.
“It was brave, in the end. I would have liked to thank it.”
Tirielle just nodded mutely, and pulled Shorn along, toward the path.
A tearing sound came from behind them, and they turned as one. Shorn’s sword rose, always his first response to a threat. But his knees were trembling, and his head was pounding.
Fire licked at the revenants whole body, spreading fast. It was not rising again, but something was coming. Its belly was being pushed upward, bulging out against the revenant’s insides. There was a wet ripping sound, and a hand pushed through, covered in some sickly fluid.
Shorn held his sword out in one quavering hand. Fire burned inside his arm. It was broken, but somehow he still found the strength to hold his blade.
Tirielle finally drew her daggers. “I’m not dying anymore,” she said.
The hand was followed by an arm, a face, and then a man was pulling himself over the beasts burning belly, stepping through the flames. It was covered, red from head to foot, no doubt with the beast’s lifeblood.
But who, or what, could survive in such a creature’s insides?
The emergent man spat something unthinkable from his mouth, and the corners turned into a toothy smile.
Then he opened his eyes and fierce burning light blinded them all. They could see nothing but the blood red afterglow.
“I am Caeus,” it said, in a voice that was not human, not human at all.
Tirielle left Shorn and ran at the thing, more hideous in its lack of humanity than even a protocrat, more alien in countenance than the revenant, screaming defiance. She would not be tricked at the last.
As she thrust the dagger at the creature, its red eyes blazed and she flew backward.
He closed his terrible eyes for a moment, and the world dimmed and flared, then suddenly the remainder of the Sard appeared, blinking, shocked, in the room. Renir, Wen and Bourninund appeared an instant later, Renir crying out in shock.
Chapter Ninety-Six
The force holding him back disappeared in the wink of an eye, and surprised, Klan blinked. In that moment the fiery rage of the mountain descended on him, a ton of molten lava streaming around him, filling his mouth, running between his toes and fingers, burning his robe from his back and searing his skin with a pain he could not imagine possible.
He screamed, and did the only thing he could. He turned the lava back to stone.
Chapter Ninety-Seven
“It is so good to be alive again,” said the last wizard, glowing brighter than the fires leaping around the plateau. “I am most grateful,” it said with a smile that did not touch its burning eyes, eyes infested by the blight.
“My time has come again, and my brothers come. I have much work to do.”
“Never!” cried Drun, who blazed with golden light, but the red wizard, red from head to toe, merely flicked a finger and Drun’s glorious light winked out in an instant. Then he raised his hands and spoke a short incantation, more out of habit than necessity.
In its wake, the cavern under the mountain was deserted. They disappeared from the mountain, back into a world more terrible than anyone could imagine, a world in which the Elethyn, the bastard sons of Carious and Dow, had returned.
The last of the Sun Destroyers, Caeus, would once more shake Rythe to its very
core.
Epilogue
Summer fades, and time moves on. It is a time of legends. The end of legends. It is only fitting that the leaves, as heroes, fall.
Heroes are made every day, as long as there is a witness, solitary, perhaps, but one with the power of words to build the legend, and as the old fade, new ones are born.
On Sturma, brave men fought on without a leader, a thousand songs went unsung as the fallen grew and fewer remained to tell the tales of deeds done by those about to die.
On Lianthre, the rahken nation rises, as does a strange continent, far out in the forgotten oceans, unseen, but felt, by the Seafarers. Mountains crumbled, the suns shone, seas flowed over new lands and around the old.
And on the trees, leaves turned, ready to fall.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-4067d3-0c41-c843-7cb2-5bfa-4881-e45665
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 21.02.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.18, Fiction Book Designer, Fiction Book Investigator, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Saunders, Craig
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Tides of Rythe trt-2 Page 35
