Tamara stepped out from behind the boulders and struck the end of her staff against the ground, and the power exploded from her in a rush.
The ground folded and rippled, the grassy earth snapping like a banner caught in the wind. She had enough skill to steer the distortion around the militiamen, and it hurtled into the muridachs like a storm. It threw the ratmen from their feet and flung them to the ground, and the militiamen seized their opening. Tamara had timed her spell perfectly. The men of Kalimnos sprang upon the muridachs, spears and swords rising and falling, and a score of the creatures died in the blink of an eye.
The fighting began in earnest then. Tamara flung her spells into the fray, trying to assist the men of Kalimnos. She couldn’t fold the ground again, not when they were fighting in such close-packed ranks, but she could affect the battle in other ways. Her magic plunged into the earth, calling up roots to entangle the muridachs, and the men of Kalimnos struck before the muridachs could pull themselves free. Or she conjured curtains of sleeping mist and swept it across the muridachs. The ratmen were resistant to nearly all diseases and drugs, but the mist stunned them long enough for the militiamen to strike home.
A wailing war cry rang over the battle, and Magatai charged atop Northwind. The struthian raced circles around the battle. As Northwind ran, Magatai loosed arrow after arrow into the fray. He looked as if he was firing recklessly, but he was not. Every one of his bronze-tipped arrows thudded home, sinking into muridach flesh, and such was his skill that sometimes he managed to drive an arrow through the beady black eye of a ratman.
The muridachs had taken a tremendous pounding, and the survivors broke and ran, scattering in all directions. Magatai whooped and started after them, shooting the fleeing ratmen in the back.
Two of the muridachs charged towards Tamara.
She cast another spell, calling earth magic and pouring it into her staff. The staff glowed purple in her hands. That didn’t seem to slow down the muridachs. The muridachs did not think highly of humans, and no doubt did not consider her a serious threat.
That changed when she swung her staff and caught the first muridach on the chest. Her spell had charged the staff with the essence of granite, making it as hard as stone, and it had also given the staff the power of a falling boulder.
The blow caved in the muridach’s chest.
The second muridach slashed at her, and Tamara whirled in time and got her staff up. The magical aura still surrounded the weapon, and the bronze sword shattered against the wooden staff. The muridach stumbled, and Tamara brought the staff down in a clumsy one-handed swing. It wasn’t a good blow, but with her magic charging the weapon, it didn’t matter. The muridach’s skull disintegrated in a burst of black fur and red blood and gray brains, and the creature collapsed.
The purple light winked out, and all the strength drained out of Tamara in a rush. She leaned against her staff with a gasp, breathing hard, feeling as exhausted as if she had just spent the entire day laboring in her father’s kitchens. Her magic might have been powerful, but mortal flesh had limits, and she had just slammed into hers.
She looked around, trying to pull together power for another spell, but there was no need.
The battle was over.
###
That evening Tamara sat at a table in the common room of the Javelin Inn, Magatai across from her, a clay cup of her father’s beer in his hand.
“A fine victory, Earthcaller!” said Magatai, lifting his cup.
“Yes,” said Tamara, lifting her own cup in answer. God and the saints, but she felt tired. She ought to have helped the maids and the saurtyri in their work, she knew. The inn was packed with men come to celebrate the victory.
And it had been a victory. Fifteen men lightly wounded, but no men dead, and the muridach foraging party had been driven off.
But Tamara was so tired, and she didn’t want to sleep.
The nightmares awaited her when she slept.
“A victory,” she repeated.
“Why so solemn?” said Magatai, draining half his cup with a hearty swallow. “We are alive, and the enemy is not. The proper way to celebrate a victory is to get drunk and then lie with each of your wives in succession.”
“I don’t have any wives,” said Tamara. “And neither do you, my friend.”
Magatai barked out a laugh at that, and Tamara felt herself smile.
They had an odd friendship, she and the halfling warrior, but they were friends. In a way, they were both outsiders. Hardly shunned outsiders, to be sure. Tamara loved her family, and Magatai had the honor of a warrior of his tribe. Yet Tamara’s magic and strange dreams marked her as an outsider. The spiraling tattoos on Magatai’s arms marked him as an outsider in their own way. He was a Takai warrior who had completed the Blood Quest to the ruins of Cathair Avamyr and come out again, and that set him apart from the other Takai.
Not that it ever seemed to trouble him.
“No,” said Magatai. “Magatai will take four wives, he thinks. Two plain ones, to cook and clean and look after his herds and tents. Two pretty ones, to amuse him in bed.”
“You’ve thought it out sensibly, I see,” said Tamara with a laugh.
“It is good to think things out sensibly,” said Magatai. “What troubles you? More nightmares?”
“Yes,” said Tamara, staring into what remained of her beer.
Magatai shrugged. “Even though you are a woman, you are a warrior. Like Magatai, though he is not a woman. But sometimes warriors have nightmares. Even Magatai sometimes dreams of Cathair Avamyr.”
“I know,” said Tamara. “And sometimes I dream of the things I have seen.” She met his green eyes. “But I often dream of things I have never seen. Deaths I have never experienced. A warrior with gray eyes and a green sword who seems so important to me, but whom I have never seen in the waking world.”
“It is as Magatai has said,” said Magatai. “Your ancestors have blessed you with visions.”
Tamara shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. We do not pray to our ancestors as the Takai do.”
Magatai scoffed. “Yes, you do. Why else do you pray to the saints, if not to ask your ancestors for their guidance?”
“It doesn’t work that way,” said Tamara. “We only pray to God. We ask the saints to intercede for us with the Dominus Christus.”
“And the Takai people pray to the Dominus Christus, too,” said Magatai. “We also pray to the ancestors as well. One must show respect to one’s elders.”
Tamara smiled. Arguing theology with Magatai was a waste of time since Magatai was utterly confident in himself and whatever he happened to be thinking at the moment.
“But these visions, these dreams,” said Tamara. “Do you think I’m going insane?”
“Mmm. All humans are insane. It is your nature. The human women especially.”
“What do you really think?” said Tamara. “No jokes, no warrior’s boasting. What do you really think, my friend?”
Magatai frowned, took a drink of beer, set his cup down. “Magatai thinks you have a mighty destiny. He thinks both the Dominus Christus and your ancestors have chosen you to do great things. What those things are, Magatai has no idea. He is a simple man who enjoys fighting and beautiful women. But he thinks you have a mighty fate before you.”
“I sometimes wonder,” said Tamara, “if these visions come from the Tower of Nightmares. If my destiny is to go into there and face the dark power within. Maybe…”
“No,” said Magatai. “You should not go there. It would be a mighty deed, yes. But even Magatai would not go to the Tower of Nightmares, and he is the boldest of all Takai warriors. Should you go there, you will die.”
“Maybe that would be better,” said Tamara. “To die, rather than to go mad when these dreams overwhelm me.” She shook her head. “I am twenty-five years old, but I remember dying six different times.”
Magatai grunted. “Twenty-five years old. Long past time for you to have a husband. That w
ill cure your woes. You need a man who is dumb, but vigorous.”
Tamara snorted. “Somehow the, ah…the marital act is your solution to every problem.” Not that she could cast stones on that account. A few years ago, she had seduced a traveling merchant who had caught her eye, wondering if it would make her feel better. It wasn’t as if she could ever marry, after all. It had been a pleasant enough experience, and she had taken care not to become pregnant, but it hadn’t taken the edge off her nightmares. No doubt the merchant had thought that he would break her heart when he left Kalimnos, but Tamara had already forgotten him.
Strange that she could not forget her nightmares so easily.
“Well, it is most pleasant,” said Magatai. “It is a pity you are a human. If you were a halfling woman, Magatai would make you his senior wife, and give you command and authority over all his other wives and his household.”
“Alas, I fear I would be unworthy of such an honor,” said Tamara with a smile.
“Well,” said Magatai. He finished his beer and stood. “Magatai must return to Tumak Valatai and his tribe. Should we find word of more muridachs prowling through your lands, Magatai will return to lead you to them.”
“Thank you,” said Tamara. “Be sure to stop and see Sir Rion on your way out. He will have a gift for the Tumak.”
Magatai offered her a flourishing Takai bow and swaggered from the common room.
Tamara watched him go and then gazed into what remained of her beer. It had been a good day. She had seen enough fights to know that such one-sided victories were rare.
It should have cheered her.
It didn’t.
Because she knew that when she slept tonight, she would die in flames. Or get stabbed from behind. Or drown.
Tamara got to her feet and went to help in the kitchens, tired as she was.
The longer she stayed awake, the longer the nightmares would not trouble her.
Chapter 8: The Lord of Carrion
Five days after leaving Aenesium, Third and Ridmark scouted through the heart of the Pass of Ruins.
It was something she had done with Ridmark many times before.
In a way, Third found it comforting. Her life had been consumed in violence from the moment she had transformed into an urdhracos. After the Traveler had been slain and his dominating influence removed from her mind, she had gone to Nightmane Forest to die, intending to end her life in battle.
Instead, Ridmark had found her, defeated her, and her third life had begun.
The years of relative peace after the defeat of the Frostborn had been good for Andomhaim and Queen Mara’s Anathgrimm, but Third remained restless. She had traveled around Andomhaim, performing tasks for Mara, and when Antenora and High King Arandar had told her about the disappearance of the Shield Knight and the Keeper, Third had welcomed the challenge.
She had wanted to find her friends again.
Third had not, however, expected the journey to change her.
She glanced around the Pass of Ruins, watchful as ever. It was chilly this high in the mountains, the coldest she had been since coming to Owyllain. Granted, compared to the winters of the Northerland back in Andomhaim, it still wasn’t that cold. The Pass was a high, wide valley that threaded its way through the Gray Mountains, grass and small trees growing on the valley floor.
Ruins clung to the valley’s walls.
It seemed that the gray elves, or the Liberated as they called themselves, had indeed settled here.
Third saw soaring towers of white stone rising from the rock of the valley. In places, they passed reliefs showing scenes of gray elven armies triumphing over armies of dark elves and orcs, or statues of gray elves in armor and robes. The gray elven ruins reminded Third of the many dark elven ruins she had visited over the centuries. They were built of the same kind of white stone and had something of the same proportions and architecture. Yet the buildings of the gray elves had nothing of the unsettling, alien look of dark elven ruins. The gray elven ruins simply looked beautiful, though solemn in their half-crumbled state.
Most of the dark elven ruins in Andomhaim had been destroyed by the urdmordar. Here, Third supposed, these ruins had been destroyed by the Sovereign, the dark elven lord who had forged the Seven Swords and perished below the gates of Urd Maelwyn…and who had somehow set all this in motion.
She looked ahead to see Ridmark pick up a long branch and frown at it.
“No,” said Third. “That will not make a proper staff. The balance is all wrong.”
Ridmark grimaced. “You’re right.” He tossed the branch aside. “A pity those fire drakes burned my bamboo staff at Argin. Now that was a fine staff. Light, strong, and properly balanced.”
“Perhaps we will find another one at Kalimnos,” said Third. “Sir Tamlin and Lady Kalussa say that bamboo comes from the swamps of the xiatami on the eastern side of the River Morwynial and that bold traders sometimes pass through Kalimnos on their way to Najaris.”
“Perhaps,” said Ridmark. “I hope instead we find this seventh shard, and that we also find some answers.”
“That would be welcome,” said Third. “My sister was most annoyed that the Guardian Rhodruthain brought you here against your will. I would like some answers when I return to her.”
“As would I,” said Ridmark. He glanced at the ruins, his blue eyes flicking over the slopes. “Let’s go another mile, and then we’ll rejoin the others. It seems we are the only travelers in the Pass of Ruins today.”
“That may not last,” said Third. “We have passed at least a dozen entrances to the Deeps in the last two days, and more may be concealed within the ruins. Creatures from the Deeps could emerge at any moment.”
“Agreed,” said Ridmark. “Which is why we’ll rejoin the others. But I don’t think we’ll find any ambushes up here.”
“No,” said Third.
She hesitated. This indecision was unlike her, but it had accompanied the change that had come over her after arriving in Owyllain.
No, best to get it over with. Perhaps Ridmark would understand.
“You gave good counsel to Sir Calem before we departed Aenesium,” said Third.
Ridmark snorted. “Did I? I hope so. He and Kalussa have been spending enough time together. It is just as well.” He sighed. “You know me well enough that I can admit this to you. Kalussa wanted to become my concubine, and refusing her was difficult. It is a relief that she has settled her attention upon another man.”
Third nodded. “You are a man of strong drives. I was always surprised that you did not take a lover among the human women who sheltered in Nightmane Forest during the war with the Frostborn.”
Ridmark shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself. And back then…I was more interested in revenge.”
“Resisting physical desire is difficult,” said Third.
Ridmark snorted. “That it is.”
“And that…is why I wish to ask your counsel,” said Third.
Ridmark blinked in surprise. “My counsel?”
“Yes,” said Third. “I do not know what to do.”
“About what?” said Ridmark. “Something has been bothering you, I know.”
Third nodded. “When I first met Lady Calliande in Nightmane Forest, she wondered if you and I were lovers.”
Ridmark blinked again. “Did she, now?”
“She is, at times, somewhat possessive of you,” said Third.
“Well, I am her husband, so I suppose she is within her rights,” said Ridmark. “And…I love you as my own sister, Third, if I had ever had a sister, but…”
“I understand,” said Third. “You are my best friend. My first friend, in truth. But I do not desire you. I do not desire any human man. I simply do not.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it is my dark elven blood. Or my time as an urdhracos.”
“What the Traveler forced you to do,” said Ridmark, voice grim.
“Yes,” said Third. The Traveler had compelled her to take a beautiful guis
e and lie with some of his prisoners. And then, at the moment of the prisoners’ climax, the urdhracos she had been had resumed her true shape and torn out their throats. “After that, I had no desire for physical intimacy.” She sighed. “But since finding you and the others, I have begun feeling strange. At times I feel flushed, and my mind sometimes wanders from the task at hand.”
“You’re not sick, are you?” said Ridmark.
“I thought so, at first,” said Third. “But then I realized the truth. I am physically attracted to Kyralion and desire to sleep with him, and…I do not know what to make of this fact.”
Ridmark considered that for a few moments.
“Do you want to talk to Calliande about this?” said Ridmark. “She might be able to give you better advice than I could.”
“No,” said Third. “And also no. I esteem the Keeper greatly…but she does not know me as you do. She was not there when I wished to die. She was not there when I ceased to be an urdhracos and began my third life. You were, and it would not have happened without your help. It is your counsel that I wish.”
“Very well,” said Ridmark. He took a long breath. “Then I will advise you if I can.” He thought for a moment. “Are you in love with Kyralion?”
“I do not know,” said Third. “I have never experienced it before, and therefore cannot make an accurate assessment.”
“All right,” said Ridmark. “A different question, then. What do you think of Kyralion?”
“He is a brave man, and has helped us selflessly,” said Third. “Without his help, we might not have defeated King Justin or the Necromancer.”
“And Khurazalin would have killed us all at the banquet if Kyralion hadn’t been there,” said Ridmark.
“That is right,” said Third. She hadn’t been there for that fight. “And he is loyal to his people, which is admirable. I do not think…”
She fell silent, sorting through her thoughts. Ridmark let her do so. Which was one of the reasons Third had preferred to ask him about this instead of Calliande.
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