His mind stretched toward Lethos. He remembered the little southerner as a dark man who had let his black hair grow long and who had sensibly adapted to life in Valahur. But he was more than that to him, wasn't he? His life had been bound to Lethos's in some way. Floating in darkness, it did not seem to matter. He once could have called to Lethos, but no more. The icy hand over his heart froze anything that tried to cross it.
A voice echoed through the black, and he felt a stirring of something like a body close to his. A woman's voice and a woman's touch, gentle but hesitant, seemed to slide over his chest. The contrast of warmth and cold thrilled him. He wanted to sit up. But had he been reclining?
"Grimwold, awaken. The need is great. You cannot sleep any longer."
He awakened, blinking into a vague light. He lay upon his bed, a rough brown wolf pelt covering his naked chest. He raised his head but glimpsed no more than the dim surroundings of his bedroom in the unsteady light of oil lamps. Seated at his left on the edge of the bed was a beautiful woman, lithe and brown from life beneath the sun. Her long, dark hair hung in a single braid over her shoulder. Her smile was bright white in the gloom.
"Kafara," he said slowly. "You went away. Said it was important."
"It was," she said. She wore a plain white dress that made her seem like an ancient princess of Ageos. Her hand was on Grimwold's chest, and he enjoyed the touch. It soothed the icy cold there. "I am sorry I never returned to you, and now it is too late."
He frowned at the thought, trying to remember. An urgent message from Lethos had called him out of bed. Raiders had come yet again. There had been a handful of ships, and he had used the power to force a retreat. Yet one resisted and shot him with an arrow. That had been the source of the cold. He stared down at his chest and backed up in shock.
Spreading over his breast was a green-black mark like spilled ink. It radiated cold deep into his body and created the hand that threatened to crush his heart. Kafara's hand covered it, but the black tendrils spilled out from beneath it as if trying to crawl away.
"What is this?" He crawled back as if he could escape his own body, the pelt sliding down to his waist. "I was struck with an arrow. How did I get back to my hall?"
"We are not in your hall," Kafara said, her hands now gathered to her lap. "We are in a place between worlds, neither alive nor dead. I cannot stay long here."
The words made his chest ache. The arrow was gone from his chest, but he felt a hard pain beneath his skin where the blackness spread. It was not a hand but an arrowhead that hovered over his heart.
"I was killed?" He rubbed the spot of his wound. "You told me Manifested could not be killed. My flesh is like iron, and whatever wound does find me heals in moments. How did an arrow from a flea-infested raider drop me?"
Now Kafara's face darkened and the glittering of her dark eyes seemed to dull. She gripped her hands as she looked away. "I never said we cannot be killed, only that it was hard to do. Our kind cannot be harmed by normal weapons. The magic of our brothers and sisters will harm us, as will certain other things."
"Other things? Was that what pierced my mail?" A flare of pain shot through his chest as he righted himself. He looked around the room and it was as solid as anything he knew. If this was a place between life and death, it appeared remarkably like life.
"Yes," Kafara said simply. "Those raiders had been first met by one of the First People, the Tsal. They have been the source of unrest in your land. They gave the most potent weapon against you to those raiders."
Grimwold stared at her. "It was just an arrow."
Kafara drew a labored breath and studied her hands. "I should have told you before Turo and I departed. We Manifested all have a weakness. Do you remember the trolls Amator created, and how they were dissolved with salt from the land of their creation?"
"I've touched salt since then and it never affected me."
"Of course not." She laughed and pushed her braid from her shoulder as she faced him. "But we have a weakness just like it. All Manifested are born over a stone in the earth. I do not know why. That stone is as fatal to us as the salt was to Amator's trolls. To anyone else it is but a lightweight stone that is no more lethal than a normal stone, perhaps even less so for its weight. But this stone can be fashioned into a weapon. It will cut and wound you as certainly as the sharpest iron blade would a normal man. And this stone will seek the heart. A blade made from it will strike true to the chest. An arrowhead made from it will fly unerringly to the heart."
"So the little bastard raider was given an arrowhead made from this stone, and the Tsal gave it?" Kafara nodded. "How did they find it?"
"It is not important now. That arrowhead is caught upon your bones or it would have long entered your heart. The Tsal enchanted the arrow to penetrate your mail. They wanted to ensure your death."
"Why?" Grimwold rubbed the back of his neck. "What have I done to them?"
"You led to the downfall of Amator. You interfered with their plans." Kafara shrugged. "And you unwittingly broke the pact when you did."
He was about to protest breaking an oath he had never made. Such a thing was impossible, but Kafara held up a hand. "Please, we only have the appearance of leisure here. In fact, you are in dire peril, and I must soon return to the mountain. Let us not argue. Turo and I willingly broke a pact made in an age of the world long forgotten. The gods are gone from the world, or else they care no longer for what happens. How can anyone understand the gods? In any case, the Tsal are more of a threat than the gods are now."
Grimwold scratched at the throbbing pain over his chest. Tsal and pacts and forgetful gods were both confusing and unimportant to him. "If we are straddling life or death, then why do I not see Danir's Hall? Am I to fall into the mist realms instead? I lived as the First Father wanted our people to live, true to my honor and true to glory in battle. I fell in battle, even if I was leaning on a bit of magic. I should not be denied my place in Danir's Hall."
"This is what your thoughts have created." Kafara slid from the bed and stood. "I am but a guest here. Now there are more important matters, yet so little time."
"If I'm dying, then how were you able to find me here? And where is Turo?"
Kafara gave a shy smile, then rubbed her left eye with the back of her hand. "If time allows, I will explain. You must first decide upon life or death. If you choose life, as I expect you will, then you will have to fight for it."
"Death is the coward's escape," Grimwold said. He sat now at the edge of the bed, the wolf pelt across his lap to cover his nakedness. "You don't have to ask me what I choose."
Kafara's smile widened. "Right now your body is laid out on a table inside what the Tsal call a white ark. In time, your friend Syrus will tell you much more if he lives. For now, know it is the ship the Tsal have used to find their way through the mists that prevent their return to our world. Lethos has braved much to find you, but he has let himself become cornered at the bottom of the ark. I have not seen more, but the Tsal captain Avulash will soon finish him off. You have not been killed as originally planned. They are using your blood much like Amator did with his trolls."
Grimwold's nostrils flared at the thought of being no better than livestock to these Tsal. He held his tongue and allowed Kafara to continue.
"With him is the last daughter of the High King, Valda. Eldegris has been slain, and his blood and flesh harvested for the Tsal's purposes. But for his son, the rest of his family and all of Norddalr suffered the same fate."
Shooting to his feet, the wolf pelt falling to the floor, Grimwold shouted. "No, how could he be killed? Even Amator in the shape of a dragon could not kill him. I thought he was one of us?"
"He was only a man, yet he was a paladin of the Order of Phyros. You know Phyros as Danir the First Father. If you return to life, you will learn about the Order. For now, you have to make a choice. Lethos might have help in escaping with your body, and is resourceful enough to make the best use of it. However, your old friend Sy
rus the Silver is soon to meet the dangers of the ancient Tsal. Like Lethos, he is trapped beyond help. With him is Eldegris's son, Thorgis. They will learn many great secrets to aid your fight against the Tsal--and trust me, to choose life is to choose to spend the rest of your days fighting the Tsal. But they may not survive to share what they learn."
Grimwold sank back to the bed, absently pulling the pelt back to his lap. "Why must I choose one? Can't I aid both?"
"Fate has conspired to place both in danger at the same time. You cannot divide your focus enough to be of any help to either one. I know you believe you are strong, but there is a reason you have imagined yourself in a bed. You are close to death. This may be your final act before returning to the mountain."
He couldn't help but look at both hands, expecting to find blood on his palms. Yet it was as Kafara said. He had no sense of death or a weakness in his bones. He squeezed both hands into fists, feeling his strength. Only the black mark on his chest and the soreness spreading from it told him he was in any danger.
"I don't know what you mean by a mountain," he said, still flexing his hands. "I will go to Danir's Hall."
"The mountain is the source of all magic. It is what has given all Manifested their near immortal lives. When we are finished we are absorbed back into the mountain. Our spirit is renewed, and maybe reborn again in another Manifested." Kafara wrapped both arms around her body as if she were cold. Her voice became smaller. "I don't really know what happens to our kind in death. It is a rare thing to die."
Grimwold sat up straighter at Kafara's words, staring at her. "You are near death too? That's why you're here. What has happened?"
Her smile became bitter. He listened in disbelief as she described her fight with the pair called Myrakka and Kelata. He had to lie down now. Knowing how easily Kafara had fallen made his head spin. Until now, he had regarded her almost as a goddess. Could she really be killed?
"Myrakka's knife is made from stone that slew the first of our kind. Perhaps the gods felt we were too strong and so placed this in the world to bring us fear. It can kill any one of us with a single stroke. When she drove the stone knife into my eye, I had no hope."
Grimwold's fear turned hot and he sat up again. "How could you have been so foolish? You knew she had this knife and she thought you were trying to kill her. Of course she would fight back."
"If I had wanted to kill her, I could have chewed her into pieces. I merely wanted her out of the way while we dealt with the Tsal. No Manifested has killed another in thousands of years." Kafara now sat beside Grimwold. She felt warm and solid, unlike the shade of death she was. "If you live, you should seek out Tirkin and Storra. I hesitate to say you can trust any of our people, but they at least aided Turo and me when we needed it. They will have to complete your education. Turo and I are finished."
"That's right, what of Turo?" Grimwold shifted on the bed to face Kafara. He drew back, realizing he could now see through Kafara's body.
"He will die in madness if left alone. But he will spend the last of his strength to strike a blow for me before he does. Turo would rather die in a glorious fight than in madness. I'm sure you understand."
Grimwold nodded. Staring at his own hands now, he realized he could see through them as well. In fact, he squinted at the room and everything was growing hazy. Kafara gave a small, tired laugh.
"Our time is at its end. I am not sorry for aiding you and Lethos. Many say I broke the balance when I did, and no doubt will see my death at Myrakka's hands as my restoring it. Others will know she and Kelata have only acted on a long-held desire to be rid of those who question their decisions. As hard as it is for me to believe, my time in this world is done. Even a life measured in thousands of years passes in the blink of an eye. None may outrun death, not even our kind."
Kafara stood and faced Grimwold. She extended both hands, her smile never wavering. It was as if she were inviting him to dance.
"Now, dear Grimwold, you have a choice to make. Both of your friends are desperate for aid. Which one will you go to?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lethos held still as the stairs creaked with the weight of whatever descended them. The heavy scent of blood filled his nose as he looked around for something to help him. He didn't even have a weapon of his own. He stood between the tables where Grimwold and Valda both lay unconscious. If only he could lie down beside them, maybe dying would be easier that way. As it was, he was going to have to fight. The lone door at the opposite end, dim in the wavering light of oil lamps, beckoned. Around his feet were the scattered tools and containers that had been used on Grimwold. Some looked like wicked insects of gleaming metal biting at his toes. He shoved them aside with his booted foot.
The creaking stopped. Whatever approached could not be that giant monstrosity animated with Grimwold's blood. It didn't seem to possess the grace to descend a flight of steps without crashing. The screeching, sniveling horde of painted slaves had recoiled from the last flight of steps. Avulash, then. The violet glow of his sword preceded his appearance in the archway.
His shadowed form lingered in silence. Lethos swallowed hard.
"For such an inspired escape, you took an interesting path to freedom." Avulash remained in darkness, glowing violet patterns swirling about his sword. "I am intrigued at your choice. Perhaps this is a trap for me? Surely no sane man would run to the bottom of my ship and expect to escape."
Well, there it is, he thought. I'd have studied philosophy had logic been my strong point.
Avulash took a tentative step inside, an orange light painted the gaunt contours of the right side of his face. His golden eyes seemed to glow with their own light. He pointed with his sword at Grimwold's body.
"You think to flood him with power so you might revive him? You Manifested have not improved your tricks in all the millennia we've been apart?"
"Well, it might have worked," he said. He hadn't thought of that idea but wanted to keep Avulash stalled. Anything to stave off death even just a moment longer.
Avulash's smile was forced. He stepped closer, moving with care that indicated he expected Lethos to spring a cunning trap.
"You do not feel what is beyond that door," Avulash said, pointing with his chin toward the opposite wall. "When I order the shields removed, none of your kind will be able to come within miles this ship. If I had it pulled down now, you and your friend would be fried like eggs on hot iron. It would be a pleasure to behold, but your blood is more valuable."
Lethos fought the impulse to look behind, knowing Avulash would strike in that moment. He must be speaking of wild stone, and Lethos shuddered at the thought. That had been what Amator had used to fuse the bull spirit to his soul. The very thought of this set Lethos to wondering where the bull spirit was now. Usually the scent of blood enraged it, but Lethos felt as placid and empty as if it did not exist. Could it be hiding?
Avulash struck.
His sword flared bright, turning him into a streak of violet lightning that shot between the two tables where Grimwold and Valda lay motionless. The tools on the floor ruined his footing and the strike went astray.
The glowing iron pierced Lethos's right shoulder. A cold so strong that it burned spread from the meat of his shoulder down into his arm and across into his chest. He feared his heart might stop from the sudden rush of cold. The blade slid through muscle to exit from the back, deflecting off bone to deliver a shuddering jolt of pain. Lethos screamed and stumbled on the assortment of tools. He crashed onto his back, a splash of blood ejecting from his wound.
With a roar, Avulash recovered. A splatter of blood flicked down from his violet blade, landing on Lethos's face like hot rain. Lethos scurried back, expecting another blow from the sword. Instead, Avulash, his face contorted in a demonic smile, held out his palm and began to murmur.
The cold in his shoulder flashed throughout his body, crushing him back to his knees as he struggled to stand. He felt as if he had been buried under an avalanche of snow. Th
e blood that had splashed across his face grew cold and peeled away, flying back toward Avulash's open palm. It splattered there, then absorbed into his skin.
A feeling like a rope being pulled out of his flesh came from his shoulder. His blood, bright and twinkling scarlet in the lamplight, shot from his shoulder like water poured from a decanter. It spilled horizontally across the distance between him and Avulash's open palm. It collected in Avulash's hand as a rolling ball of fluid, and then sank into his palm. A look of rapture spread over Avulash's face.
Lethos clamped his hand over the blood. It worked between his fingers or slipped out beneath his palm. The cold made him weak, and he felt like sleeping despite all the pain he endured. Where was the bull spirit now? He wanted it to enrage him, make him a monster, and tear this leering thing called Avulash to pieces. He tried to imagine it rising up inside him, horns extending with murderous intent, glossy black fur covering his bulk. Nothing. He crumpled to the floor.
Staring up at Avulash, Lethos's heart skipped a beat. Valda had regained herself. She was sitting upright, holding her head of lustrous golden hair and blinking hard. Avulash paid her no mind, apparently absorbed as he was in the ecstasy of draining Lethos's blood. Lethos did not want to draw attention, but let Valda either take a chance at surprise or to run for her life. She should probably run, even if she had to fight through a hostile ship to find escape. Lethos did not know her well, but at least recognized she was as courageous as she was beautiful. Such a pity for her to die in the dark with him at the bottom of some monstrous ship. For her people, dying in battle was glorious. He was just bleeding out, feeding the power of this demon Avulash with his own blood. That was no fate worth sharing.
That's right, girl, pick yourself up and run while you can. You can't do anything for me. I couldn't even help myself. Don't watch this.
The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) Page 15
