by Brian Fuller
“Yes,” the counterfeit hissed, “yes. You know my servant. Do I not know that your Ha’Ulrich is a coward? That his magic and his mind are weak? Do I not know that he trembles even now to face me? He is no King. Any one of the men on the walls has more mettle than he! Bring him forth! Extend the bridge! Prophecy says he must face me, so let’s see if he can steady his shaky legs enough to walk out to see my face! Let’s see how your faith fares when I turn him to ash!
“As for this one,” it continued, indicating Gen, “he has done his work well and shall have a throne for his service.”
A powerful force flung Gen backward. He landed hard on the engulfing chair on the platform, an unseen hand pinning him up strait. Tears flooded his eyes. Mikkik had won. They could not match him, and the Chalaine would die. No one could see the truth, and even if he were freed, no one would believe him anymore.
Only the healing power of Padra Nolan and the virtue of the Training Stones allowed the Chalaine to shuffle forward next to her husband so soon after the birth of her perfect Child. She wanted to hide away from the world and pull her son to her breast, to stroke his smooth, peaceful face and sing to him. A soft glow surrounded his tiny body, a glow that invited reverence and awe. But almost no sooner than the midwife had placed the tiny infant in her arms did she hear the first grating demands of her enemy. Only the Padra’s steady magic kept Chertanne from diving under the bed.
Minutes later they stood on the street as the retinue of Padras and soldiers surrounded them. Athan and Warlord Jarius joined the group last, Jarius and his Aughmerian soldiers in the lead and Athan coming to stand by Chertanne. Dason joined them. While not permitted to be her personal guard, Athan had allowed Dason to serve in Echo Hold after he took an oath of fealty to Chertanne. He squeezed the Chalaine’s shoulder from behind, and the Chalaine thanked him for it.
“I’ll take it from here, Nolan. Thank you,” Athan said. “Jarius, do not move until I tell you. Padras! This is the time. Raise your wards. Guard the Chalaine and Chertanne at all costs. We must get the Ha’Ulrich near enough Mikkik for him to strike the final blow. Chalaine, take Chertanne’s hand.”
The Chalaine shifted the sleeping Eldaloth to her left arm and took Chertanne’s clammy hand in her right hand. He placed his remaining hand on his sword hilt, clenching it to steady his trembling. Athan incanted and Chertanne straightened.
Unexpectedly, Athan turned toward her. “You should know, Chalaine, that Mikkik has Gen. You will see him when the gate rises. I am sorry. It seems Mikkik did use him, as I feared.”
The Chalaine’s mouth fell open and her heart sank. Faith, she told herself. It will be over soon. Justice will come. She focused on her Child, a deep, unexplainable love for and attachment to the infant filling her heart with purpose and hope.
“Have them extend the bridge, Jarius,” Athan ordered.
“Extend the bridge!” the Warlord yelled, the baby’s eyes fluttering at the harsh sound. Grating and rumbling filled the air, scaring away scavenger birds and silencing the men on the wall. A thud and sudden silence signaled the end of the platform’s traverse, and the Chalaine looked up, finding that the soldiers of Echo Hold had formed a line around them, kneeling in prayer.
“Open the gate!” Jarius ordered. It rose too quickly for the Chalaine, and she could feel her husband’s shaking despite Athan’s steeling magic. Chertanne nearly fell down upon first seeing his enemy, and the Chalaine gasped. This was not the Mikkik who Aldemar had shown her in vision. What has happened? A curse, surely, had stricken Mikkik for his crimes, and the Chalaine wondered at how such a horror had befallen a being once so mighty and glorious. As they marched resolutely forward, she could just make out Gen sitting on a dark throne behind Mikkik.
“Deafen him, Nolan,” Athan whispered. Nolan nodded, and Chertanne looked around in surprise at his sudden loss of hearing.
“Is this him?” Mikkik mocked, and the Chalaine understood Athan’s precaution. The Chalaine wanted to turn and run. “And with his lapdogs all around. Come! I will meet you halfway!”
“Hold fast to him, Chalaine!” Athan said urgently. “Your healing touch will keep him alive until he is close enough. Faith, child! Faith!”
Mikkik walked casually forward, unaccompanied by any of his army. Clouds of flies swirled around the bridge, and the Chalaine swallowed hard, pulling her son close. The baby slept calmly cradled in her arm, but as they neared Mikkik, she practically had to drag Chertanne forward.
Mikkik said, “Let’s peel away your vanguard so I can get a look at you!”
Warlord Jarius, his twenty soldiers, and their equipment turned to glass, forward momentum toppling them to the bridge road, chunks shattering away from the impact and into the clouded canyon below. The procession stopped.
“Now, let’s away with meddling Churchmen and their pathetic wards.”
“It’s gone!” Nolan exclaimed. “They’re all gone! We are nothing!”
Mikkik stood twenty feet away. Chertanne’s hand nearly crushed the Chalaine’s. Athan remained rooted and pale. “Nolan,” he said, voice barely controlled. “Get the Padras inside the walls. You are of no use here.” Powerless, the Council of Padras turned and sprinted back inside the gate while Mikkik laughed.
“That’s better. Come, Ha’Ulrich. Come and know your enemy!”
The Chalaine could barely control her shaking, and Athan sweated with the exertion of his steadying magic. The Padra gently pushed Chertanne forward, glass crunching underfoot. Mikkik’s stench overwhelmed them as they approached, and as they neared, a swarm of flies poured from his eye sockets and swirled around them for a few moments before buzzing back inside his head.
“Now I see,” Mikkik rumbled. “It is time for you to die, Ha’Ulrich. You, your woman, and your Child. It is time for me to sit upon the throne of Elde Luri Mora and rule this world!”
“Now, Chertanne!” Athan yelled, but Chertanne did nothing, staring everywhere but at Mikkik, who laughed uproariously.
“Goodbye, Churchman!” Mikkik flicked his hand, and Athan skidded backward through the broken glass until he lay at the gates bleeding and unmoving.
“Goodbye, Protector.”
The Chalaine shrieked as Dason suffered the same fate, armor clanging as he skidded along the stone. Chertanne now knelt, crying on the stones as Mikkik moved toward him, mocking him.
“And now for you, Ha’Ulrich!”
“Chertanne,” the Chalaine yelled, “do this. You can. You can!”
Suddenly, Chertanne’s eyes went vacant and his face slack. He stood quickly and drew his sword stiffly like a puppet.
“Do you think swords are any good here?” Mikkik thundered.
Chertanne stepped forward and thrust his sword into the thigh of the creature. Mikkik bellowed, an orange light glowing from the cracks in his burned skin.
“Impossible!” Mikkik screamed. Wracked and clenched, he writhed in agony and then exploded in a shower of ash, fire, and flesh. The blast flung Chertanne and the Chalaine backward, and she lost hold of her Child.
She lay dazed and senseless, for how long she could not guess. Vaguely, she heard cheers as if from a great distance. A light gathered around her, but she could only think of her Child. Frantically she felt around herself, light and smoke obscuring her vision.
“Milady!”
It was Dason. He grabbed her arm and pulled her upright.
“No!” she yelled. “Eldaloth! My Child!”
“Wait! Something is happening!” Dason said, grabbing her head gently and tilting it upward. “It’s wondrous!”
The Chalaine ignored him as the light gathered, searching the ground for the baby. Finally, she found the blanket and the tiny clothes, but the Child was missing. In despair she cast around, finding Dason staring just ahead of them. A being, shining and splendorous, hovered over Chertanne, descending and landing just in front of him. So bright was the glory of him, that the Chalaine could hardly keep her eyes on him.
“Rise, my serva
nt,” he said, voice reassuring and kind. “I am Eldaloth. You are victorious. You have saved the world. I have returned, and you will have a great reward. You shall have the peace of the faithful.”
Something struck the Chalaine as familiar about the voice, and she pressed forward. It’s over! She thought, hope surging through her veins. We did it! Athan was right!
“My servant, the Chalaine,” Eldaloth said. She stumbled forward eagerly, tears coming to her eyes. At last she would see her God. At last she would be free of the burden she had carried for so many years. At last she could rest. She lifted her veil and examined the countenance of the one she had sacrificed so much to bring back to the world. But when she finally saw his luminous features clearly, her world fell out from under her. His face she knew. The voice she could now identify. Aldemar’s vision had shown her this god, and he was not Eldaloth. Reeling, she let her veil drop, peering past Mikkik to find Gen. The two Gagons near the throne and the rest of the Uyumaak were fleeing back down the mountain, leaving her Protector motionless, eyes bulging, on the throne.
Come to me, Gen, she willed in her distress. His face was distorted with struggle, but something pinned him to his seat.
“Hear me, all the ends of Ki’Hal,” Mikkik called, luxurious voice filling the air with its assured tones. “For these I have reserved a throne in the paradise of Erelinda. By their deeds they have shown themselves worthy of a much greater glory than this simple realm. To them I impart a gift I wish to give all, transcendence and peace. The legend of the Ha’Ulrich and the Chalaine shall live forever on the lips of the men and women here this day! Their names will be holy. They will never be forgotten. Continue your oblations. Stand, Chertanne! Stand, Chalaine! Today is your victory!”
Chertanne took her hand and turned toward Echo Hold to receive the adulation of the survivors. “I did it,” he told her, confidence and contentment blooming on his face for the first time in months as the praise and adoration washed over him. “At the end, it’s as if something took over and I did it!” The Chalaine didn’t answer, swallowing hard, frozen in panic. “Chalaine?” Chertanne questioned, perplexed by her demeanor, but the Chalaine just squeezed his hand and answered nothing.
The jubilation died down, and Mikkik spoke. “Chertanne, will you enter into the rest I offer you?”
Chertanne closed his eyes. “Yes, my master and my god.”
Mikkik stretched forth his hands, a light gathering around her husband before he dissolved into thin air, to the amazement and delight of the onlooking soldiers. The Chalaine stepped backward, fearful and uncertain. Dason, standing proudly behind her, whispered, “Take me with you.”
“Chalaine, will you enter into your rest?” Mikkik invited, voice affectionate and kind.
“What have you done with my Child!” she managed to squeak barely loud enough for herself to hear. She could just detect the barest twitch of Mikkik’s brow and a brief hesitancy, but she knew all too well that she had failed, and now, she was finished.
CHAPTER 71 - BUTCHERS GAP
A moment after the Chalaine glanced at him from behind Mikkik’s illuminated form, Gen felt himself freed from the invisible bond that nailed him to the abominable throne. With his power stripped from him and with Mikkik between him and the Chalaine, few options presented themselves. He cast his gaze upward to the promontory, but saw no sign of Torbrand or Falael.
Are they dead? Captured?
The Chalaine, Chertanne, Mikkik, and Dason all had turned toward the battlements as the people cheered their “victory.”
Then he saw it—the sword of Aldradan Mikmir. His sword. The sword Chertanne had killed the impostor with. The explosion had melted away the blade about halfway down, and the ragged tip still glowed white. While he couldn’t be certain the sword still possessed any of the virtue that had displayed itself so powerfully in destroying the warped creature, he had no other means with which to strike.
As the cheering died down, he realized his dilemma. Everyone on the wall thought him a monster and a traitor. If anyone saw him move, they would alert Mikkik, and he wouldn’t get close enough to touch his enemy. He couldn’t believe that Mikkik would let Chertanne live, and as the dark god proffered the Ha’Ulrich transcendence and rest, Gen knew he had to act. The spectacular light gathering around the Ha’Ulrich provided the distraction he needed.
Launching himself from the throne, he hit the ground at a dead sprint, slowing only slightly to scoop up the blade, hilt warm in his hands. Gen ran just behind the luminous figure of Mikkik, though he knew he had little cover. Mikkik offered the Chalaine her transcendence, the Chalaine said something in return, and then shouts of horror from the walls filled the air. Gen grinned. It was too late. Just as Mikkik started to turn, he lifted the blade high and rammed it into the small of Mikkik back. It sank in and stuck.
Mikkik howled in agony, his aura fading as he shot backward into the air, as if pulled by a string, and disappeared over the mountain, leaving a stunned and horrified audience. “The Ilch!” someone screamed. Gen knew he had little time before the Padras would work their magic upon him.
“Gen!” the Chalaine cried. “What has happened?”
“Die, filth!” Dason yelled, stepping forward to strike. Gen stunned him with lightning fast punch to the throat and grabbed the Chalaine’s arm, pulling her to him and launching off the side of the extended bridge. Howls of disbelief and agony washed over them and faded as they fell through the air, ground rushing toward them. Gen held her tight, and she clung to him just as hard, eyes closed and wind whistling in her ears. When their feet settled lightly on the canyon floor, she opened her eyes.
Gen regarded her kindly, extending his hand beneath her veil and rubbing her face. “I am so sorry, Chalaine,” he said, face sad.
“What happened, Gen?”
“He tricked everyone, Chalaine. He has won today.”
“My Child! What has he done to my Child?” she cried, hands trembling.
“He unmade it, Chalaine. The baby’s gone. I am sorry. I could not get to you sooner to warn you.”
She collapsed on the ground and wept. “How? It’s impossible!” Gen pulled her to him for several moments and let her cry before picking her up and moving. They had to hide. If the Padras chose to pursue them, he had nothing with which to counter their magic. Uyumaak corpses lay everywhere in grotesque shapes, and he hiked away from them until their sight and stench no longer assaulted their senses. A nearby boulder-fall among a copse of fir trees provided seclusion, and he set the Chalaine down in the shade. She refused to relinquish her grip on his neck, and he pulled her onto his lap and held her as she collected herself.
“I have failed, Gen,” she finally said. “I am a wretch.”
“No, Chalaine. You did everything the prophecy said you would. The rest of us have failed you, and I not the least.”
“What happened to you?” she asked. “Why did that creature have you?”
Gen explained the story to her, and she listened, numb. “And so, Chalaine, the world thinks I am a villain now, and perhaps I am. If the Padras come, you will need to leave me behind. Your mother and Lord Kildan’s army should be here soon, if all went as planned. I’d hoped they would be here now. The Shadan and an elf named Falael were also supposed to join me, but it is possible they, too, think I have betrayed them.”
“I won’t leave you, Gen,” she promised softly. “I know the truth. What happiness have I ever known without you? If the world is to suffer from my failure, please take me where I cannot hear their accusing voices. Take me where I can forget the beautiful face of my son!” Gen mourned with her as she sobbed, finding no words to offer her.
“Chalaine!” someone yelled.
“Dason?” the Chalaine asked, wiping her eyes and disengaging herself from Gen. “I’ve got to explain to him!”
“Gen!”
Gen pulled his sword. “It’s Torbrand, too. Let me talk to them.”
“No, let me,” the Chalaine offered. “Dason wi
ll listen to me.”
“Together, then.”
They stepped out from their cover, finding Dason, Torbrand, and Falael walking toward the place of their concealment, Dason—face decorated with new bruises—pointing the way.
“I have done her no harm,” Gen said. “Please hear me out! You have been deceived! What happened was not. . .”
“Shut up. We know,” Torbrand said.
“How?” Gen asked.
“Joranne. After Mikkik had descended in his ‘glory,’ she woke us up and explained the whole ruse, telling us we had to save Chertanne and the Chalaine at all costs. One out of two isn’t bad. After Gen stabbed Mikkik, she kicked us over the edge and fled. Chertanne was transcended, and you had jumped with the Chalaine. Soldiers started flooding out onto the bridge. We grabbed Dason. Had to beat him a fair bit to get him to listen.”
Dason strode forward and pulled the Chalaine protectively aside. “Is it true, Milady?” he said, voice gravelly.
“It is true, Dason. Your Queen has failed, and Mikkik will destroy us all.”
“None of this can be laid to your charge!” Dason asserted.
“I must sit. My legs will no longer carry me,” she said, and Dason helped her down to lean against a tree.
“Any sign of Mirelle and that army of hers?” Torbrand asked.
“No,” Gen answered.
“Odd,” Torbrand said. “Well, I suppose with Chertanne dead that I am now the Shadan of Aughmere again. I turn command of this little party over to you, Gen.”
Gen turned to the elf. “Falael, you and I will scout down the canyon and see if they are near.”
“Don’t leave me, Gen, please,” the Chalaine begged. Dason eyed him narrowly.
Gen turned to explain when Torbrand grabbed his arm. “I’m just as good in the wild as you. Stay with her. My son-in-law is with Mirelle, remember?” Gen nodded, and Torbrand and Falael ran out into the canyon. Gen returned to where the Chalaine sat, head in one hand with Dason stroking the other.
“If you have the strength, your Grace,” Dason said, “a little healing would not go amiss.”
