by Brian Fuller
Apparently they grew tired of me picking them off.
With a burst of Duammagic, he kicked up a wind of pine needles and twigs, sending the spray up behind him in a swirl to conceal his location until he found a log thick enough to hide him lying athwart his course. He dove behind it and let his debris storm fade. The thumping started again and then died, the natural sounds of the forest returning, excepting the birds frightened away by the conflict. Gen lay perfectly still, attuning his senses to the night. Several minutes passed before he heard footsteps again, many of them, heading in his direction.
He kept his breathing shallow and his body as still as a corpse as an Uyumaak Hunter nearly stepped on him. With Mynmagic, he turned its mind against its companions, and it bolted away into the darkness. In moments, the sound of a battle in the darkness sent the Uyumaak running in the direction of his thrall until it fell. The thumping resumed as did the march, but instead of just the handful of Archers and Hunters, an entire wave of Uyumaak of every variety poured out of the darkness, marching directly toward the encampment. Gen used Trysmagic to disintegrate a portion of the log and the ground next to him, rolling inside the empty space and then creating a bark shell to conceal himself.
The heavy feet of Bashers and Warriors crunched all around him as the wave of Uyumaak passed by him in the night on their way to slaughter the army that would not be ready for them. Gen kept his awareness sharp and tried to gauge the numbers passing by him. Of the Tolnorian and Rhugothian army that once numbered two thousand strongly, only around twelve hundred remained. He guessed that twice that many Uyumaak marched on their crude fortifications. They had stretched their numbers in a long line, hoping, he guessed, to get around their fortified positions and prevent them from fleeing farther south to the ridge line.
Once they passed, Gen broke through the light bark around him and stood, wary of any stragglers. Once convinced of his safety, he formed a bow and arrow using the power of Trys, firing the arrow up through the canopy. With a quick incantation, he ignited the arrow mid-flight, sending a burning signal into the sky he hoped Maewen would see. Once the arrow burned and winked out, the familiar barking yells of Lord Kildan and General Harband erupted into the night, only the tone of their voices discernible from Gen’s position.
Run, Chalaine, he thought as he crept forward. Once the battle started, he would harry the enemy from the rear, but doing so alone would be risky.
He didn’t wait long. The human arrows he had improved with his magic shot through the night, punching through Uyumaak and tree trunks with equal ease, dropping multiple Uyumaak on the way through. The Uyumaak archers returned in kind, screams and yells indicating some few arrows found their marks, but the forest and fortifications lessened their effectiveness. Surreptitiously, Gen turned an Archer’s mind against its fellows and watched as it killed five of its brothers before the Warriors turned and hacked it apart. All along the line Gen slunk, using Mynmagic to make traitors among the Uyumaak, conserving his strength with the other magics against greater need.
The battle raged for half an hour before thumping far behind him sent a chill up his spine. Turning, he jogged back at a cautious pace until he confirmed his worst fear. Another wave of Uyumaak approached from the rear. Cursing, he sprinted back toward the fray, and as he approached, he heard the words he had feared since the attack began—“Uyumaak are in the camp! Watch the flanks!”
Gritting his teeth, Gen ran right toward the middle of the fortifications they had created. Dawn had finally started to break, and in the dim, gray light, a pile of Uyumaak lay strewn about. A scant few Bashers hacked away at a wall of intervening deadfall behind which only a handful of defenders remained. The rest of the camp had split into two to intercept the waves of Uyumaak pressing them from either side.
The numbers appeared even but wouldn’t be for long. Using Duammagic, Gen leapt over the Bashers and defenders, forming two swords in midair before landing in the midst of chaos. He cast about for Maewen, not finding her, and pressed farther south, the fighting swirling around him. The weapons and armor he had enhanced lent his allies the advantage, although the Uyumaak’s numbers kept the fighting close.
At last he spotted the half-elf toward the rear near Falael, both elves using their bows to good advantage. “Maewen!” he yelled. “They’ve got another wave coming! We’ve got to run for it now. I’ll hold these for as long as I can and then follow you toward the ridge!”
She nodded and raised a loud whistle, a prearranged signal for retreat. The men fought their way backward as Gen worked his way around to the right flank. His swords whistled as he sprinted through the forest, hacking down Uyumaak in droves to free the men engaged with them. With haste, he worked his way from one end to the other and then back again until the thumping beyond the fortifications signaled that the second wave had pushed forward. Saddened by the wounded he left behind, Gen turned and ran, bringing up the rear of the fleeing column.
The retreat was fast and unorganized, but they emerged from the wood onto a ridgeline much sooner than Gen expected. Before them stretched a deep gash in the earth filled with dense spruce trees that cast up a crisp smell in the dawn. The wetness of the night before veiled much of the depression in a deep fog, but from their vantage point on the ridge, the other side beckoned. Turning east, they ran along a sheep trail on the ridge. The place where the ridge curved along the outer edge of the depression and then turned back west waited a tantalizing mile away. There, the running would get treacherous.
Gen ensured that all the men who could run were ahead of him and then followed. The ruckus of the pursuing Uyumaak crashing through the forest to their left sounded dangerously close. As he brought up the rear, he extended his swords to his sides, their unnaturally sharp blades effortlessly passing through the tree trunks to his left and right, sending trees crashing about on the trail to complicate his enemies’ movements.
Slowly, the trail made its precipitous turn, the sheep track they followed led along a narrow shelf that jogged southward. The path was strewn with loose rocks and provided a walking space so narrow that it required hugging the cliff face to avoid a deadly fall. As Gen expected, the company’s movements backed up as the pace slowed to a miserly crawl so the men could safely negotiate the dangerous passage. Some had already fallen off the ledge. A quick look to the rocky floor of the ravine revealed three soldiers dead on the rough shale field below. Gen turned back toward the trail, the Uyumaak finally flooding onto the ridge line behind them. Hunters scrambled after the stalled line while the Archers pulled their bows, taking aim at the fliers.
Gen glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t observed and used Trysmagic to create a bow and arrows for himself. With all the speed ingrained in him by his training with Samian, he launched an assault on the Archers opposite him to keep the arrows off the soldiers who were already pressed to keep balance. He had only taken down a handful of Archers before the Hunters rounded a boulder just behind the fleeing soldiers, dividing his attention. His piercing arrows ripped through two and three at a time, their bodies falling and tripping up the ones following.
With smooth, fluid movements, he kept the arrows singing through the air in a chorus of death, creating more in his hand as he needed them. His deadly assault turned the Archers attention on him, and he found himself forced to use Duammagic to nudge the uncannily accurate arrows away with bursts of wind. But despite his best efforts, he knew the sheer number arrows would overpower him and exhaust his magic. His resistance had allowed the last of the soldiers to push some fifty yards head, and he turned and ran down the dangerous trail after them. His training allowed him to negotiate the obstacles without the vertigo and balky movements of his companions. But the Uyumaak kept coming, the Hunters and Warriors pressing onward as the human army passed out of easy bow-shot range.
Again Gen bought time, the single file nature of the trail allowing him to hold it easily with nothing but his sword until at last the soldiers finally passed onto the s
outhern ridge and safer footing. Muscles tiring and soaked in blood, Gen turned and sprinted ahead, the Uyumaak following cautiously. If they managed the southern ridge, they would hound the desperate army until every last man was dead. Gen turned, seeing the entire ridge trail lined with every type of Uyumaak, slowly making their way toward them.
Gen exhaled and dug deep, calling forth every last shred of Trysmagic he could muster. With nothing but a thought, he disintegrated a crack of rock across the entire bend of the sheep track. He stumbled, lightheaded, at the immense effort. Out of sheer will, he drew in the power of Duam and incanted the words to shake the rock he had just weakened. Exhausted, he collapsed in unison with the rocky shelf, the sound a thunderous roar through the ravine that shot frightened birds into the sky. The Uyumaak fell to be smashed and crushed in the avalanche of rock, a cloud of dust rising from the impact. Three Uyumaak that had pursued him the most closely escaped the calamity, but Gen’s vision swam and his limbs didn’t want to work.
A Warrior raced toward him, sword high for the killing stroke, when an arrow took him in the throat. His two companions fell in like manner, leaving everything in peace. Gen smiled as Maewen approached and bent over him, face concerned. Once convinced he was unhurt, she turned her gaze across the ridge.
“There are still a number of Uyumaak on the other side,” she said, “though only a small portion of the original force, I think. Even if they do decide to take the long way round and pursue us, we should be able to deal with them. Well done. How long are you going to be useless?”
“I don’t know,” Gen answered truthfully. “I pushed it too far.”
“It was a mighty work.”
“You can push ahead with the rest. I’ll catch up.”
She answered by sitting down by him and pulling out her knife to work on her fletching. “I’ll stay. It would be a shame for you to win such a victory for us and then be devoured by a wolf or a bear. Besides, there are a few arguments I wish to make while you are less able to reason.”
CHAPTER 76 – REDEMPTION
“I will watch tonight, Gen,” Maewen insisted. “You provided the victory today, and that is enough. You cannot go on without rest.” Gen, eyes heavy, nodded a reply. Embracing his sword, he reclined against the gentle slope of a bulge of white granite rising out of the ground, his cloak behind his head serving as pillow. It had taken nearly four hours for him to regain his ability to walk in a straight line and another two for them to catch up to the main body of soldiers. The army had pressed on through the early afternoon but stopped early for a chance to rest.
Maewen and Gen camped well ahead of the rest of the party, both to scout forward and to keep Gen away from those who might recognize him. Behind them on the trail, the soldiers lit fires and started a victory celebration, breaking into song for the first time in weeks. After days of terror, their enemies were finally dead or miles behind and powerless to reach them. Maewen disliked the ruckus and told Gen as much. Gen smiled at her and said nothing.
Sitting cross-legged, Maewen watched over her stubborn friend until his chest rose and fell in a regular, slow pattern, and then she rose and turned back toward the trail that ran along the edge of the Blue Canyon. Rather than walk the trail, she skirted along the edge, threading her way between fragrant boughs of spruce and pine. Moonlight slanted through the boles along the edge of the forest, providing just enough illumination for her to see with clarity in the darkness. She drank from a gurgling spring that filled a small pool near the trail, the stars and dark trees reflecting on its surface until she dipped her hand in and scattered them. The water, borne underground from the mountains to the east, refreshed her and calmed her mind—and she needed all the peace she could muster.
As she approached the camp, singing, dancing, and shouting drowned out the sounds of wind, water, and birds and set her on edge. Humans lived short lives and possessed even shorter memories, and whatever Gen’s indifference to the noise, Maewen knew that if the revelers had her recollections, they would still be cowering, cold and silent, in the hopes they could escape notice of things they could not fathom or imagine. The victory they won today meant nothing other than immediate survival. Mikkik had far worse creations than Uyumaak and blood beetles at his disposal, and when he found out that his army was defeated, he would send those horrors to find them. He probably had already.
Maewen stayed well outside the light of the fires and the celebrating, giving sign to the sentries of her approach. The Chalaine’s camp always lay in the center of the caravan. The fine, colorful tents and camp arrangements had been left behind long ago, complicating the task of finding where the frail Queen slept, but as soon as she saw Dason standing guard over an improvised lean-to, she knew where the young woman lay. Maewen sat on a bed of pine needles just out of Dason’s notice and started her long watch as a favor to Gen.
She could just make out the Chalaine huddled in a ball and leaning against the tree trunk that formed part of her shelter. Since losing her mother, the Chalaine had fallen into even greater despondency than before, talking little, eating little, and caring nothing for soldiers, strategy, or the impressive scenery around them. While Gen’s death and the tortured appearance of her skin had started her withdrawal, the departure of her mother into the hands of Athan’s men in a ruse to save her had transformed the young woman into a hunching, bitter recluse. Lord Kildan and Ethris no longer sought her for councils or approvals of their decisions, and her role as Queen no longer meant anything to anyone, save Gen.
Dason and Ethris did their best to revive her spirits, but every day the Chalaine grew more feeble and more apathetic, and Maewen worried. Dason’s discomfort in her presence was obvious. The council had wished Lord Kildan’s oldest son to marry her to unite Tolnor and Rhugoth under one rule, but it was clear—and to his credit—that her former Protector would not force the act on her. Maewen wondered if he did this out of respect for the Chalaine’s pain or because her pitiful state dulled whatever feelings he might have had for her when she walked beautiful and vibrant.
Maewen sighed. While she cared for the girl and respected her for the pain she endured, Maewen agreed with most of the talk she heard swirling around her. The Chalaine’s part in the shaping of Ki’Hal had failed and was over. The infant that was to be God had been unmade by Mikkik, and the mighty warrior that was to save him had been killed by the same power. Forcing the Chalaine to lead or to think she had further part to play only tormented her more, and it was obvious she hadn’t the thought or wish to do anything but slink away from the world. But each time Maewen broached the topic with Gen—as she had earlier that day—he would disagree vehemently, claiming that if Mikkik still had interest in her, then she should not be cast aside and ignored. Whatever his words, Maewen suspected Gen watched over the Chalaine not from any desire to see her healed to seek some new destiny but because he cared for her.
Maewen had witnessed centuries of human passion, hate, love, hope, and despair, and Gen’s unwavering and disinterested love for the Chalaine broke through her ancient, often cynical perception of the world and touched her heart. Alrdadan Mikmir was the only other human she had known who possessed such a simple, honest will, and Gen was like him, and better in many ways. If anyone had the power to lift the fog and confusion that hung over humanity, Gen did, and from the moment of his rebirth, Maewen had resolved to push him out of the background and into plain view of the world. But he resisted all of her attempts, and Maewen would not betray him. If he cared only for the welfare of the Chalaine, then Maewen would see her cared for. She hoped that one day he would notice the plight of his people and no longer remain silent and unseen.
Unexpectedly the Chalaine rose, and, after telling Dason something Maewen could not hear, she and Dason left and walked along the trail through the camp. Maewen rose and followed at a discreet distance. Wherever the Chalaine passed, the songs and talk died out and the dances stopped as the celebrants stared at what seemed a wraith’s shadow passing by. So heav
y was the power of the Chalaine’s despair that it took a great deal to prompt a return to the festive mood from the suffocating pall that lingered behind her. Maewen heard “Cursed!” roll off more than one soldier’s tongue.
The Chalaine led Dason, despite his objections, ahead of the camp and into the still, blue night. Maewen wondered at the Chalaine's purpose, trusting Dason to prevent her from doing anything rash. Maewen couldn’t fault the Chalaine for wanting to get away from others, for jubilation only tortures the lonely and despairing.
After passing the last sentries, the two of them continued on slowly for a few more minutes and stopped to sit on a long granite rock that was rooted in the ground. Their resting place commanded an expansive view of the canyon, dazzling and mysterious in the moonlight. A low fog hung over the river that roared through the gorge below, the mist threading through low-lying trees. Maewen worked to get closer to the pair, using all her skill to be silent. Getting her bearings, she calculated that Gen slept not seventy-five yards farther down the trail and was thankful the Chalaine hadn’t pressed on.
The widowed Queen sat motionless for nearly an hour, the noise from the camp behind them waning almost completely as the night deepened and grew colder. Dason fidgeted restlessly, standing abruptly from time to time to pace back and forth or to stand uneasily by her. The three moons bathed them in light, and a cool southern breeze washed the scent of campfires and pine trees over them. But Maewen knew that however tranquil the surroundings, before her was agony and struggle. Even at a distance, Maewen could sense the Chalaine’s pain. Whatever the Chalaine felt exuded from her, the dark smoke of a smoldering soul.
“Chalaine, please,” Dason, distressed, said at last. “I know you grieve for your mother, but you cannot go on like this! I can hardly bear it!”
“You are right. I cannot go on like this,” the Chalaine agreed, voice distant. Before Dason could think to reply, the Chalaine uncovered her face. Even in the poor light, Dason winced and looked away. “So, how do you find me, Dason? A proper Queen? One you shall loathe and keep hidden away. Look at me!”
