Sacrifice (Book 4)

by Brian Fuller

  “Lord Mikmir?” Athan asked.

  “Yes,” Gen answered.

  “I can heal you with some of the power of the blood on the floor, but if I know your purpose, I fear it may spend the virtue needed to do your task.”

  “Help me to the Chalaine. I will do it. Where is Joranne?”

  “I hit her rather hard in the head.”

  “Throw her in the chasm.”

  “It is not my nature to do such things, not anymore” Athan objected, extending his arm. Gen took the proferred arm and used it to rise, his ravaged body screaming with pain. With a yell he snapped the Uyumaak arrow in his gut in half and tossed the shaft away.

  “Set me by the blood. Bring the Chalaine’s body to me.”

  Athan helped him over and placed him carefully against the stone where they had lain to bleed. “What do you need her body for?”

  “To bring her back.”

  “But you need to heal Elde Luri Mora with that blood!”

  “If she lives, I can do both with your help.”

  Athan nodded and wove between the entranced Uyumaak to drag the Chalaine over by the armpits and into the blood on the floor.

  “Soak her in it,” Gen ordered. “You’ve done this before.”

  He nodded, the drying blood making his task difficult. Anywhere the Chalaine’s blood touched Athan’s skin, the flesh healed, and he glanced at it amazed.

  “Now step away from her,” Gen commanded.

  Weak and dizzy, Gen recited the words of power, opening a Portal to Erelinda to find his beloved bride. Athan gasped in awe at the beautiful splendor of green trees, tall waterfalls, and blooming verdure that filled their vision. In a deep blue sky overspread with full, white clouds flew every kind and color of birds. The animals of the forest wandered wild and free among the spirits of men and women who walked among the flawless beauty. But more than sight, the feeling of rapturous joy and peace emanated through the Portal, the light narrowing their eyes with its warm brilliance.

  Gen smiled as he found her, walking in wonder with her arms widespread to flit along the hazy petals of flowers, her blonde hair streaming behind her in a caressing breeze. She wore a loose white dress hemmed in purple with no other device adorning her body. In her perfect face rested a peace Gen had never seen play upon her features, a contentment that could only come from an absence of worry or toil. She was at home. Gen called to her across the distance, and she turned and smiled, her unparalleled beauty an object of worship.

  She stared back, unclouded eyes full of love. “It is time I healed Ki’Hal,” she said. “I know what to do now. Again I thank you, Gen. I knew Erelinda before I came to it. I felt it with you. Now the whole world must know. Do not be sad. One day you will know this joy as I know it.”

  Gen creased his brow as the Chalaine neared the Portal, her form dissolving into a bright shining presence the closer she came. On the floor, her body caught up the brilliance, losing its shape and burning like a sun to light the entire room. Gen closed his eyes as the Chalaine’s spirit passed through the Portal, the Hall of Three Moons reverberating with power. The power of her blood was gone, and the spell died, Portal winking out. The room shook and swayed. Athan fell.

  “Look!” Athan said.

  Gen opened his eyes. The Uyumaak, the lantern, and Joranne’s body had all been blasted to dust to be carried away on a wind that swirled about the hall and then dove into bowels of the shrinking chasm. In amazement they watched as the Hall knit itself together, stone rising to meet stone, cracks closing as if never sundered, and the glass of the arched dome rising to fit perfectly into place. The mighty chasm pushed together and the trembling stopped.

  Athan helped Gen to his feet, draping his arm over his shoulder. Their skin had healed of its affliction, and they stumbled outside to watch the restoration of Elde Luri Mora. The fireflies streamed toward them from every direction, hovering around them to create a warm evening light wherever they walked. The rotting, blackened trees and bushes greened, swelled, and flowered as if spring had blown an entire season of warming winds in an instant. The befouled water of the lake turned clear and smooth, reflecting the starlight on its mirror surface.

  Tears fell from both their eyes as they witnessed the return of the city’s spirit, a familiar spirit to Gen, youthful, pure, and one that he would always miss. He lifted his hand to a nearby blossom, and at his touch a plum grew and ripened, falling into his palm. In his heart he instinctively knew what it was for, and he took a bite of its sweet flesh, the wounds of his body closing and healing as new.

  Athan, haunted and humbled, turned his face to a sky filled with fireflies and stars. “I am sorry!” he said. “I was a fool. Forgive me, Chalaine. Forgive a stupid, prideful man.”

  Gen sat on the street and put his head between his knees. He cried as the price of Ki’Hal’s salvation was collected and carried away from him. In the earth, in the air, and in the water he could sense her, but her touch and her smile and her words were gone. How long he mourned on the street, he couldn’t say. Athan wept nearby, head bowed.

  A bird call trilled in the air. Gen stirred, lifting his head to the sky. He wanted to sit and rest, to mourn the loss of his wife and let the returning vigor of Elde Luri Mora work to soothe the ache within. But Mikkik and his armies were gone to Mikmir, and there Gen knew he must go.

  As his thoughts turned to Rhugoth, a group of fireflies broke from the swarm to dance in a loose globe in front of him. Slowly they moved away, and Gen followed. Athan trailed meekly a few steps behind, Gen still not ready to forgive or forget what the man had done in the pursuit of his zealotry. Gen could pity him, for he was Mikkik’s biggest fool, but until he could get the image of Mirelle hanging from a pole while fire charred her legs, he could feel nothing but loathing for the man.

  The globe of fireflies passed down the main avenue of Elde Luri Mora before turning into the thick green grass and toward the lake. They reached the shore, and the globe hovered out over the shallow water near the edge. Gen squinted. Something glimmered beneath the calm surface of the translucent water. He removed his boots and stepped in, reaching down. Feeling about in the sandy silt, he closed his fist around a rough, porous rock the size of an apple. As soon as he gripped it, the power of the moon Duam exploded within him, a reserve of energy flowing from the stone into his body. He pulled it out of the water, examining its blackened, rough surface. A chunk of the moon fallen to Ki’Hal.

  “What is it?” Athan asked.

  “Power,” Gen replied. “I need to get back to Mikmir.”

  “That will take nearly a week.”

  As soon as Athan said the words, a flash of blue spilled a brilliant light across the lake. Just behind them in the grass a Portal waited.

  “Amazing,” Athan said, awed.

  “Are you coming?” Gen asked as he pulled on his boots.

  “No,” he answered. “Tell them I was killed. I have penance to do in this place, and I will stay. The Church must go on, but it will go on without me. But I must know, are you really Aldradan Mikmir? There is something familiar about you I cannot place.”

  “Believe what you will. I have a kingdom to see to.”

  Gen took a deep breath and plunged through the Portal.

  CHAPTER 89 – DUAMSTONE

  Gerand practically threw himself from the horse. The animated corpses of Khrona Dhron had taken notice of his race for the door, and a pocket of corpses had broken away from the main body and charged forward using weapons confiscated from their victims to cut through the resistance. Gerand glanced over his shoulder. They are so fast! There was no time to lose. The guards at the door cracked it for him.

  “You can bar it from the inside,” one of them told him.

  Gerand slipped in, noticing a beam lying on the floor that had been brought up for that purpose. A contingent of guards waited at the ready in the antechamber.

  “Bar this door and any side doors. It is upon us!”

  Gerand sprinted down the well
-known halls, pausing just for a moment to take a swig of Maewen’s numbing draught. Guards lined the entire path to the antechamber of the Chalaines, and Mirelle and Volney waited at the entrance to the maze that led to the Chalaine’s old chambers. Mirelle wore the veil and dress to complete the disguise, but there was no more need.

  “We’ve got to try to get out of the city,” Gerand said. “The castle is nearly lost, and there is nothing we have that can stop what’s out there. Quick, Mirelle, get something on that you can run and fight in. I need to rest for a moment.”

  Mirelle nodded. “Don’t forget the pool, Duke Kildan,” she said before leaving.

  He had forgotten. The clear water had been enchanted to heal wounds. Eagerly he thrust in his hand and drank, the water restoring movement and strength to his arm.

  “What’s happening out there?” Volney asked, face worried. “Is the castle really lost?”

  “I’m afraid so, my friend,” Gerand confirmed. “You remember those beetles and snakes?”

  “Yes. Are they back?”

  “The snakes and birds we have killed. But what came tonight was the most awful thing I have ever seen.” Gerand tried to explain Khrona Dhron, but he doubted he conveyed the full horror to Volney, who opined that he thought the snakes the worst.

  Mirelle emerged wearing a black divided riding dress, hair pulled behind her. She had removed the veil. “What is your plan, Gerand?”

  “The courtyard is filled. We need to leave through the kitchens and see if we can get horses. Horses or not, we leave through the postern gate and work our way through the city. We ride for Tolnor.”

  They turned to go, but a sudden feeling of rightness flooded over them like a fresh wind pushing away the heavy haze they had become accustomed to. The clarity and rightness of feeling stopped them where they stood, inviting a moment to pause and savor what had been lost when Elde Luri Mora was destroyed.

  “They’ve done it,” Mirelle smiled.

  “It is incredible!” Volney exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Gerand said. “But this isn’t over yet. With Elde Luri Mora restored, Mikkik will be after the Chalaine twice as hard so he can bleed her again and destroy it. We still need to get far from him and his horde. Let’s go quickly.”

  They had resumed their march toward the upper levels when Mirelle suddenly stopped, Volney nearly crashing into her.

  “What’s wrong?” Gerand asked, seeing wonder dawn on her face.

  “We’re not supposed to go that way,” she said.

  “Why do you think that?” Gerand asked.

  “We’re supposed to go to the tower. I can’t explain it. He’ll be there.”

  “Who?”

  “Gen.”

  Altering course, they took the ramp up and then proceeded through the hallways and locked doors that led to the tower complex. Upward they climbed, around and around until they reached the door that led to the quarters of the decoy Chalaine. Volney inserted a key and they entered, finding the room dark. Shattered shutters were strewn about the floor, evidence of Sethra Dhron’s attack.

  “No one’s here, Mirelle,” Gerand said, squinting in the darkness. “We can’t stay here. We’ll be trapped with no way to. . .”

  A Portal bloomed to life in the middle of the room.

  “Whoa!” Volney said. “Was there a Portal here?”

  “No,” Mirelle answered. “There were no Portals in the entire complex save, the Walls in the Chalaine’s quarters.”

  Gerand drew his sword. “We don’t know what’s on the other side.”

  Volney stepped in front of Mirelle and drew his blade as well, but a single figure passed through the blazing field of blue and it winked out. Mirelle darted around Volney and embraced Gen.

  “You did it!”

  “Elde Luri Mora is restored,” Gen said. “What of Mikmir?”

  “The situation is dire,” Gerand reported. “Khrona Dhron is destroying us, and the Uyumaak are at the gates. We were about to flee with Mirelle.”

  “Has Mikkik appeared?”

  “No.”

  Gen turned and jogged to the door that opened out onto the balcony. His companions joined him. Together they stared down at the battle below, all save Volney, who kept his back to the tower and muttered that the height was worse in the dark. Below in the courtyard a group of Uyumaak had formed a solid wedge, Khrona Dhron at the head, and they were driving through what was left of every soldier that could still fight.

  “Gerand,” Gen said. “Get back with the men. Tell them that Aldradan Mikmir is coming. Sound the trumpets. Go now. Volney, stay here, but I need a private word with Mirelle, please.”

  Gerand turned and ran back down the stairs, heart pounding in his chest. Knowing the Aldradan Mikmir was near would inspire the men, but would inspiration be enough? Gen was shrewd and a powerful fighter, but nothing they had done seemed able to stop Mikkik’s forces. The addition of one man—even if a King—didn’t seem enough.

  He charged back to the antechamber of the Great Hall, startling the guards by commanding them to unbar the doors for him.

  “Bar them again when I am through. Take courage. The King has come!”

  The heavy doors opened and Gerand passed through, finding himself at the rear of the throng of soldiers waiting their turn to die as Khrona Dhron and the Uyumaak wedge sliced through them like and ax passing through rotten wood.

  “The King is coming!” Gerand yelled, trying to find where any of the Generals or Dukes were. Their strategy was clear: clump everyone at the doors for a last stand. Spears and arrows sped into the Uyumaak wedge and the frightening creature before them. Axes and swords chopped and hewed with ferocity born of terror, the corpses of Khrona Dhron leering and howling in mockery at the futility of the resistance.

  Gerand tried working his way to the front, yelling at the top of his lungs that Aldradan Mikmir had returned, but no one listened—or those that heard didn’t care. He turned back to the doors, hoping Gen would make his appearance and rally the defenders, but a collective gasp from the soldiers turned him around and pulled his gaze upward.

  As Mikkik had done on the night of the failed wedding, Gen descended from the sky. But rather than white, holy light, he came in a fiery burning, the glow of the flames casting a wide halo about him in the haze. A low rumble reverberated through the air, and the ground quivered beneath their feet as he descended like a meteor from the sky. Gen hit the ground hard, and the resulting quake knocked half of the fighters—foe and friend—to the ground.

  No sooner had he landed than he incanted, and a great wave of fire burst away from him as if driven by an angry gale, setting aflame the entire center column of the Uyumaak horde. Silently the creatures burned, their mute mouths affixed in expressions of agony as they flailed and staggered and died. The flames licked the legs of the massive Khrona Dhron, who turned from his deadly work at the flank of the column and pounded forward toward the new foe, the heads of the many bodies craning around to regard the King of Mikmir with malice.

  Closer it came, and Gen waited a moment more and then incanted again. A torrential swirl of wind and fire descended from the sky and ripped into Khrona Dhron. The mighty whirlwind tore the conglomerated bodies apart, flaming corpses ejected into the air and flung in every direction to slam into walls and to drop into the midst of the Uyumaak and men.

  But when the flames and wind lifted, Gerand’s eyes widened in disbelief. At the center of Khrona Dhron was Mikkik, his majesty gone and his face twisted in the weary pain brought on by the restoration of Elde Luri Mora. Burns covered his body, but as Gen strode toward him, they healed.

  Mikkik turned to run into the midst of the wrack in the courtyard. With a complex series of words, Gen gestured, and Duammagic called thin columns of pale stone from the ground, surrounding Mikkik in a prison from which he had no power to escape. The dark god yelled in rage and humiliation, cutting his hands on the sharp, glassy rock as he pushed and pulled against his prison bars.

  What w
as left of the enemy milled about in shock and disarray. Gen turned toward the soldiers of Rhugoth and Tolnor and pulled his sword. “Drive them out of this courtyard! Drive them out of the gates. Drive them out of the city! Drive them back to the abyss!”

  The men raised their swords in a shout and charged, Gen at the forefront of the wave of reinvigorated soldiers. Everywhere Gen went, there were bursts of fire, flashes of lightning, and blasts of wind that sent the enemy to the ground or running for the gates. Gerand took charge of the Tolnorians, a thrill building in his breast as he joined the unstoppable drive toward the gates, a day of defeat and retreat turning to the sweetest victory that he had ever known.

  “Shut the gates,” Gen commanded hours later as the first signs of dawn broke into the sky. “Get the Generals and the Dukes here immediately. We need to rest and get organized. We will rest for a time and then drive them out of the city. If they leave, we will follow them out and slaughter them to the last creature.”

  In moments the portcullis and the gates whined shut, and Gen turned to survey the courtyard littered with bodies. The stench and smoke of burning hung over everything while the soldiers finished their work, killing anything that still twitched or moved. Mikkik waited in his prison, having sunk to the earth in despair.

  Maewen ran up from the direction of the Great Hall. To Gen she said in Elvish, “It is good to see you.”

  Gen turned, finding the half-elf a bloody mass of cuts and bruises, an Uyumaak arrow broken off in her shoulder. Using the Duamstone, he healed her, her face registering relief.

  “How is it done?” she asked.

  Gen opened his hand to reveal the stone, which had shrunk to the size of an egg. “It is a fragment from Duam that fell. There will be others. No doubt many have been collected without their owners knowing what they are capable of.”