“We are living in strange times indeed,” Quinlan added.
Einos cast a queer look at the priest. Despite working side by side for weeks now, he still hadn’t gotten a clear feeling about the man. They were odd by nature, the war priests. He supposed it was due to the nature of their mission. Why anyone would willing dedicate a lifetime of service to an order cut off from the rest of civilization and faced with death at all times was beyond his ability to comprehend.
Inbound riders barreling up the road ended the conversation. Einos stiffened, his anticipation rising. The urge to wrap his hands around Waern’s throat forced its way to the front of his thoughts. Fighting the urge, Einos retained his demeanor and reined in to await their report. It wasn’t long.
“What is it, soldier?” he asked, as a trio of red faced scouts halted before him.
Soldiers and commanders crowded around, making no small show of straining to hear what was said.
“Baron, we have a group of armed men surrounded. We suspect they were part of the group from Palis,” the lead scout said. His voice was elevated just enough that those nearby could hear. “Contact has also been made with Constable Kastus and Captain Thep. They are heading southeast with a squad.”
Good news on both fronts. Einos began to hope that he was at last going to end the nightmare gripping Fent. “Where are these men?”
“About a league to the north, Baron. We can lead you to them.”
Einos looked to Quinlan, silently asking his opinion.
“These men might have the information necessary to learn Waern’s plans,” Quinlan guessed. Kastus and the others were capable enough, requiring little or no aid from the main army.
Einos agreed. He was about to order the army forward when a secondary thought occurred. “Soldier, where is Kastus going?”
“To prevent Waern from reaching the city.”
“Deploy a company back to Fent. I want the city cut off before that scum can hide,” Einos ordered.
“Yes, Baron.”
The nearest captain saluted and took his company back to Fent. The thrill of the hunt was on and he wanted the prize. Satisfied with recent developments, Einos gestured for the scouts to lead the rest of the army north. The time had come for answers.
His first look at the men known to be associated with Waern was one of utter disappointment. Their haggard appearance was little better than that of vagabonds. Einos was no fool. He knew not everyone in the duchy lived under the same standards. Poverty was real across the lands, despite all his policies to alleviate their hardships. These men, surrounded yet defiant, were painful reminders of his inability to eradicate the issue.
Einos and Quinlan, flanked by a score of heavily armed guards, pushed their way to the front of the circle. “Who commands here?”
“I do. Name’s Bartus.”
Einos admired the man’s bravado but was angered by the lack of respect. “Do you know who you are addressing, Bartus?”
“Don’t really give a damn. I know enough that you have my men surrounded and can kill us at will. Doesn’t mean we won’t fight back. I’ll take your pretty head, if it comes to that,” Bartus boasted.
“He’s bluffing,” Quinlan whispered. “Hoping to make the best of the situation.”
Einos’s eyes narrowed to slivers. “You may try, though how you will accomplish that stuck with arrows, remains to be seen. Or perhaps you would like to meet Brother Quinlan, from Castle Andrak.”
The fire of defiance extinguished. Bartus knew he was no match for the war priest and valuing his neck over a bag of gold, dropped his weapons to surrender. Others followed suit. Einos had won his first battle without having to shed blood.
“Place the rest in irons and escort them back to the jail,” Einos commanded. He turned to Bartus, an air of unmistakable authority surrounding him. “Now, Bartus, tell me everything about Elder Waern.”
THIRTY
Fent
Dalem whistled. It was the most simplistic thing he did. An old tune his mother once hummed when his people were still plentiful. Before the blight. Dalem had been alone for more years than he remembered. The agony of knowing most of his people were dead did little to slow his quest. He had purpose. A singular task in life to accomplish before his time dwindled and the dust of the world reclaimed him.
He knew how humans viewed him. Mystic. Enchanted. The remaining sclarem had become one of the great powers in the world. How sad they would be to learn the truth. Gifted with abilities other races lacked, Dalem and those few sclarem roaming the lands sought out cruelties and eradicated them. Not their original purpose, but one filled with honor.
Dalem didn’t mind. He needed purpose to reduce the sting of loss. Encountering the F’talle came as a shock. He hadn’t heard of one haunting the lands for generations. That one should so stalk the duchy of Fent was alarming. The signs pointed to a dire event approaching. One he wasn’t sure humanity could survive.
Regardless of what happened between now and his final encounter, Dalem understood the severity of his actions. He’d never battled a F’talle. The prospect of doing so filled him with anticipation. Confident in his ability, Dalem continued whistling as he walked. The short stalks of dried grass rubbed across his ankles, tickling him.
Yes. The world was vast and filled with terrors undreamed of. Yet it was also vibrant and stronger than the forces of darkness believed. He was but an instrument to deliver the end. The day grew shorter and Dalem drew nearer to his destination.
“Nothing.”
Kastus’s scowl cause deep lines across his forehead. There’d been no sign of Waern for some time, leading the constable to think the old man had escaped. Faced with the increasing possibility of failure, Kastus struggled with the urge to lash out. He fumed until a dark energy surrounded him, prompting the others to shy away.
“Where do you suppose a village elder managed to get her hands on so many horses?” Alfar asked, trying to avoid the wrath inspired glare beaming off Kastus.
Nils closed his eyes and exhaled. “What?”
“These horses. Palis seems poor. Nothing special leastwise. Where did that lady get all these horses from?” Alfar reiterated.
“Horses. We’re hunting a traitor and all you can think of are stupid horses?” Nils growled. Easy as it was to grow angry with the junior Alfar, Nils decided he might be on to something. Anything was better than getting caught between Sergeant Sava and that Constable.
Alfar shrugged, oblivious to Nils’s growing ire. “I grew up on a farm. Cows and goats were cheap enough. Chickens more so, but horses? We couldn’t afford one, much less ten.”
“What are you getting at?” Nils asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Maybe that lady had a bigger part in all this than we thought,” Alfar said. He couldn’t believe he was the only one who’d arrived at that conclusion.
Swatting the mosquito on his cheek, Nils thought hard. Inferno aside, the way events wrapped up in Palis was almost too easy. Both Kastus and the Captain were in a hurry to break south to catch Waern, leaving the remainder of the company without concise leadership. Or a sustained presence.
Fleeting images scrolled by when he closed his eyes. Snippets of memory from those final few moments. Three men bursting through the door. Being struck on the side of the head. A woman shouting ‘no’ right before he blacked out. No. Why would she say that? Unless she knew the attackers. Nils thought hard.
He’d been suspicious of the old man from Jut from the beginning. There wasn’t any reason for a nobody to fear for his life. Especially not when he was from a different village and faced no repercussions for his testimony. Unless he was in on the whole thing. But that would mean Deana was complicit as well. Nils’s mouth fell open as the image of Deana and the old man exchanging a look focused.
“Sergeant Sava! We have an issue!”
Kastus listened as Nils explained everything, or at least tried to. Trained to follow clues, he hadn’t spotted anything to suggest Deana was part o
f the conspiracy. The possibility she’d covered her tracks was there, however.
“I understand what you are saying, but there is no proof, soldier,” he said, mind straying down impossible paths.
“Constable, you were focused on questioning that Waern,” Nils insisted. “I know what I saw. They were all in on it.”
Thep raised an eyebrow. “That would mean the entire elder council needs to be removed.”
“Not that sour one,” Alfar chimed in.
Nils winced, expecting Sava to snap.
“Come again?” Thep asked.
Alfar swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “That tall one that was always angry. He seemed genuine. I don’t think he was part of it.”
“If … if this conspiracy goes deep enough, there is no way Mugh would be innocent. Not unless he was purposefully kept out due to his defiance,” Kastus theorized.
“Seems to me like we need to find Waern and beat the truth out of him,” Sava offered.
They looked to see if he was joking. He wasn’t.
“I agree,” Kastus said. “Finding Waern is our priority. Though beating him might not prove the best course of action.”
Sava gave a ‘whatever works’ look and climbed back in the saddle. “What are your orders, Captain?”
“Find Waern and squeeze him for information. We deal with the rest of Palis after,” Thep said without pause. He was tired of being misled and ready for this task to end. The expedition north was a waste of time, in his opinion. Soldiers were best used in battle, not policing.
The tiny group hurried on. Destiny awaited.
The sun was dropping over the western skies when they found signs of Waern’s passing. The Elder wasn’t far ahead, though he’d shed much of the excess amount of his initial group. Kastus insisted they follow the main tracks leading back to Fent. Whoever turned aside was meant to be a diversion, nothing more. Only Waern was important.
His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Every stride his horse carried him blurred into one continuous motion. Events from the past few weeks seemed almost surreal. He’d gone north to find and kill Brogon Lord. A mission that evolved into a hunt for traitors undermining the duchy. Nothing, he realized, turned out like he and Einos intended.
Dazed, Kastus snapped awake as he stepped into a hellish scene. Fires scoured the countryside. Smoke choked the air. Acrid smell filled his nostrils. Confused, he searched for the others. He was alone. Kastus raised a gloved hand, surprised to find the weight of armor weighing him down. What?
He didn’t recognize the landscape, nor the dark armor encasing him from head to toe. Large, dark birds swarmed overhead in silence. A partially burned building sat off to the right, collapsed under its own weight. Kastus peered through his helmet visor and saw the bleached bones of a corpse. Where am I?
His right hand clutched a wooden staff. Flames whipped through the nearby treeline. Glancing up, Kastus saw the pennant atop his staff aflame. He couldn’t make out the figure slowly turning to ash in the center. Was this a scene from the past? Or a vision of the future? Did Fent promise to become a burned wasteland if they failed to stop Brogon Lord? He was afraid of the answers.
Another step and the vision blurred back to reality. He jerked to a stop, forcing the others to turn aside lest they collide. Kastus held up a hand. An empty hand free of a burning pennant or blackened armor. There were no flames. No ruined buildings. No skeletons lurking in the grass. He was back in the forest with Thep and the squad.
“Constable, are you well?”
Jarred, Kastus wasn’t sure how to answer. “I … I don’t know, Captain.”
“We can rest if you need to. It has been a long hunt and the horses could use the break.”
“Perhaps that is best,” Kastus agreed.
They pulled off the trail and established a small camp. Thep didn’t plan on staying long, only enough to water and feed the horses while the soldiers had the opportunity to relieve themselves. Fent was near, and with it the end of their quest. Once he was sure the others were taken care of, Thep pulled Kastus aside.
“Care to tell me what’s going on?” he almost whispered to avoid being overheard.
The Constable wished he knew. He tried explaining his vision, for that was the only thing it could have been. But how could any man explain a thought that had been so real? He tasted the lingering effects of smoke. Felt the grit of ash on his tongue and between his teeth. Everything felt real.
Thep listened with practiced patience only a commander of soldiers understood. He’d heard every story, every excuse during his time as a company commander. Soldiers never failed to surprise him with their ingenuity. This was a different matter. He’d never encountered anything comparable, and that left him worried.
“What do you suppose it means?” he asked. What else could he ask?
Kastus was left without an answer. “Does it matter? I didn’t recognize the armor or the pennant. None of it was familiar.”
“Sounds like you should speak with that war priest when we link up with the Baron,” Thep offered.
Kastus had been thinking the same. If anyone in Fent was capable of deciphering his vision, it should be one of the vaunted war priests of Castle Andrak. He drank deeply from his canteen, relishing the cool sensation running down his throat. Odd that he continued feeling the after effects of the flames in the real world.
A cursory glance at the sky showed there were no alien birds circling. Yet the sense of foreboding remained. Kastus felt shivers course through his body. His flesh prickled. About to comment, he caught the first glimpse of a strange figure stalking toward them. Green skinned with coal black hair.
“Sergeant Sava! Come here please,” he called.
The figure kept coming.
“Constable?” the sergeant asked, hesitant when Kastus didn’t immediately reply. Experience told him to follow the constable’s gaze. What he saw was unexpected.
“I’ll be damned. That’s that green fellow who saved my ass from the once dead man,” he uttered.
“The sclarem?” Thep asked. “Are you certain?”
“How many of them can there be in the duchy?” Sava replied.
Thep felt his day getting worse. It was all spiraling out of his control. “What do you suppose he wants?”
“Looks like we are about to find out,” Sava said. “I’ll let the others know to stand down. I figure most of them will want to thank him as well.”
Apart from the main squad, Nils and Alfar watched as the sclarem approached. They’d only caught hasty glimpses of him during the battle with the once dead man. Enough to confirm their kind still existed but not enough to become familiar with him.
Alfar whistled under his breath. “Well, I guess wonders never cease.”
“No. I don’t suppose they do.” Nils wasn’t sure about that and found the prospect of having a sclarem among them dire. What are we getting into?
THIRTY-ONE
The Other Realm
The endless cacophony of screams, of cries for help and mothers lost, were the hardest part of being ripped away from the world she knew. Lizette spent her days plagued with the knowledge there was little she could do to end their suffering. She was as much of a prisoner as them. Her pain stemmed from her inability to help. Accustomed to misery, thanks to the suffering of loss, Lizette dedicated her time to providing what comfort she could.
Many of the children she tried to console never returned from their work on the great clock tower. The energies of their lives spent under the wrathful gaze of the dark masters. Lizette wept in private for each life, whispering old prayers as their corpses were thrown into the pit, discarded like rotten meat. Each loss stabbed deep into her heart, for she knew that Tabith lay somewhere among the bodies.
Her daughter. Her only child. The last memory of all her husband had been. Whatever legacy she once thought to achieve was gone. Erased like so many dreams before. Lizette wept until grooves lined her face. Her body ached from constant sobbing. Was
she destined for misery? It felt that way. Here, as far from home as possible, she was forced to confront her personal demons that had haunted her for years.
Lizette felt the breaking point rushing toward her. She’d been through so much, but nothing like the storm approaching. What might have been days passed. Or it could have been hours. Time mattered little in the Other Realm. Ironic, she decided, considering what the Omegri intended. Something in her mind snapped. There was only so much misery she could stand before she became numb. Vowing to prevent that from happening, Lizette turned her focus to the children. Even if it hurt.
Time. All of this was reduced to time. An abstract concept few bothered to consider. People rose with the sun and rested with the night. There was little point in worrying over such a thing, when nothing could be done to alter it. She failed to understand why the servants of the Omegri thought stopping time would bring about the change they needed to conquer the world. The great enemy spent millennia attempting to destroy the world of men. Endless centuries dedicated to a singular cause.
Their failure to achieve results surely prompted them to enact new, more drastic measures. Lizette knew little of the Burning Season, or what the war priests did in their isolated fortresses. They served humanity, as well as the other races threatened by the Omegri. To her, stopping time meant nothing.
Frustrated and emotionally spent, Lizette sat at the edge of a ravine, feet dangling over the edge. Oddly, she felt no fear for the monsters responsible for imprisonment. They could kill her, or not. Her life, she’d come to realize, meant little in the grand scheme of the world. That knowledge was empowering. She ate what they fed her. Slept when she couldn’t stay awake any longer. And helped the children the rest of the time.
Only now did she turn her thoughts toward escape. Not an impossible venture, but one that required far more than she had to give. Lizette rubbed the back of her foot against the grey dirt as she searched the area for Brogon Lord. He was the answer. The same murderer responsible for ripping Tabith out of her life.
The Children of Never: A War Priests of Andrak Saga (The War Priests of Andrak Saga Book 1) Page 20
