by Jason Jones
“Time to get up, hunter of the Hedim Anah. Time to stand with me.” He whispered as he planted his gnarled root spear into the earth.
“I cannot move, so tired, I…I…help me up.” Lavress felt his falcata in his right hand, the kukri dagger in his left, and some sort of cool wind rushing over him. He felt the trees, the grass, the air in the grove was trying to help him. He got to one knee, and looked up at the yellow and green eyes not one hundred feet away.
“Get up Lavress, I cannot take them alone.” Grnikol pulled him to his feet, then grabbed his spear. He looked back at the stone entry, still wide enough for a man to get through, and no one to close it further.
“The temple is not closed, Lavress.”
“We are dead, we cannot take that many.” Lavress sighed, looked back to the doors, then lifted his blades. “But, we can make them bleed for their dinner.”
The panther with the patch snarled, stopped his pacing, and began to run toward the grove. The other fourteen followed. Then twenty more crested the hill, and then the sounds of soldiers echoed behind them. Valhirst soldiers.
“My sentiments exactly. Back to back, til the end, and none of them get through. Agreed?” Grnikol sighed, hoping Ramaya-nun or Niastae would close the temple in time.
“Agreed.” Lavress spun his blades round once, took a low stance, and waited. “To our deaths.”
“It has been an honor already, Lavress Tilaniun of the Hedim An---“
The first panther lunged at Grnikol, and he lifted his spear as a staff just in time to send it over the temple stones through the air. The one with the patch raked the ogre’s arm as he went airborn, and landed on all fours far behind the temple.
Lavress slashed with his forward curved blade, then followed with the curved glowing dagger, splitting the neck of a massive black cat wide open. Another raked his calf, then a different panther clawed his forearm, they were surrounded.
Grnikol plunged his spear across and through the neck of one attacking Lavress, then spun his weapon and stabbed it back into the face of another. As it recoiled, he turned and dove the tip down its throat. His thigh tore open from a snarling cat, its teeth clamped down hard then released. Its head fell, severed by the falcata of Lavress.
Snarling hisses grew closer, the claws ripped as they passed, and blood sprayed from the two lone warriors in the sacred grove at night. More arrived, panthers padded over their dead brethren that had reverted back to naked men in the moonlight. The sounds of soldiers, and of a brutal battle on the hill outside the grove, barely reached their ears amidst the constant fight at the temple.
Lavress looked back, noticing the temple doors were not closing, and looked to Grnikol. “Who seals the temple?” He asked quick, in between stabs and thrusts into black fur.
“No one, they are too busy saving the humans I carried down.”
Grnikol speared ahead again, through a panther chest this time, and caught another with his hand as it leapt for his face. The teeth were inches from his throat, yet he held it, until Lavress plunged his kukri dagger into its side and twisted.
Lavress felt another rake of claws across his back, then another, he fell to his knees. He spun from the ground, and dove both blades up into the stomach of the beast intending to devour him. Two more took its place as it howled into a dying transformation from cat to man.
Lavress rolled to his feet, his body wet from blood, mostly his own. A spear thrust killed another in front of him, adding to the ten or more dead already. Yet more than twenty circled and lunged at them, tiring them out, waiting for the moment to finish them. Grnikol could no longer stand, his left leg had nothing below the ankle but twisted torn flesh and bone. Lavress grew dizzy, his arms were lowering without him realizing it. Then they heard it, a battle charge from the hill.
“To the Prince of Chazzrynn!”
Twenty blood covered stallions charged, banners bearing the falcon of Chazzrynn and the feathered cross of Alden fluttered in the moonlight, and Lord Alexei T’Vellon swung his broadsword low and took the head of a bounding panther as he yelled. Less than twenty behind him, the Lord of Southwind raced his men into the thick of black cats in front of the temple as they scattered. Behind him, there were dozens more, and many scattered soldiers of Valhirst, but no more knights.
Alexei T’Vellon looked down to Lavress, glanced at the ogre holding on to him for support, and dismounted as his men engaged the black cats.
“The prince, Sir Liogan, where are they?!”
Lavress pointed down the white stone walls to an underground temple. He was not sure if Alexei would take him prisoner, or assist, their meetings had been less than cooperative in the past.
“They are alive, for now.”
“What do you need of me, Lavress Tilaniun?”
“To hold this grove until we can close the doors, Lord of Southwind.” Lavress bowed. “But when it closes, we will be far away from here.”
Alexei dismounted, and so did his now fifteen remaining knights that he had gathered north of Valhirst and on their journey. He had double backed, seeing a force following the heir prince and his rescuers. He had managed to gather fifty men, but many had died in the constant battles to this spot. He reached out his hand, forearm to forearm, with Lavress Tilaniun.
“Southwind will see it done. Forgive me, friend of Chazzrynn. You are a far better man than me.” Alexei T’Vellon stood in front of the limping ogre and the savage wood elf. “Get inside, and keep my king alive!”
“You have my word.”
“Knights of Southwind, we hold them here! Protect the King!”
Lavress slid through the opening, looking back only once. He saw Alexei raise his shield, then his men made a half circle around the entrance, shoulder to shoulder. Grnikol stood on one leg, spear in hand, and Lavress knew he could not fit down the stairs. He nodded, and ran to the temple sanctum as the sounds of blades, panthers, and battle most bloody reigned from above. Crossbow fire began, snarling cats met the steel of Southwind Keep, and the outnumbered men fought like lions in the night.
He stumbled past the temple rooms, ignoring the pixies and nixies, stepping over little goblins, yet he did not hear the song of the fey that would close the doors. He turned into the throne room, the vines and jewels were lit, but no one was on the throne. He looked left, to the just over two feet of Ramaya-nun laying over Bryant Salaganat. He turned right, seeing Niastae the sphinx with her paws on Liogan Andellis. Neither of them looked up to him, they were deep in prayer, and Lavress knew there was nothing he could do for them.
“What…what…do I do…” His breath was also faint, his wounds were so many, his body wanted to collapse and his skin burned with claw marks.
…Close the temple, Lavress, please. If we leave them, they will die here…
It was the voice of Ramaya-nun in his head, but she did not look at him. Lavress looked to the throne, he had no idea how to do the things they did.
“How, tell me how.” He whispered as he sat in the throne, it was but a little chair to him.
…You must think only of love, and breath in thoughts of that love, then exhale wishes to that love, and sing out a verse to that love…the love of Seirena…
“But the prayers, the words to Seirena, to your mother and Siril, the Whitemoon…I am no priest…I do not---“
…There are none, Lavress, there are none. You hear our devotion and purest love when we pray, that is all. You must find yours, soon, before it is too late. They are coming, they will be through soon…
Lavress thought hard, tried to calm himself, and breathed in deep. He thought of Shinayne, the sacred grove of Viala Simnorr, where he and Shinayne first kissed.
…Good, Lavress, good, breathe now…
He breathed in the aquamarine eyes trimmed with silver of his beloved, her golden locks of hair so long, and her beautiful lips and cheeks. Then Lavress breathed out, they were dancing, it was perfect, and he knew she loved him without question. Their blades twirled in kata, hands and
eyes never leaving one another, and then they kissed. He saw it all in his mind, like all their meditations and spiritual elven meetings.
…Yes, yes, now sing to her Lavress, sing to her and your love will close the doors if it is true…
Lavress forced out the sound of battle above, focused on his visions of Shinayne T’Sarrin, and opened his mouth. He tried to remember the songs she would sing to him in the groves, long ago in Kilikala. His words, ones he did not put there, came out in elven, describing exactly what he could feel. His body ran red with more blood, it dripped down his legs and back and over the throne, but on he sang.
“Hialde ures de amteruas ethea de, ahmoliaro…”
The stone began to move, Lavress felt the pull of something powerful, from his chest through the throne. His eyes opened, there were vines growing from the walls at a fast pace. Pixies flew into frenzy, nixie boys sat in prayer in front of him, as did goblyns of all sorts and small sizes, and so did the beautiful naked dryads as their leaves fluttered in unseen breezes. His heart quickened, his wounds seeped, and his eyes rolled back.
“Jurali ethmes dafora Shinayne kialu, teotearo…”
Lavress sang of every moment they had met, in the flesh and otherwise, since she was a child. He expressed every feeling he had for Shinayne, and the fey of the temple wept as they heard how long the two lovers had been apart. He prayed for her safety, her heart to be close to his, his eyes closed again as the pull was tremendous on his body. He felt his shoulders pop under pressure, his veins bulged in his neck, the forces were crushing him where he sat.
“Liolie ruande arestana haiye, Shinayne lodanaro…”
Caroom…crack…crack…
The temple doors shut, the song ended, and Lavress Tilaniun of the Hedim Anah, fell from the throne. He was unaware, but leaves of rich green grew from the ground, sparkling with lights and love, and caught him as he fell. White flowers began to bloom around him. The vines wrapped him close as his body bled the earthen floor.
Not a creature stirred, just cried and stared, as he lay still. Slowly, one by one, all of the gathered spirits of the Whitemoon sang songs of his bravery, as the temple moved far away from Chazzrynn. The sphinx continued her desperate prayers over Liogan Andellis. The fairy princess Ramaya-nun whispered healing powers from the fey to Bryant Salganat. The temple shook, moving fast through the realms of the Whitemoon, through the Beyemere realms of the fey, to an unknown destination, a mystical journey that Lavress Tilaniun would never see.
Exodus IV:VII
Forges of Thane Kalivak
Kakisteele
The battle had begun again, more horrifying than before, yet all five of them remained calm as they walked the sacred caverns. Gray dwarves fought and died in silence, one of them resembling a splendid king covered in plates of half moon steel discs, and wielding a half warhammer half battle axe weapon as he led a retreat. His crown was fused to an open faced helm with spikes and red stones adorning it, and his shield of two crossed crescent steel moons was killing as many Altestani shadows as his regal hammeraxe was. His beard of dark braids swung from side to side, yelling orders that only the other dead could hear. It was plain to see, outnumbered at least twenty to one, that these gray apparitions would not last much longer against the shadows of demons and men from ages past. It looked like this was their last stand, a circle formed of the dwarves, and it ever shrunk against the hordes of Altestan.
The cavern widened, it carried far in uncounted hours of cautious travel, and then white light drew their attention beyond the false battle. Zen walked through it, saw through it, and made for a curling ramp of stone that led down. His friends said little now, seeing that he was at peace with the falseness of the scenes, no matter how vivid and terrible they were. His eyes, much focused on battle and finding she who held this place cursed, opened wide as they reached the bottom of the ramp.
“The holy forges, pinch me, slap me, somethin’ please.”
Smack
“Thank ye’ Saberrak, now both me shoulders ache.”
Zen stared across the flat sandstone cavern, seven rising steel furnaces, three more around those, hundreds of feet in the air before him. Stairs went up in circles around them, dwarven engravings glowed faintly from their smooth outer walls, and at the base of each a golden fire still smoldered.
They stepped closer, seeing anvils of white iron, as big as horses, glistening with long lost divinity. Ten there were, all with white iron hammers and tools resting alongside. Each forge had a bellows that would take ten dwarves to operate, a small set of tables and chairs for meals sat with forks and bowls, and even a prayer alcove built into each one. The symbols on each were not all of the hammer and moons of Vundren, however. The largest held the design of the dwarven God upon its steel face. The others held symbols of Alden, Annar, Haddius, Solumet, Siril, Megos, Seirena, and Vasentanessa. The farthest one held the strange triangle wreathed in vines, the symbol they knew so little about.
“The forge, it be for those keys, the ones ye’ been speakin’ of Saberrak. By Vundren, tis a forge o’ the, o’ all the…the…”
“Carician children of the white moon, one for each of them.” Saberrak finished his statement for him. “And, the mother, the father, and the mortals that serve them.”
“Aye, them. Look at all that white iron, the other metals, the shining blends o’ steel, by Vundren’s holy hammer, tis a lot it is.”
They walked in slowly, dwarfed by the massive structures of divine origins, and kept south toward a set of stairs. Zen furrowed his brow, seeing the black steps covered in skulls and bones, piled high, and the door was not of dwarven craft at all. It was made of bones, fused and black, shiny and marked with strange designs that looked less than friendly. He knew where he had to go.
Suddenly, the kingly figure ran past them, through them, all alone. His gray form making no sound, yet he was injured as gray blood poured down his armor. He snuck, ducked from view, as if being followed. He turned into the forges, twisting each way, and stopped at the forge of Vundren. Another ghost.
“What is he doing?”
Shinayne watched as the lone gray figure knelt below the opening to the forge, and pulled out a leather bag. He was crying, yet he scooped ashes into the bag and tied it shut. He prayed over the bag, it glowed a strange gray, and he tied it shut. Then the apparition placed a key inside of an iron box, then a rolled parchment, and shoved the bag inside as well.
“That be him, that be Mudren Sheldathain, by Vundren it is. Why is the king not with his men, dying in the battle?” Zen followed Shinayne, the others close behind.
The ghost went on to the right of the forges, against the shadowy wall, and met with someone or something. There was nothing there, just a small passage, big enough for a dwarf perhaps. Yet the ghost was talking, on a knee, lecturing someone that was not there. The five companions stood right over him, watched him embrace someone, then another smaller someone, his arms wrapping around air alone to their eyes. He took off his armor and helm with the crown, handed his hammeraxe to someone, and then gave the box to someone else. He pulled a key from his clothes, and handed it to whoever it was.
Someone or something took his belongings, and the ghost seemed to trying to move stealthily, some sort of mission that required quiet. Still, there was no vision of who he was speaking to. He pointed toward the passage, even pushed someone to go, then began looking back to the forges behind him. He ran, sneaking and hiding, trying to take cover.
Zen sniffled and wiped his eyes. “He be giving the box, me box, and all he has to his family or someone. Oh God, what is that? Why don’t he fight, why is he runnin’?”
A dark form, a shadow with wings, twelve or more feet tall and surrounded by flying demons, stood over them. Red eyes formed, her hand pointed, and the demons swooped down and smothered the ghostly king of Kakisteele. He did not fight, he dropped his shield, and was carried off. The demons went through the bone doors, as did the massive figure, as did the king. Then the shad
ows faded, all without a sound.
Azenairk reached for him, his hand passed through anything moving, and he knew it was but the past. Still, he whispered.
“No, don’t take him, no…”
Shinayne reached down in the shadows to where the apparition of the king had been, and felt around. Nothing.
“Someone has been here.” She drew her blades and looked around, now that another horrifying and vivid scene was over.
“What makes you say that?” James drew his blade as well, trusting her instincts.
“He dropped his shield here, should still be there, but it is not. So, someone has taken it.” Shinayne looked around, the ghosts were gone, the shadows of past demons and men had vanished, and the cavern of the forges were silent and still.
“I know who has it, and she be through that door there. I bet me dwarven ars on it.”
“And how much pray tell, is that worth exactly?” Gwenneth smiled.
“Not much, if we don’t kill this curse and the witch holdin’ it so.” He smiled back.
“No, I think there is a passage out, to whoever he gave---“
“Then let’s open that door, the one with all the skulls to greet us.” Saberrak huffed. “Whoever did this, let us pay a visit, priest.”
“Aye.” Zen gritted his teeth.
“Men, this may not be the best idea.” Shinayne was cautious, she felt things in the air, powerful things.
“I agree with Shinayne.” Gwenneth felt it too, something had a will here, and it was watching them.
James paused, thinking he heard faint cries. It sounded like women, children too, but he saw nothing. He looked to the pile of ashes at the base of the steel forge, then it faded. He turned to follow the others, and noticed Shinayne’s blades were glowing as she held them low to her sides. He looked down, so was his. It was a strange glow, a white golden hue, almost as if the steel was catching light that was not there, or was, long ago. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, it was gone.
“Something moves unseen here, careful.” James walked in small circles, looking for the source or the sound.
