by Jason Jones
Azenairk opened his mouth into hers, holding the blades open with trembling strength, and white golden light flashed as he exhaled hard. He heard children singing dwarven hymns, women chanting prayers to Vundren, all in the pouring light that swirled from his mouth into the fanged maw of Arabashiel. His eyes teared, from the song, from the pain of her fingers into his throat, and from the sight of little ashen dwarven faces flowing down into the Gimmorian mistress of curses.
Arabashiel gagged, coughed, and screamed to get the light and ashes from her mouth, yet it was no use. They dove into her throat, down to her chest, and consumed her in divine revenge. Light poured from her healing wounds, bright white light, and her eyes cried blood as she looked to the dwarf responsible.
Her legs trembled as she stood, her arms gripped his neck, and with all she had left, she ripped the Azenairk’s throat out, and hurled him down the steps.
Zen tried to scream and roar in pain, but the air came and went from his neck, a neck torn open wide and pouring his blood all over the golden floor. He stopped his roll, and came face to face with the smiling head of Mudren Sheldathain. His body wanted to stand, yet he could not. The deathgrip on the enchanted blades of his friends was tight, yet he was fading fast. Crimson came in coughs and gags, and he dropped the swords to the floor, then touched his neck and thought of a prayer. He could not speak, his throat was still in her hand.
Please Vundren, heal me wounds, or take me to yer halls on Mount Maonell. Just let me see her die first, then I can go…
Arabashiel walked down the steps, trying to summon her sword, but it would not come. She tried to fly, but her wings were disintegrating fast. The thirteenth born Gimmorian pointed to Zen Thalanaxe, went to speak, and then her eyes flashed white. Her teeth went white, then her veins, and then Arabashiel fell to the ground. The immortal mistress of curses lifted her head, and part of it fell like ash to the floor. Black midnight hair curled into white dust, her skin peeled to gray debris, and then the white light rose slowly from her ashen remains, and disappeared.
All was still in the throneroom of Kakisteele, nothing moved, and the fires of divine lights faded from all around until but pitch black darkness remained. Mudren Sheldathain was in pieces, Arabashiel was dust and ash, and Azenairk Thalanaxe let his eyes close. He felt not his heartbeat, nor the air in his chest come or go, and his body went cold. He tried to pray, in his darkening mind, one hand on his neck, the other on his hammer and moons.
Thank ye’ father, glory to Vundren, it is done. God, please watch over me friends. Send them me love, tell them I couldn’t have done it without em’. Please accept Mudren and I into yer halls, and let me be with me family…
Golden light flickered from his fingers touching his throat. Blood pooled quietly all around the dwarves that lay still. Then, the golden glow went low, and went out. Azenairk Thalanaxe looked with wide eyes into the darkness, and saw nothing, heard nothing, as all was still. Then, slowly, his eyes closed.
Pagans IV:II
Temple Way
Ruins of Mooncrest
“Every movement, every flicker from the corner of your eye, and every single noise upon Her lush lands of life, is a sign sent from the Mother. Follow the signs, embrace them, and She will always lead you to where you need to be. That is why you are here, whether you admit it or not.”---Words of Larens of Guidance, spoken to Angeline Berren, on the side of Soujan Mountain.
Circa 335 A.D.
The little form was quick, hiding from shadow to shadow, sneaking into the ruined city. The skies were gray, yet light of the sun was trying it seemed to pass through. Angeline saw many soldiers being ordered out of the ruins by their superiors. Her eyes saw a ruined city from milennia past, yet she followed her feelings that told her to follow this little sneak. She was no war leader, as the men and women had organized a defense of their caravan. The lady of the Knights Soujan was here for something else, something with Gwenneth Lazlette, yet she could not feel her anywhere. Her eyes caught something to follow, and in all her training and faith, she knew not to question it.
Angeline waited behind old elven buldings, then ran behind platoons of marching Armondi men, keeping hidden from sight. Along the sandstone pathway she crept, at the base of the mountains, weaving between old fortress walls. The figure moved fast, despite being half her height, and it was headed for a tall structure with no stairs and open floors. The southside of a ring of tall temples was busy with nearly a legion of men coming and going.
Soldiers came from both directions now, scouts converged near them unaware, and Angeline rushed behind the little man that she had felt to follow. He, it, whatever the stealthy shadow was, had gotten itself into a tight spot. And now, Angeline was only one sound or false move away from being found by what she knew to be wicked Armondi men serving a dark purpose.
Do not move, do not speak, I am a friend. I am right behind you, yet if you move, you will be seen. Hold still.
Tubrey o’ Tarnobb looked around, scratched his head, and tried to calm his racing heart. Someone spoke in his mind, a woman, a voice he had never heard. He froze regardless, crouching behind a row of ceramic garden pots holding dead vines, and saw the Armondi soldiers pass by. He looked, the temple he was trapped at had no stairs. He had been tired of waiting for the big and strong warriors to charge in. He wanted to help, to find his heroes, yet now he felt very foolish and scared for sneaking in here all alone.
A hand covered his mouth, he went to gasp, and it gripped tighter. He struggled, then the voice came again in his head.
I am Angeline of Charity, of the Knights Soujan, a friend to those you seek. Hold on tight, I will get us to a safe spot.
Tubrey nodded as best he could, grabbed on to her green robes, and closed his eyes. He opened them, as he felt them both lift into the air with a mild breeze.
I am Tubrey o’ Tarnobb, leading minstrel for the Shans o’ Little Door, and how are you speaking to me? Oh God, oh lord Alden in heaven, please put me down, please don’t look, oh God---
Just hold on, little one, I will not drop you. We need to get out of sight, up high, to the top of this tower. Just remain calm.
Calm, calm, I am calm, how high is this thing anyway? It is like twenty stories up, the soldiers look small, smaller than me, this is not good, not good, oh God---
“Put your feet down.” Angeline settled to the uppermost floor of the open stories of the temple and removed her hand from the mouth of the pygmy man.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, God bless and all. I was trying to see, and find them, and where are we, what was I thinking---“
“Whisper now, quiet. We are…we are…oh by Seirena and all the Caricians.” Angeline looked down, her green eyes starting to tear, and she knelt to touch the triangle of vines engraved on the very floor she stood upon.
“This is a Soujan Temple, a sacred place to my order.”
Charity hummed a faint song, Angeline felt sadness from ages past from the stone, yet she felt something mystical as well. Tubrey reached up and touched her shoulderplate, tracing the triangle of vines, then looked to the stone floor of gray marble.
“That is the same symbol, what does it---“
Angeline walked forward, near the edge overlooking the center of the ring of old temples. She saw all the Carician symbols, every one of them, decorated high upon burned and war charred marble structures. Her eyes looked north, beyond the ruins to where the soldiers marched. The legions of Armondeen were there, by an outpost, right outside the city. She looked down, through the maze of bridges that connected the temples to one another, and she saw a glowing red circle in the center. Men with blue painted eyes knelt before it, sang dark chants together, and then she saw.
“Oh no.” She hung her head as a tear fell from her eye, then the other. “I am too late.”
Tubrey walked up beside her, quietly, and peered over. Down below, surrounded now by one hundred soldiers, were his friends. He saw Saberrak Agrannar gagged and chained. There was Shinayne T’Sarrin
, chained and her head placed on some wooden block. There was a soldier with a large curved blade over her. Sir James Andellis was chained as well, on the ground, staring at his feet. Shinayne and James had something wrong with their eyes, like moving blindfolds of some strange shadow design were over them. Then Tubrey teared as he saw her.
As if the sight was not terrible enough for his little eyes, he saw Gwenneth Lazlette. Her back was covered in crossbow fire, her body was just laying in a puddle of dried blood, and she was not moving at all. They had not chained her, for obvious reasons, and her staff was set along the temple wall and flickering green. As he gasped he closed his eyes and turned away.
Tubrey fell back into the arms of Angeline, and she held him tight. He cried, hand over his own mouth, and dared not look again. Angeline stroked his curly hair, far above, on the lost and mythical Soujan Temple.
“Enough now, enough. We can still save them. We can.”
Angeline drew Charity, and looked to the hilt. The little angels were winking, their feathers were glowing, and she felt in her pouch. Something there they wanted her to see. She concentrated, the winds rose, and she felt Gwenneth’s spirits had not passed. Again she felt, faintly, but it was close by.
“How? Gwenneth is…she is…she’s dead. There are one hundred men there still, and they are going to kill them. Lord Cristoff is still back with the---“ Tubrey shook his head and wiped his face.
“They will come. Can you get those chains off, were I to get you close enough?” Angeline felt the feather, the one Annar had left her with when he disappeared into Hyrastrian, to go to the heavens. It was throbbing with a pulse, with a heartbeat, and she took a deep breath then looked to Tubrey.
“Yes, I have these.” He produced some small files, a little chisel, and some small picks in a folding leather pouch with straps. Tubrey looked up, his big brown eyes puffy with tears, and saw the disapproving gaze of Angeline.
“What? We minstrels get stiffed on coin so often, since we be small and all. I have to make sure fair is fair, once in awhile, just on those that don’t pay, mind you. I am no thief, not by trade anyway.”
“Very well.” Angeline smiled.
Shrieks of screaming demons shot through the clouds, right above them, and then from the doors to the mines, and even from the mountains behind them. Black horned horrors on wings, hundreds upon hundreds of them, all swarmed the skies. Dead soldiers hissed from atop skeletal steeds as they rushed from the southernmost roads in the ruins. They were running from something.
Angeline pulled Tubrey against a pillar and readied her sacred blade. Then, they turned to ash and dust, black powder laced the air and ruins. The demons sizzled and screamed, as if whatever they were fleeing was destroying them, whatever held them here, was gone. Soon, clouds of dust and ash were all that remained.
“I do not like this place.” Tubrey commented after the last of the demons turned to dust on the wind.
“When I drop, you hold on tight. It will not be like before, nice and slow. I need to surprise them, so we will fall very fast. When---“
“Whoa, hold on. There are one hundred men down there, we need to go get help. You cannot---“ Tubrey was cut off.
“There is no time. When we land, you get them free. I will handle the soldiers.” Angeline smiled and reached into her puch for the feather.
“Do you love them, truly, Tubrey o’ Tarnobb?”
“With all my heart, Saberrak the most, but all of them, yes. They saved our lives in the Misathi Mountains. They are the bravest heroes ever.” Tubrey wiped his eyes and walked toward the edge.
“Who do you pray to, may I ask.”
“Alden, God of Heaven, the father of mankind. Why?”
“I cannot keep something, without giving it away. So, here, take this, and keep it safe.”
She handed him the feather, it was glowing, humming with golden radiance. She knew it was one of Alden’s, for Annar had stood over his brother and protected him, and was imprisoned for it so many thousands of years ago. He had kept one feather, in his hand, all this time. She knew it, for Charity told her of its origin with sweet songs to her heart.
“What is this for?”
“For Gwenneth, just pray to Alden, with his feather. Place it upon her, and hold her tight. For me, Tubrey.” Angeline wiped her eyes and stood, blade in hand.
“This is one of Alden’s feathers I hear it telling me---“
“Sssshhhh. Yes.”
Angeline walked to the edge and looked over. The black masks of shadow were gone from the eyes of James and Shinayne, yet the soldiers were beating them as they cried and pointed to Gwenneth. Saberrak was jerking the chains so hard that dust flew from the ground. Then, they began beating him with the blunt ends of their weapons as well. Zen Thalanaxe was nowhere to be seen.
The red circle was pulsing, flames began to dance up from the center, and men in dark prayer hummed loudly toward it as if something were to rise through any moment. She heard singing, faint as it was, from Shinayne. Though Angeline did not speak elven, she felt the words. It was a eulogy, poetic and placed to song, and both she and Charity felt tears coming from the words they did not understand. The elf was singing some sort of last rites, for herself, and for Gwenneth Lazlette.
The lady of the Knights Soujan took a deep breath, wrapped Tubrey in her arm, and said a silent prayer to her brothers Soujan far away. She looked up, and a single faint beam of sunlight broke the clouds and fell on the side of the temple. She hummed and thought pleasant thoughts to the air. Many faint whispers answered, though she could see nothing in the sky. She waited for the right moment, she would know, the Mother would tell her. Angeline smiled to Tubrey, looked down, and breathed out.
“Are you ready?” She whispered softly.
“Yes, m’lady.” Tubrey gulped and whispered back.
Exodus IV:IX
Throneroom of Thane Kalivak
Kakisteele
“Come on, Azenairk, ye’ still walk too slow. Always did.”
Zen felt the pat on his shoulder, he blinked and looked up. He was walking, though he did not feel his steps. The tunnel was filled with light, the light of thousands of dwarven spirits passing him by. He looked behind him. They flooded from the forges and into this tunnel, the one that Mudren Sheldathain had sent his family out, so long ago. It was blinding white light, and even brighter as he turned and looked to where they were headed.
“Hurry up me boy, by Vundren ye’ be standin’ round all dazed.”
Kimmarik Thalanaxe stood before him, his own father, yet he was young and full of life.
“Father? Father, how are you, what is…oh by Vundren’s holy hammer, I see the Mountain.” He walked forward, trembling, and then he looked at his hands. They were white, glowing, as was the rest of him. Just like every other dwarf that he saw.
“I’m dead then.”
Zen walked with his father, out the tunnel, and up the side of the Kaki Mountains, following the tens of thousands of dwarven spirits that were now free. He looked up, Mount Maonell glistened like a spike of silver from the clouds. The dead spirits smiled as they passed him, giving thanks as heavenly winds drifted them up the side of the Kaki, and then up into the gray skies above.
“Ye’ done good, me little agrvund, ye’ done made us all proud up here, Vundren’s certaintly on that.” Kimmarik sniffled, a few ghostly tears fell, and he put his arm around Zen as they walked up the mountain.
“I did it, I promised ye’ I would, father.” Zen held him tight as they walked, father and son, together.
“Sorry I done died, but that Arabashiel was a bit powerful then.”
“Aye, ye’ done slain a Gimmorian immortal, rumor be spreadin’ for certain.”
Zen looked up, and fell to his knees on the side of the cloud covered mountains. His ghostly lips trembled, and he pointed ahead. Tears rolled down his cheeks into his beard.
“Tad….Gead…Papi…Mum? Is that you then?” He waved to his family, and they waved back from th
e clouds of Vundren’s heaven.
“Aye, yer family be all here, all of us. They be so proud o’ ye’ son, ye’ have no idea. Ye’ did what no army, no dwarven kings, no one but you coulda’ done. The whole entire Halls o’ Vundren be talkin’ o’ me boy, Azenairk Thalanaxe.” Kimmarik held Zen tight, holding him back from walking toward his mother and brothers on Mount Maonell.
Another pat came from behind, this one hard and strong. He turned around, and was face to face with the spirit of Mudren Sheldathain. He was whole, dwarven, without so much as the demonic marks he held previous. Zen bowed, wiped his face, and smiled. Dwarven songs of praise chanted throughout the skies, from countless dwarven spirits, and he even heard his name being sung of from the peaks of the mountain.
“Yer boy fought like hell, Kimmarik Thalanaxe, I never seen nothin’ like it. Ye must be the proudest father in Mount Maonell, and I am proud to say I fought alongside ye’, Azenairk. See ye’ soon then. Vundren’s blessings upon ye’.”
Mudren drifted up, waving his thanks to the Thalanaxe men, and disappeared into the heavenly clouds. Thousands still followed and drifted past, all being greeted by their families, long gone from the world, yet now reunited.
“Me friends, are they allright then?” Zen drifted up a bit more, then Kimmarik pulled him back again with his ghostly hand.
“That is why the heavenly father, Vundren, had me come to ye’ first, son. They be in trouble then. Tis not good.” Kimmarik let his tears fall, hard and constant, and hugged his son tight. He missed him more than anything in the world.
“Can Vundren help em’, what can we do then?” Zen felt something tickle his neck, something wet and warm. He looked around, nothing. Then again, moist on his face, but nothing there.
“Aye, aye, he can. Look there, look hard.” Kimmarik pointed through the clouds, down along a beam of sunshine, and into the ring of temples.
