* * *
Ifferon stood frozen in terror, unable to flee as the knight had commanded. The blazing eyes and snarling teeth leapt out from the shadow as if from the verge of a nightmare. Horror played on his mind and dulled his senses; everything was a sudden blur of sight and sound, a thrum of screams and shrieks, and a flurry of red and black. New terrors crept from his mind to meet the monsters that stood before him, and the fear gnawed at his will and chased away his courage.
Then Délin shouted something in Old Arlinaic, and a dull light came upon him, as if some spirit of Halés had answered his call. The knight rose up and shook the wolves from him as if they were but rain upon his armour. And the fear was vanquished, washed away in the great tsunami of bravery and valour that had been unleashed. Ifferon thawed, as if from the fires of Halés, or the burning rage of the incensed knight before him, and he found that he could move again, that blood flowed ever more quickly in his veins.
But Délin was taken down again. Wolf after wolf came upon him and dragged him this way and that. They groped at his arms and legs, and one great wolf pinned him down and bit fiercely into his left arm. Though he wore metal gauntlets, the knight screamed out and struggled against his attacker. Then the wolves seemed to fight amongst themselves, tussling for a piece of the knight. And the voice of Délin rose one last time, and then it faded quickly, and his struggle was no more.
“Begone!” Ifferon shouted, and suddenly the wolves ceased in their feast. They turned and looked upon the cleric—surprised and cautious, and altogether curious. Who was this new man? Why had he not fled like the others? How did he speak with seven voices? For that is how his voice sounded to them. A light welled up within him, and he seemed to gleam with a fire of his own, one that the wolves of Halés could never quench. The moon came suddenly from behind the clouds and shone down upon them, and the wolves were frightened, as if there was a threat of torment in the lunar rays.
“Dehilasü baeos!” Ifferon shouted, and the seven voices roared as one. “Dehilasü baeos! Al-iav im-iavün im-samün im-samadas, dehilasü baeos!” A thunder rumbled in the heavens, like the sound of the great war drums of the gods. And it seemed to the wolves, caught off-guard with this new peril standing tall before them, that a silver armour shrouded in white light descended from the clouds, falling upon Ifferon and raising him to a new and formidable stature. “Baeö Fasünï il-Taelam!”
And the wolves recoiled at this announcement, turning and fleeing back towards the Peak, knowing now their own fear as the light of the moon pursued their racing heels. Their shadow passed back under the gloom of the mountain, and on this night they were seen no more.
The light of the moon dulled and the armour of Ifferon dissolved and parted like dust in a breeze. The seven voices were replaced by his own meagre tongue, parched by the heat of the flames of Halés. Strength and courage no longer dwelt in him; they departed like the wolves. Ifferon, frail and feeble once again, collapsed upon the ground.
* * *
Délin awoke to the sound of screeching steel, and for one painful moment he thought he was within the iron masts of the dungeons of Tol-Úmari. His eyes stung, his heart throbbed, and the dull ache in his limbs was only matched by the relentless pounding in his head.
Another screech shrieked through the air, forcing Délin to cringe and cling to the ground. The sound echoed out and became so intense that it seemed to pierce his brain like a stabbing sword.
A shrill cry of metal panged his hearing. Délin wondered what door might have just been opened or what tool of evil was being used in the deeper parts of this lair. His mind wandered once more, down a cold hallway lined with metal plating, under an iron-cast portcullis, and into a room of steel.
And then a shadow passed him by, a black shape seen against his closed eyelids. It seemed to pace back and forth, and there was a fire behind it, burning brightly around the silhouette of the moving figure. A Felokar wolf, he thought. It is as I feared. I have been defeated, and now they bring me to some cave or lair to maul and devour me. Would that I had died ere I came to this torment.
Then a realisation came like the sudden tolling of a bell. I have died. That may yet be a Felokar wolf, but this is not Tol-Úmari or some wolf lair on Iraldas—no, this is Halés. I am in the Underworld. But then he heard something strange: a voice. It was the voice of someone he knew, but it spoke a tongue he was but fleetingly familiar with. Dehilasü baeos, it called, but there were other voices now. Suddenly, more quickly than his prior realisation, he recalled that this was the voice of Ifferon. He has fallen too. Doom has come upon our quest and death has come upon our company. He should have fled.
But then a light came down and the black figures made flight, and he knew then that they were indeed wolves, for they howled in dismay, as if they had set upon some wolf trap in the wild. The light was blinding, stinging his eyes, and yet he found that the pain of this new light was not as severe, and it seemed to lessen the soreness he had felt before. In a matter of moments it was gone, but as it passed, so too was Délin able to pry his eyes open and look upon what doom had befallen him.
It was not Halés. There were few other times when he was so happy to be wrong. This was not the land of fire and rock and spirit. This was not a place of ash and char and brimstone. This was where he had been assaulted by the wolves, just beneath the Peak. He turned slowly, for his body still ached, and he saw that Tol-Úmari stood as tall as ever to his right. And, on turning back, he realised that he was not the only body lying on the ground there. Ifferon lay in a heap mere feet away.
“Ifferon!” Délin called, and he coughed the name, for his mouth was coarse and dry. He swallowed hard, which was like consuming ash. He forced himself up and almost collapsed again, for his legs were limp, but soon he regained his balance and stumbled over to where Ifferon had fallen.
“Ifferon! Alas! Alas! Have I returned from my swoon too late? By law of virtue, Lord Corrias, do not let death come upon him when death has chosen to pass me by. Arlin needs Délin, but all of Iraldas needs Ifferon.”
“Délin,” Ifferon tried, his speech weaker than Délin’s strained voice.
“Praise the Lord Corrias!” the knight cried, tears leaking from his eyes. “You are alive! Never have I been so relieved. I thought I was taken to Halés, and then feared that you were also. But come, my friend, we must leave our journey to Halés for another day, and let us pray that it is many a year before that dour day is come.”
Ifferon mumbled something on the edge of hearing; perhaps some god or spirit of Halés might have understood his words, but Délin did not have the strength to strain his ears.
“Conserve your energy, dear Ifferon,” the knight said. “Bless me, I am overcome and losing my senses. Take some water from my flask.”
Délin gave the cleric his flask, which was battered from the battle, and when Ifferon finished drinking, Délin took a sup for himself. The water felt like life renewing in his veins, as if it were from the heavenly streams of Althar in the skies above.
“How we fail to appreciate so simple a thing,” Ifferon said after a time. “For something so plentiful in the world, it seems always to run out. My mouth was a desert, and the canister was my oasis. Thank you beyond all kindness, Délin.”
Soon both of them were fit enough to stand, and then they looked upon their surroundings and realised that they were alone. No wolves were about, and the Vigil of Tol-Úmari was looking elsewhere. None of their companions were there.
“They are gone,” Ifferon said.
“I told them to flee,” Délin said, and he turned to Ifferon. “I told you to flee.”
“It is lucky I did not,” the cleric replied. “But at least the others listened.”
Délin was not so sure. “Or they have been taken by the wolves,” he said. “Of all who would give flight, Herr’Don is not one of them, for his body would take a wound sooner than his pride. Yet he is gone.”
They sat and rested for a while, but they did not tarr
y, for they were uncomfortably aware of the Peak of the Wolf looming like a beast upon the horizon. “We must use what little strength there is left in us to find a better resting place,” Délin suggested. “Alas! For if any of our friends have survived and are looking for us, they may come back this way, and we may pass them by without knowing. Alas indeed, for it seems that we are guided by wicked hands to an evil doom.”
Onwards they travelled, slowly at first, for their legs were as logs and their minds were as crumbled earth. Soon, however, they shook the woodenness from their limbs, and their pace grew quicker.
Suddenly Délin halted. There was a sound of scree falling beyond some rocks just ahead.
“A peril lies before us,” Délin whispered. They both knew well what peril that was. The wolves had returned, perhaps from some feast upon their friends, and the knight and cleric could neither hide nor run—nor could they fight, for they had spent what little energy they had left in their arduous walk. All that was left was the wait, and the silent prayers that their journey to Halés would be swift and merciful.
Then something came over the rocky mound and Délin instantly unleashed his sword, for fear had given him new strength.
But it was not a wolf.
“What irony!” Herr’Don shouted, raising his hands before him to block the advancing sword. “To survive the wolves by Délin’s valour only to be slain by that same knight. Surely the Céalari delight in such tricks of fate!”
But Délin stayed his hand before the fatal strike. “What happened to you?” he quizzed.
“What happened to you?” Aralus asked, for he came hastening over the mound to the sound of Herr’Don’s shout. He pointed to Délin’s torn hand.
“It was bitten by a Felokar wolf when I challenged them to combat,” the knight replied. “I will live.”
“Unlike dear Ifferon here,” Herr’Don said, clapping his hands and laughing heartily. “But lo! I nearly had my whole arm eaten!”
“Herr’Don the One Arm,” Aralus said with his now familiar grin. “Has a certain ring to it.”
“Ha! For each attempt at my arm I took a leg from the wolf, and I took his head for the insult of challenging me in the first place! I downed another before it carried Aralus off in its jaws.”
Aralus turned and showed the large teeth marks in his leather armour. “Merely a scratch, I’m sure Herr’Don will find.”
“Aye! And you’re lucky I was there to ensure the wolf did not keep on scratching!”
“When both of you are done flaunting your victory,” Délin said, “can you tell me where the others are? Thalla? Yavün? Elithéa?”
“I saw Elithéa by the boulders yonder,” Herr’Don said, pointing to a ridge of rock in the distance. “She’s a nimble one. Wouldn’t think she had it in her.”
“I certainly wouldn’t,” Aralus said. “But then she never lets me look.”
“And Thalla and Yavün?” Délin asked.
“I haven’t seen them,” Herr’Don replied gruffly, folding his arms.
“Perhaps they’ve found some boulders of their own to hide behind?” Aralus suggested with a devious smile. “Perhaps they’re doing some scratching of their own? Hmm?”
“Better watch your tongue,” Herr’Don snapped. “Or you’ll see it in a jar sometime soon, and you can tell people that Herr’Don the Wolf did you the honour—if, indeed, you can say anything at all.”
“Ah, the jester lives a tough life,” Aralus said, shaking his head. “In truth, I’m sure they’re probably dead somewhere, perhaps rolling in the bellies of some satiated wolves.”
“We must find Thalla!” Herr’Don cried.
“Yes, yes,” Délin said. “And Yavün and Elithéa.”
“And Elithéa, yes,” Herr’Don said. “I suggest we keep together, unless we want to spend the rest of the night finding each other after we’ve found everyone else.”
“Yes, yes, that is wise,” Délin said. He grimaced, for the pain in his hand had grown. “Are you well enough to walk, dear Ifferon?”
“I will manage,” Ifferon said, struggling to his feet with Délin’s aid.
“Hmm, I can see how hauling a dying old man will not slow us down,” Aralus said. “Perhaps I should stay here with him while you two go ahead? Knight and his admirer—it’s touching.” There was a certain unsettling eagerness in his voice, a sudden slip of desperation on his tongue, and Ifferon suspected it was apparent to them all.
“Yes, and I can see how you’ve not been listening to what I said about us not splitting up,” Herr’Don said. “We did that already when the wolves attacked, and look at the mess we’re in now. Sane men do what great men suggest, and I suggest we take whatever pace is necessary for us all to stay together.”
“Hmm, does that include Yavün?” Aralus asked. “You know, because I’m wondering if that’s the kind of let’s all stay together that you mean.”
Herr’Don glared at him and forced a smirk before turning aside. “You humour me,” he said, but their was no mirth in his voice. “Come! Let us part now before we are parted of our zeal. A long journey is lessened by eager feet.”
* * *
The sudden wail of a Felokar wolf brought Thalla and Yavün to the brink of a large precipice, which gave way to a cliff of rocks and boulders, mounted uneasily on a bed of weathered limestone. The ground was damp, for night had fallen, and with it came a downpour of rain that would not cease. The darkness oppressed them, and yet it was the slivers of infrequent light that caused them the most fright, for instantly they saw in their minds the candle-eyes of a dozen hungry wolves, ravenous and hungry.
Thalla and Yavün had shaken off the brunt of their frenzy, for they had taken flight at the instant of Délin’s command, though they did not need his instruction, for the wolves of Halés had killed their courage and gave new life to their legs.
Yavün could barely see his hands before his face, let alone the outline of Thalla just ahead. His eyes had not acclimatised to the dark, for the gloom seemed to be growing thicker as time wore on, bringing with it the fresh fear of blindness. Instead he followed the quick patters of Thalla’s steps, but even they were hard to follow, faint and feeble against the backdrop of frequent wolf howls.
“We cannot keep running,” he said at last, his voice jumping as they made their sightless way down the ravine. Stumbling in the wilderness of shadow, Yavün knew not if they were heading back into Boror, into the belt of trees known as the Dead Wood, or, indeed, into Feloklin, where the black tower of Tol-Úmari would not be seen against the canvas of shade.
“I know,” Thalla replied, and it was hard to tell from where her voice came, “but it is all we can do right now. I do not want to sleep in these lands at night when a wolf may come upon us without our knowing.”
“Yet I do not fancy running right into the jaws of one,” Yavün said, “for who am I with a map at day, let alone mapless at night? And even if we are travelling towards the Chasm, how are we to know the others will come this way?”
“We cannot know,” Thalla admitted. “But where we were heading is the only thing that all of us knew ere the wolves came. Wisdom would see us meet there again, and may fate grant it to the wise.”
The mention of the wise made Yavün painfully aware of the Beldarian around his neck, for it had been tingling there for some time, but now it seemed hot, burning a reminder into him. Why not? he thought. She would not see, not in this dark. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and took the pendant out to glance at. He could see naught until he brought it right before his eyes, whereupon he saw a faint wisp of red in the beldar gem. Then it grew suddenly intense, like the lighting of an oil lamp.
“What is that light?” Thalla called.
Stricken with panic, Yavün shoved the Beldarian back into his shirt. “What light?” he said, his voice wavering. “I ... Perhaps it is the first light of dawn. Yes, it’s dawn.”
“Maybe we can sleep then,” she called back to him. “I do not want to travel at night and
sleep away the day.”
And so they clambered in the dark for each other’s hands, and they clasped them and lay down in a crevice in the rock. There they fell into a deep and heedless slumber, comforted by the warmth in each other’s bodies. Dawn came, but not for many hours, and they were still in the clutches of sleep as it passed.
* * *
“Day is the Comforter,” Délin said as the sun rose. He was first to greet it, speaking an Old Arlinaic prayer.
“Hail, indeed!” Herr’Don said, shifting from his not so comfortable rock bed. “Even the great weariness of an endless walk is more restful than this supposed resting place. I would that we came unto Eridúl ere now, for there, at least, the Plains are flat, not rugged and jagged like these forks and knives of rock!”
“You are obviously more accustomed to beds of linen,” Aralus remarked. “For is that not the rightful place of a prince? If you were forced into the wild, then your body would have grown accustomed to its ways, be they calm or full of crags.”
“I felt no rock last night,” Ifferon said, “for I was too deep in slumber. But that rest I shall surely pay for now, for my back is as jagged as the rock it lay against.”
They began a new day away from the Vigil of Tol-Úmari, and they heard no cries or howls of wolves, nor, indeed, the sound of anything else upon the rocky downs. They travelled swiftly, following the direction of the sun, and stopped only twice, once to tend to Délin’s wounded hand, which he had tried to ignore long enough, and the other for a short rest and lunch. Before midday had come they journeyed many miles, but still there was no sight of their lost companions.
* * *
Yavün awoke to find Thalla already stirring, yet still she laid there in his embrace. “Good morning,” she said. He grinned widely and his face shone as brightly as the sun, which had been shining for many hours.
The Children of Telm - The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 18
