Awake the Cullers (History of Ondar)

by Amanda Young

  Valesca ran to pick it up. A stone, just like the ones Jaiston collected. She looked around. It was completely out of place here, not something that could have naturally fallen to the floor at this spot. “He went this way,” she said with certainty, holding the stone tight in the palm of her hand.

  “Then so do we,” Kern said, leading the way.

  * * *

  This was a dark night. Dim light from the magical sun over Merchant’s Square barely reached the halfway point of the city. It was bright but localized. Over by the wall, she could see small specks of light from lanterns and torches. Perhaps she made the wrong choice, Mirerien mused. After hours of fighting, running between shops, shooting arrows from rooftops and directing civilians to areas of greater safety, she was exhausted.

  Thankfully, due to her brothers’ efforts the number of Cullers inside the city was not increasing, but those who remained were not the loud, boisterous brutes she spent a good portion of the evening fighting. They were quieter, scheming and very dangerous. It took all of her concentration and keen elven senses to keep from being taken by surprise.

  She heard a sound like chuckling or laughter and saw the shadows beside her move. A bush shook, and another shadow moved. The sounds of shuffling and laughter moved through the darkness, coming from several directions at once. She leveled her bow at the movement, but the creature jumped out and past her shoulder before she could shoot. She turned, trying to get a look at him, but he was gone.

  Another laugh cackled behind her. She spun to face it only to be kicked in the side of the head by something small and green. It ran into the bushes before she could see what he was. Putting up her bow, Mirerien took out her hammer. She was an excellent shot with an arrow, but these guys were too quick for that.

  Swinging around her hammer to get a feel for it and adjust back to that fighting style, she listened for a hint to where they were. “Over here,” a voice said. She turned to the sound and was rewarded with a kick to the other side of her head. Mirerien massaged her neck and worked her sore jaw. Whoever these guys were they enjoyed playing games, and one of them had a powerful kick.

  The bushes moved and she jumped back, too late. Expecting another kick, she did not notice the bolas until they wrapped tightly around her legs, bringing her to the ground with a painful thud. She swung from the ground at the shadowy figures jumping gleefully over her, just out of reach. Continuing to swing, she worked her feet loose. She threw the entangling weapon into their mix, hoping to at least knock out one. She couldn’t be sure how many of them there were.

  Mirerien felt a sharp pain at her shoulder and looked down. A fresh line of blood stained her shirt. She felt another one on her leg and flinched. They were escalating their little game. Rolling into the bushes, she attempted to put some space between her and them. Trees shook as they followed on either side. The leaves ahead of her shook, and she dropped her hammer through its loop and jumped, grabbing on to a low hanging branch and swinging up into the trees. Running and jumping from limb to limb, she struggled to keep ahead of her pursuers, trying to buy time while she developed a strategy.

  Though they were acrobatically inclined, few could catch an elf in a tree. Once they learned they could not catch her they began throwing daggers at her feet. Each blade struck a little closer until one hit close enough to shake her balance. Slipping, she grabbed on to the limb, only to have one of the creatures land on the limb with a squat and blow a handful of sand in her face. Blinded and in pain from the sand in her eyes, she fell.

  Lying alone in the darkness, unable to open her eyes more than a small fraction, Mirerien crawled toward the faint glow of moonlight. She closed her eyes gently and moved by touch, feeling as the ground turned from sand to stone. She heard their movement again and froze.

  “Miri?” a voice called.

  “Collin?” she answered, relived to hear his voice and terrified for his safety.

  She heard his footsteps and reached out, grateful for his touch. “You must leave here,” she warned. “There are some kind of goblins, I think, in the trees.”

  “Goblins?” His disbelief was valid. As far as she knew, no goblins had ever been within the city’s walls. Their lands were a great distance away, and they did not usually venture far from them. Not quickly trusted by other races, they were often attacked and rapidly killed once they left the protection of their homes.

  “Yes, they are quick, but I saw one of them clearly just before he blew the sand in my eyes, and I fell.”

  “You were in the trees, here? The lowest branches are at least fifty feet up. It’s a wonder you survived such a fall. Here, tilt your head back.”

  She did as instructed and waited as he poured water over her open eyes. When he finished she leaned her head forward, closing them again. She blinked a few times. The pain was still present, but it was manageable. She heard the rustling in the bushes and pushed Collin away. The cut meant for him sliced across her hand. She heard him curse and draw his blade. “No, stay back.” She stood, pulling her hammer back out of its loop and closing her eyes.

  “What are you doing? You can barely see.”

  “These goblins are masters of confusion, overwhelming the senses with misdirection. It is all lies.” She felt one of the goblins strike and blocked his thrown dagger with her hammer. The air vibrated with his surprise and excitement. The bushes to her right rustled, but that was not the direction of danger. Swinging to the left, she knocked back two of the goblins who attempted to jump overhead. Eyes still closed, she felt the goblins, three of them, gather for a direct attack. Coming at her, they fought as one, a single entity with three heads and six arms, stabbing shots through the narrow spaces under their brothers’ arms or by their sides. A normal fighter would stab his ally as often as his foe with such a technique. Again, it was a fighting style designed to confuse and affect their opponent. “I am Mirerien, Keeper of Order, Seer of Truth,” she said, fighting their flurry of attacks with an ease she never before knew in battle. “Where I stand, there can be no lies!” She swung hard, knocking the goblins back into the depths of the forest. They rolled into the shadows, scurrying away into the darkness to look for easier prey.

  Mirerien opened her eyes and dropped her hammer back into its loop. The cut on her hand was nearly healed.

  “Should we go after them?” Collin asked, after a moment to register what he witnessed.

  “No,” she answered. “It will be over soon. Come, there is still much to do.”

  * * *

  Rand was a master rider. Lynnalin never truly appreciated how skilled he was before, but this battle dispelled all doubts. Expertly he weaved in and out of the fighters, striking blows and moving on before he could be hit. His strategy was simple, cause as much damage and distraction as he could to take some of the pressure off the troops on foot. Many men were able to get in a killing blow while the Culler turned after Rand. Lynnalin provided cover for their run, protecting their sides and backs as Rand took stock of threats from the front.

  But after hours of running, the hound was at its limits, and even Rand was hard pressed to push much more out of the poor beast. Lynnalin had long exhausted her trove of spells and many scrolls. Thank Venerith she still had her fire. From the look of things around the battle field, the other mages were in the same position. She felt pity for the Alerian mages unfortunate enough to get caught on the ground. They did not have the fire to fall back on, and magic users were not known for their physical combat skills. Most who tried to fight by sword fell quickly.

  She had little time to contemplate their fate as the hound fell suddenly, its leg twisted by a turn it was too tired to make. Both she and Rand tumbled off, separated by ten feet and a mass of fighters. Lynnalin jumped to her feet and was instantly thrown back down. Ground at her back, she pulled up her fire to guard against her attacker, but he did not shy from the flames. Instead he struck through them. His blade dug into her shoulder and chest. Lynnalin screamed in pain, her vision blacking out for a
moment. Her fire went out, but it didn't matter. It wasn't like it stopped him the first time. He raised his blade to finish her off, but before he could complete his task a hammer covered in blue fire smashed into his jaw, sending him reeling back from the force. Rand continued swinging, giving the Culler no room to counterattack. With one last swing to the head, the Culler was dead.

  Reaching down, Rand lifted Lynnalin from the ground and carried her away from the heavy fighting. Holding her with one arm, he fought with the other. Soldiers seeing them added their own aide. After all the times he helped them during the battle, they were glad to return the favor. Lynnalin struggled to breath. The pressure on her chest was heavy. Putting her down behind the battered remains of a damaged cart, Rand bound her injuries as best he could. Given their location, it was difficult.

  And so she lie, Rand fighting beside her, protecting her and himself with his mighty hammer. When she could, she sent out her fire, but otherwise she could not move. Concentration lacking, even using the fire was not easy. She was sure she lost consciousness a few times. Then suddenly it was over. A horn blast rang through the air, and every single Culler stopped.

  No matter where they were or what they were doing they stopped like students responding to a bell calling an end to the school day. One man held aloft by the Culler he fought was instantly dropped. Even those lost in the battle rush, brutally beating their opponent past the point of resistance, stopped and simply walked away. Anyone who tried to stop them or continue to fight against them was casually pushed aside and forgotten.

  Rand watched their departure with a mixture of relief and shock. That was quickly replaced by concern for her. Scooping her up, he ran through the stunned crowd in search of a cleric who still had healing magic left.

  "Where are they going?" she gathered the energy to ask.

  Before he could answer, the first Cullers made it to the wall and learned the startling truth. They weren't going anywhere. Lynnalin activated her last spell, a simple one to allow her the ability to see magical effects, and saw the glimmer of a magical barrier around the Square. Anyone who attempted to cross the barrier was thrown back. Quickly angry at the unforeseen impediment to their departure, the Cullers grew frantic, clawing at thin air, trying to escape. Others turned on the soldiers unfortunate enough to be near them. And so the fighting began again.

  Ignoring everything else, Rand continued to search for a cleric. Lynnalin felt her magic fade, the shimmer of the wall disappearing. From Rand's worried face, she could only imagine how bad she looked. If it was half as bad as she felt, she could understand his urgency.

  "Dwarf," she heard a man call. Rand stopped, and she saw King Eirae run toward them on his way to the wall. Pausing only briefly, he handed Rand two potions. "In thanks for the light," he explained. "Sorry it's not more, but that is all I have left."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Rand said gratefully, but Eirae was already running toward the fighting at the wall. Putting her back down, he uncorked the bottles and helped her take the healing potions. After the second bottle was empty she still felt like a giant stepped on her chest and forgot to move, but it was an improvement. "How are you feeling?" Rand asked. His voice was laced with concern.

  "Better," she answered honestly. It hurt to talk, but it was bearable. "You can go back to fighting. I'll be fine."

  "Nah, I think I'd better stick around you for the time being. At least until we can get you healed a bit more. Rest now little wizard. You've done your part. I'll protect you, now."

  "If you insist." She knew better than to argue with a dwarf. Rand stood, still holding her close in his large arms as he continued to look for a healer. With the battle raging anew around them, Lynnalin rested her head against his chest. It felt good to have a dwarven protector, she decided. Very good.

  * * *

  The sound of rushing water was a relief and a concern. She was parched and tired, but in the dark the risk of somehow falling into the frigid water was great. Should that happen they would be swept away long before they even knew where they were or what happened. Her shoe slipped on another slick rock, and she stumbled to catch her footing. Instead she ended up falling into a cluster of rocks and adding to her wide assortment of bruises. “We need light,” she said to herself.

  “I can help,” Jaiston said pulling out something from his pocket. There was a small snap and the tunnel filled with light. Looking at her proudly, he held up his snapper light, a dried flower enhanced by magic. They were a children’s toy, though admittedly a useful one. Each dried petal contained its own light spell. You had only to crush a petal to activate the spell. He still had three petals left on his.

  “Thank you,” she said, standing. The chamber they were in was curved around a window in the stone. Through the window she could see the underground river. Lying on her side she reached her arm in, pressing her shoulder up against the low ledge, and cupped her hand in the water, bringing it to her dry lips. “I don’t suppose you have a cup in that bag of yours?” she asked.

  “I have a rock that is bowled out like a cup,” he said, pulling out the stone.

  Samantha took the rock and scooped up some water, handing it first to Jaiston then taking the second cup for herself. Once they had their fill, she handed him back the stone and patted his head. “Let’s get moving.”

  Feeling a rush of evil, she pushed the boy back just as a hand came swinging, throwing her against the wall. The invader held her there, his arm pressed against her chest, his elbow under her chin. His other hand held her loose arm in place. His body pressed into her legs. She couldn’t move anything more than an inch before he clamped back down.

  This man was far less mutilated than the invaders who sacked her home. He still possessed all his limbs, though he bore many scars. She felt his aura flicker, at first strongly evil. Then, as he looked at her, the nausea in her belly lessened. She looked in his eyes and saw a battle raging there. His aura flared back to evil, then softened again as his increased aggression caused her to flinch in pain. Whoever this poor man was, he still fought the sickness in his mind. Something of his old self remained, preventing him from finishing her off.

  Concentrating, she reached out to the light spots of his soul, soothing and protecting them from the darkness surrounding them. His hold on her relaxed. Raising a hand slowly, she gently touched his arm and felt the negative influence on his mind wash away. His eyes cleared then filled with regret and horror. Stepping away from her he fell to his knees and doubled over, crying, “Candice,” repeatedly into his hands.

  “Mother!” Jaiston called, seeing the others come rushing down the hall. Among them, much to her relief, was Kern. He walked past the man on the floor, recognition hitting his face as he heard the man say the name. “Are you hurt?” he asked Samantha, keeping his attention focused on them both.

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “I’m relieved to see you alive.”

  He smiled. “What happened to him?” He asked, still eyeing the man.

  “He was ill. I could feel the sickness within him. When I touched him, I was somehow able to take it away.”

  Kern looked at her thoughtfully, then motioned to her sword. “That’s a Paladin’s blade you wear.”

  Samantha started. Paladins were holy warriors, defenders of the weak, protectors and bastions of goodness. To be a paladin was a divine calling, not a choice. They were renowned for their ability to fight evil. Some could even cure the sick. She looked down at her hand, the one she used to touch the man’s arm. “Collin gave me the sword,” she said, speaking quickly, nervously. “He said I reminded him of its original owner.” She pulled the sword and sheath and held it out to Kern. “This doesn’t belong with me. I’m no fighter. I am definitely no warrior. If anything, you should have it.”

  Kern put his hand on the sword and gently pushed it back. “Keep it.”

  “I don’t even know how to use it,” she continued to argue.

  “You’ll learn,” he said confidently.


  Reluctantly she took back the blade, holding it in front of her chest like a security blanket. “What about him?” she asked of the man on the ground.

  Taking a deep breath, Kern squatted by him and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I know a girl named Candice,” he said. The man looked up and fell silent. “She was a survivor from the raids on Breakeren. Her father saved her by sending her away on horseback. She is a very brave young girl.”

  The man began sobbing again. “My Candice, oh, my Candice, what have I done?”

  “I can bring you to her,” Kern offered.

  “No!” he looked up in horror, moving away from every one in the chamber. “No, I can never face her again. I have done . . . horrible things. No, it is better if I were dead. I should be dead.” Turning from them, he ran off down the curved hall, into the darkness.

  “Should we stop him?” Samantha asked.

  “No,” Kern said after a moment of thought. “There is nothing more you can do to help him. He must do the rest on his own.”

  The walls of the caves vibrated with a low hum. Everyone looked around in confusion. “I think that may be our cue to get above ground,” Kern said. With no disagreements they happily headed to the surface.

  Chapter 13

  It still hurt to breathe. Lynnalin felt the scar on her chest and sighed. Looking out her window she saw a city in celebration. Despite the damage left and lives lost, the people were happy to be alive. Taking her bag, she looked back on her room one last time and closed the door. Her room at the mage academy had been her home a long time, but it was time to leave. The headmaster was shocked when she told him. Everyone assumed she would continue her studies after the Queen's assignment. She was an excellent student and one of the more powerful wizards at the school or in the city.

  But her heart wasn't in it anymore. She stayed so long because it seemed important to learn as much as she could. Now, very few things seemed truly important. She couldn't sit in a classroom and discuss magical theory while so much was going on in the world. She could still learn new spells and gain power on her own. After this long at it, she didn't need a teacher to show her what to do. Not only could she learn her own spells, she was on the verge of creating a few. No, it was time to move on.