Lorace only noticed these events in passing as he drew his sight in on Iris and rushed across the deck to kneel beside her sleeping form. Falraan had seen her laid in the lee of the rear mast and bundled her in her elven cloak against the evening chill.
“She will be fine,” Falraan reassured him. “You can trust my father’s word in that.”
“I did not know she would be risking her life when I suggested using the combined will of everyone to aid her,” Lorace said, laying a trembling hand on his wife’s blonde head. “Yet she must have and said nothing. She acted selflessly.”
“You cannot begrudge her for doing what you have done for us every day since I first met you, Lorace,” Falraan said as she ran her fingers around the dull silvery ring hanging from her necklace. “She loves you so much.”
Lorace looked to the necklace about Iris’s throat. It gleamed with the dull silver of godstone as well.
Falraan held her own necklace up to her wide eyes. “This is not possible!” she whispered.
“You can tell that to anyone you want, Falraan,” Lorace quietly returned. “It does not change the fact that you and Iris are now wielders of godstone. You can ask her how she did it when she wakes up, but I believe this comes from Vorallon himself. Your father will know.”
Falraan looked across the vessel to where Lehan and Oen stood conversing in low tones while they watched the sea whip past below them.
“You are not going to rest, are you Lorace?” Falraan asked as he lay down and wrapped his arms and spirit around Iris.
“I will carry us through the night,” Lorace whispered. “We move faster now than ever before, and I move the wind along with us so it does not howl across the deck.”
Falraan lay down on the other side of Iris to help keep her warm. Before she closed her eyes, she held out her hand to Tornin, standing ever watchful over them. “Keep them safe,” she ordered her husband.
Lorace sighed. Not ‘us’ or ‘me’, but ‘them’—they make more sacrifices I cannot accept.
Lorace placed his galley, Sir Rindal vigilant at the bow, in the lead position and arrowed them southward. He shared his sight with the paladin, shifted to show any trace of the blight and spread from horizon to horizon. Twice more during the night, the blue-white beam of light lanced out to slash back the blight. The paladin’s presence was a vast comfort while Lorace laid throughout the chill night embracing his deeply sleeping wife, sending loving memories of his childhood into her dreams.
-in Ousenar
Andrigar woke as Marek jerked in his sleep again. He had bound his left hand to Marek’s right after the scouts screaming had subdued to a catatonic delirium.
“I am here, Marek,” Andrigar murmured. “You are not alone. Whatever torments you, I am here.”
Late in the afternoon, they had found a dry riverbed. Their quest for water had yielded only a few brackish drops, enough to endure another day. As the sun faded, he once more coaxed Palla to the ground so that they could huddle against the horse’s side.
They had been quiet, grateful for the slight warmth that lingered in the sand and gravel beneath them when, soon after sunset, Marek began screaming.
“Pain,” the scout had said between gasps—between screams. “It knows pain.”
After that, Marek’s eyes had rolled up in his head and he slumped like a wall collapsing in on itself. Occasionally he would mutter or whimper, sometimes flinching in response to Andrigar’s voice.
Somehow, the thing has gotten into him, Andirgar had thought. Will he rise up a monster, black-scaled and smoky-eyed? He unlimbered his sheathed sword and laid it within reach on the far side of his body from Marek. Then he had tied their hands together, lest the man jerk out of his grip while he slept.
Now midnight stars wheeled overhead, the rising constellation of the Lady, heralding the coming of the deepest winter month. The Lady of Destiny was the weaver of man’s fate. Andrigar had known men who prayed to her to lay good fortune before them, men of Blackdrake whose good fortune depended on the poor fortune of others. He looked on the vague spider shape outlined by stars twinkling to the bitter cold and frowned.
chapter 8
WHILE GODS SLEEP
Last Day of the Moon of the Thief
-upon the Vestral Sea
The new day dawned gray and cold with heavy clouds hanging low over the Vestral Sea. The clouds had built up from the east throughout the night, flowing toward them, replenishing the thinner air Lorace left in their wake. He watched as they dropped snow on the ruins of Zed, covering the ash in a blanket of white before proceeding out over the narrow sea. Blackdrake castle remained shrouded in the darkness of night further to the south and west. A distance roughly equal to that which they traveled during the night remained before them. His shifted sight revealed the blight of undeath spewing from the mountainous castle like blood pulsing from a fatal wound.
A quiet stirring of Iris’s small form in his arms drew his attention back to where they lay together upon the deck of the galley. Her enormous green eyes were already half open and staring into the green depths of his. You have made it back to me. He smiled and hugged her closer.
Her hand extended out from under her elven cloak to caress his weary cheek. “You are exhausted, Lorace.”
“I am all right,” Lorace said with an unconvincing smile. I am not all right.
“You are most definitely not ‘all right’. How far have you carried us in the night?” she demanded, lowering her voice back to a whisper as Falraan’s sleeping form shifted behind her. “You have to rest. You cannot face him like this.”
Lorace did not have to ask which ‘him’ she was referring to. “We have not come far enough,” he insisted. “Blackdrake remains a full day away.”
“You have time to rest then.” She was adamant. “There is a full day until the moon of the Lady rises—plenty of time.”
“All the time left in the world,” he said, making another quick survey of the blight to insure that it was not threatening them on any side.
She held his face between her slender hands and kissed him soundly. “I am fine now. Thank you for the dreams and memories. Oen can watch for the blight. You are surrounded by wonderful friends who will see that we are safe while you sleep. Let go, Lorace.”
He slowed the ships with care then lowered them back to the sea’s rolling surface. The air released from beneath their hulls burst from the water in a furious spray that startled many sleepers awake. The last thing he was aware of before he let the calm rocking of the galley on the quiet sea carry him off to sleep was Iris’s strong embrace.
Once he was asleep at last, Iris slipped herself from his arms and climbed to her feet. Tornin sat with his head nodded in sleep where he had apparently stood guard near them through the night. Falraan rose with her and adjusted the cloak about Tornin’s shoulders.
“Thank you for getting him to rest,” Falraan said after they had sought out a ration of water and fruit. “I do not think the combined willpower of everyone in the fleet could have achieved the task. You know you scared him horribly last night? Scared us all.”
“I realized that as I saw the look on his face, I am sorry.” She frowned at her friend as they made their way toward the bow where Sir Rindal stood with Oen. “It was wonderful though, so much of Vorallon’s strength flowed through me. I could feel him, I still can. He is so vast, Falraan, and very aware of us, of everything we do.”
“I can imagine,” Falraan said. “Do you know what it is you have wrought?”
“Hopefully some powerful glyphs to ward our ships against the blight,” Iris said with sudden apprehension. “Why, what happened to the glyphs?”
“Look at them,” Falraan pointed to the glyphs laid out on the deck before Sir Rindal.
Oen and the paladin welcomed them, but Iris could only gaze upon the godstone glyphs in stunned silence.
“That is not all,” Falraan continued as Iris crouched down to touch one of the dimly glowing glyphs with a f
ingertip, causing it to flare up into blue-white brilliance for a moment.
“This is quite enough,” Iris said. “I take it that they work, but we must get them placed on each ship.”
“They exceed all expectations I am sure,” Oen assured her. “Sir Rindal used them with amazing effectiveness last night.”
“Sir Rindal? All right, someone please explain what happened,” Iris asked while continuing to examine the godstone glyphs. They were exactly as Lorace had shaped them, yet the silver had transmuted to godstone. She had found tomes exploring the transmuting of metals and gems, but the only real success she had found was a very taxing spell to refine the purity of iron. Her breath grew short as she contemplated the feat of power that these glyphs represented.
“I used the words the Lady taught me to command the power of the wards,” Sir Rindal explained. “As I did upon the walls of Halversome, so I commanded the light of these wards to drive back the blight last night. They are indeed quite potent,” he said this last with a gesture toward the burnt stump of their ship’s foremast. “I mistakenly struck the mast with their light.”
Iris tore her gaze away from the mast and picked up one of the glyphs, warily commanding it to life with a thrust of her will. Its brilliant, blue-white glow engulfed them.
“Now bend it to your will,” the paladin prompted. “Toward the sea ahead, but be careful of your fingers.”
Iris drove her will at the glyph as she had seen Rindal and Lorace do while practicing yesterday. She willed its light forward off the bow of the ship and was startled as the broad flare of brilliance condensed into a narrow beam of pure intensity stabbing forward into the sea. The ocean boiled where the light struck, raising a thick cloud of steam before she dismissed the power of the glyph.
“This is what you did last night?” Iris gave a chiming laugh of pure wonder. “That is a huge amount of power.”
“Well, yes, only I used all four glyphs at once,” Sir Rindal’s chest rumbled with his deep chuckle.
Iris looked at Sir Rindal with new respect, until she noted the deep lines of exhaustion on his face.
“You,” she jabbed a finger at paladin’s chest, “go get some sleep now. What is this need for everyone to kill themselves with exhaustion?”
Sir Rindal opened his mouth to protest, but her quick glare stilled the words in his throat. He bowed and withdrew toward where Lorace and Tornin were sleeping.
“We will still need to get one of these glyphs to each ship and at least two priests must be on hand to command them.” She turned to Oen. “Only you and Lorace can see the blight, so one of you must be alert at all times, watchful for its approach.”
Oen gestured toward the distant shoreline of Ousenar. “The blight has withdrawn like a bee-stung dog, not daring to approach us over the sea again. It is no mindless thing, but a thinking spirit of some kind.” Oen scanned the heavy clouds on the horizon. “It lies behind this coming storm, thinking of a way to strike at us.”
“Let it think,” Iris said with a firm nod to the southwest. “When Lorace wakes, we will continue on and drive it before us.”
Her eyes fell upon the necklace Falraan was idly touching at her breast. She grabbed hold of its twin on her own neck and lifted it up before her.
When she could find words again Iris said, “This is Vorallon’s doing. Are these another weapon in the fight for his survival? We must find out what these do.”
“Adwa-Ki is gifted with the ability to help us with that,” Oen put forth. “Lehan even more so.”
“Yes,” Falraan nodded. “I am anxious to ask him once he wakes. There is something else he must soon discover.”
Iris raised a hand to her lips. “You have not yet told him?”
“He will be very happy for you and Tornin,” Oen said with a grin. “You know how dear Tornin is to all of us who helped raise him.”
“What do you mean?” Iris asked.
“Tornin was a foundling child,” Oen explained. “One day he was found by the elves high in the Stormwall Mountains, a small lost child. Some of those who found him brought him to Halversome, while others back-tracked his trail to discover what they could of his mysterious appearance. Just below the shoulder of the mountain on the Eastern slope they found the child’s parents, they had fallen to the elements in their attempt to get through the high pass and into the Keth valley. They were doubtless drawn toward Halversome by the same force that calls to all people who embrace the light. Many of us helped raise the boy, and his kindness and charm endeared him to all of us.”
Oen smiled at a thought. “I daresay there are more than a few eligible young lasses in Halversome who will be envious of you, Falraan.”
“They will have many heroes to choose from once we return,” Falraan said with a smug grin. “There are some fine catches among the Zuxran men as well, those ‘young lasses’ will have their hands full.”
“How have you avoided being captured, Oen?” Iris asked the priest with a wink.
“My brother and I both vied for Falraan’s mother’s hand,” Oen said, his eyes misting with the memory. “Milah led us both around by our hearts and for a while the three of us were happier than we had ever been. We were still mercenaries at the time, and Lehan’s charms won out, but I could not be happier for her and my brother, and happier still when they brought this lovely bundle of red hair and chubby limbs into the world.”
Falraan hugged her uncle tight.
“I just never found that same attraction again,” Oen concluded. “But my life has been full nonetheless with Aran beside me, helping safeguard the spirits of all our beloved people.” He kissed the crown of Falraan’s head. “Only when Micah was born and we lost your cherished mother did I feel a moment of regret over that choice.”
“You are not an old man, Oen,” Iris said. “Aran has released you from your oath. You can seek out that love again and have a family. You do a great disservice to many possible children who would love having you as their father.”
“Iris is right,” Falraan said, flashing her white teeth in a smile. “I have noticed Brellin the potter staying overlong after her prayers whenever you are attending. She is a fine woman, Oen.”
“If you want to know the truth about Brellin, my daughter has the right of it,” Lehan said from where he stood behind them.
Oen turned in surprise. “How long have you been standing there, brother?”
“Long enough to agree with what these two young ladies are trying to pound into your skull,” Lehan said with a warm chuckle. “But what is this about Aran releasing you from your oath? Must I be the Truthseeker in this as well?”
Oen ducked his head to his brother. “Aran freed me so that I could swear my oath to Lorace.”
“And you agreed to this? You were the first who Aran spoke to when the Old Gods had raised him up,” Lehan asked before his face clouded with the uncomfortable truth. “You asked to be released.”
“My heart will always be with Aran, Lehan.” Oen explained. “But I have come to believe in Lorace; he does not blindly follow the destiny the Old Gods laid before him. He chooses his own path. You saw the truth of this. He opened my eyes to the freedom inherent in all of us to choose.”
“But he will choose to fulfill the role of vengeance nonetheless,” Lehan pressed.
“Did we not serve that master as well, before we lay down our swords for Aran? Did that make us monsters?” Oen countered. “The Old Gods sleep while the world plummets toward its doom through the flaws in their own creation. Lorn slows the decline by manipulating and plotting the deaths of countless people who could have been turned towards purity by the power Lorace wields. And Aran...”
“Do not speak this, brother, please,” Lehan begged him, but the truth was already written clear on his anguished face.
“Aran, as I love him, Aran can only succor us in the doom that comes,” Oen said. “Lorace fights, he will not stop fighting until this world lives or dies, that is the destiny he chooses, and I choose it
as well. He spares no thought toward his future as the third Lord, what he does now he does as a man, as one of us. I do not ask that you choose this with me, only that you acknowledge your freedom to do so.”
“I do, Oen,” Lehan clasped his brother’s shoulder. “I will not stand by on the shore of some desolate beach and watch the world die as I was doing. I will fight for as many of us to survive as possible, I will pick up my sword alongside you and fight to the last. I will not stand by and be succored while the life of my son and daughter are drained into nothingness.”
“Aran will not deny you this, he will bless you for it,” Oen assured him. “He anguishes in his lack of ability to do more than he already has for us. He too has put his faith in his mortal brother. This is not to be the end of days, Lehan. When we have seen this doom vanquished, Aran will be there for us always and forever.”
“Our roles have reversed,” Lehan shook his head. “I am the Truthseeker, yet I was uncertain. You choose to trust in a single man above your Lord and are the one who is made adamant.”
“He is not merely a man,” Iris spoke up, holding out the ring on her necklace for them both to see. “He is the embodiment of what is best in all men. The Old Gods do not sleep because they have given up on their creation, they sleep because they trust Lorace to save us while they gather the strength they need to insure that what he fights for will endure. They crafted him meticulously to have the passion and strength to do what is required of him. When he has ascended he will be the one Lord who will correct the flaws in their creation with the same degree of perfection as this circle.”
chapter 9
HIDDEN IN TRUTH
Last Day of the Moon of the Thief
-upon the Vestral Sea
Lehan smiled at Iris. “Where did you come from?” he asked as Oen laid an arm over her shoulders and pulled her into a fatherly hug. “You are as fiery as my own daughter, young lady. A trait I find very endearing, purely as an instinct for my own preservation, I am sure.”
Gifts of Vorallon: 03 - Lord of Vengeance Page 8
