by Toni Cox
Carefully she approached. The guards here were of the smaller kind of Vampyres, but they were alert and each one had a Werewolf companion. Maia waited for a group of three Vampyres to approach the gate. The guards immediately took their credentials, while the Werewolves investigated with their noses. Two were finished and were ushered through the gate. Maia sneaked closer to the remaining Vampyre. One of the Werewolves growled and his guard began to question the Vampyre immediately. Soon they were surrounded by three guards with their Werewolves and not only were the Werewolves growling, but the guards were shouting and the unfortunate Vampyre was trying his best to explain why the Werewolves were reacting to him this way. Sensing that this was not going to end well, Maia concentrated harder on hiding not only her Eläm, but also her scent. It proved difficult and by the time she had managed it, the guards were ready to arrest the suspect Vampyre. But then, the Werewolves suddenly backed down and, after another moment, the tension eased. The guards spoke another couple of words to the Vampyre Maia was using as her shield, but then let him pass through the gate.
She walked quickly away from the gate and only once it was out of sight did she slow down and then leant against a large crate that was made from that strange material Maia had seen the Vampyres use on their armour. She knew it was not very fire proof, but it was otherwise strong and durable. As she looked around, she noticed that at least twenty of the crates were stacked here. There were tiny slits between the planks, but it was too dark inside for Maia to see what they contained. And she did not rest there for long; the smell coming from the crate was making her nauseous. Suddenly she had a bad feeling and did not want to know what they contained.
She walked among the bustling army camp for what seemed like hours. She noticed how many of the thousands of tents were unoccupied, which led her to believe that the main force of the army had not arrived yet. But the camp was ready to receive them and by the look of it they were expecting them soon. There were Generals and soldiers everywhere and her main problem was not being sniffed out by the Werewolves, but the danger of being bumped into. The closer she came to the brick compound, the busier it became.
Weaving her way between Vampyres on errands, guards on duty and Generals walking their hounds, Maia finally reached the red building she had seen from a distance. Up close, the structure was a lot bigger than she had thought; at least twice the size of the Hall of the Guardians. The huge doors were made entirely of bones and, although the sight sickened her, she had to admire the artist who had put it together. The bones were arranged in such intricate patterns and placed with such care that the final pictures were, not only clearly visible, but had depth and the emotions of the pictures were clear. The pictures depicted scenes of disaster, famine, war and struggle and Maia finally understood fully why the Vampyres wanted Elveron. They had suspected it, but the pictures on the door confirmed it; Naylera was dying and the Vampyres needed a new home to call their own.
Feeling saddened she waited until the doors opened and then she slipped through to the interior. Inside was a warren of passages and she was at first at a loss of where to go. The Vampyres hurrying left and right did not give any indication of who they were or where they were going and she was about to follow a random General, when she noticed a small sign along the far wall. Her Nayleran was sketchy at best, only having studied it for a very short time when she was younger, but the sign clearly pointed to the War Council.
Carefully taking a deep breath she stepped along the right hallway. It was strangely still within the building and even the footfalls of the Vampyres were muffled by the strange floorboards of the building. They were made from the same black material as the crates, but were softer, almost springy, underfoot. Although ugly, Maia found it strangely pleasant to walk on.
She kept following the signs that read War Council and after a few left and right turns eventually came upon another set of doors. These were plain; the black material used as door frames and then covered by canvas. Maia noticed that the canvas used was of elven make and she tried to think back on the tents she had seen outside. Had they also been of elven canvas? If so, then the Vampyres must have been collecting it and preparing for this war for many years and not just Moons.
Suddenly the hairs along the back of her neck stood on edge and she quickly pressed herself against the far wall as the doors to the room sprang open. Two big Generals stepped out, discussing something with loud voices. She briefly considered following them to gather what information she could, but then changed her mind. Quickly, before the doors closed again, she slipped inside and was immediately confronted with another four Generals staring at her with wicked grins on their faces.
“When?” His father spoke with quiet calm and everyone in the room cringed.
Jaik had never seen his father this angry. Never in all his years had Maia ever done anything so reckless and so dangerous and there was nothing he could do to help her.
“She left during the night. Midnight took her to Menandril Fields and she continued on foot from there. From what he has been willing to tell me she went through the Gate shortly before the moons were at their highest.”
His father was silent then for a long while. Riker and Rothea stood with their heads bowed next to Jagaer’s desk, knowing they had failed him. Silas sat in one of the chairs, but his face was as pale as his robe. Malyn, nervously playing with the rope on her dress, was pacing up and down behind his father. He did not know what to do; he had never seen his parents this distressed, nor his father this helpless. So he stood, his arms held behind his back, before his father’s desk and waited.
But it was Malyn who eventually broke the silence.
“She will be all right.”
Everyone looked towards her. She had stopped pacing and was standing perfectly still and confidant at Jagaer’s desk, one hand resting reassuringly on his father’s arm.
“I know she never does anything without a good reason and I am confidant in her abilities. She will be fine. Maia is strong in her magic. Isn’t that right, Silas?”
The old man cleared his throat. Jaik knew that Maia had some trouble with the magic of Air and, as far as he knew, she had never fully mastered invisibility. She had other resources though and he hoped that whatever she employed it would be enough to avoid detection. He watched as Silas battled for a moment with his answer, but then he looked straight into Jagaer’s eyes when he spoke.
“Yes, Maia is sufficiently proficient in her magic. She should have no difficulties while on Naylera.”
Although lying was something Elves did not normally do; it was a social taboo; Jaik realised that in this case it had been the wisest option. He watched as Malyn gave Silas a short nod. The old man visibly shrunk as Jagaer took his eyes off him.
“Very well,” his father said, “ready your horses and ride for the Gate within the hour. Unfortunately, I am needed here, but I want to be informed the moment she returns. And I want her brought to me at once.”
“Yes, Father,” Jaik replied.
“You may leave us now.”
Without looking up Riker and Rothea exited the room. Jaik and Silas followed. Malyn stayed behind with Jagaer.
“I am sorry, Jaik,” Riker said as they left the building. “I never expected her to climb out of the window.”
“No, Riker, it is not your fault.” Jaik held up his hand to forestall Rothea’s comment. “Nor is it yours, Rothea. I know my sister. No-one can stop her when she has decided to do something.”
“I just wish there was something we could do to help her,” Riker said with a sigh.
“There is not much we can do for her now,” Silas cut in. “She knows what she is doing, even if it is foolish. She has been studying and practicing every chance she had and I now realise that some of it was in preparation for such an event. Somas’ death was simply the push she needed.”
“Can you tell us honestly about her abilities with Air? Does she really have the skills necessary for what she is doing?”
Silas was st
ill for a moment and they all stopped walking to look at the old man.
“Air is tricky and besides Somas I know of very few people who ever mastered it. Maia’s magic is strong, but she is lacking the experience and the training. So far, she has been able to disappear completely from view, but there are other factors to consider, such as smell, sight, sound and hiding one’s Eläm. Any of those could give her away, even if she stays completely invisible. Even environmental factors, such as wind, rain, dust, or snow could put her in danger. So, if you are asking me if she will be safe, then my answer would be no. What she is doing is definitely not safe, nor is Air magic one of her strong points. But Maia is resourceful and we can only hope that she returns to us safely.”
Blaid blinked as his vision slowly returned to him. The morning was bright and the sunshine was warm on his naked body. He felt groggy and his muscles were stiff and slow to respond as he sat up. A dull ache was pounding behind his temples.
Bewildered he looked around. The last thing he remembered was fighting the Vampyres in their mountain stronghold. He remembered having killed almost half of them, including the Elves, when they had finally overrun him. But as he beheld the scene around him, a completely different outcome came to light. Hazily, as if catching glimpses of a dream he could barely remember, he put together what had happened here last night.
All around him dismembered bodies were strewn across the camp site. The smell of blood was thick in the air and even his own body was covered in it. Vaguely he now remembered being held by some Vampyres while others laid into him with spears and swords. Being close to death had triggered his self-defence response and it had made him change involuntarily. Then Death had taken over in what he called his black rage. The destruction around him spoke of a violence rarely seen. He now shuddered at the thought and was thankful that he did not remember all of it. He was Death.
Carefully he rose and tenderly walked over to the nearest camp fire. He was so tired. The fire was out, but the pot of water hanging over it was still intact. He took it off the hook and then upended the pot over his head. He washed as much blood off his body as he could, so that he might examine his own injuries. Every movement hurt, but he was finally able to assess the damage. He had numerous puncture wounds all over his body, but they were not as bad or deep as he would have thought. He had numerous slashes across both thighs, a deep gash across his back, scrapes and bruises everywhere and a nasty welt on his head.
Feeling slightly dizzy, he sat down on the log next to the fireplace. He must have lost a lot of blood if he was feeling like this. He was amazed that he was still alive with the extent of his injuries. The Prime within him must have taken over to preserve his life, but it was up to him now to maintain it.
First, he looked around for something to eat and was thankful to find travel bread and other items within the tents the Elves had occupied. He lit one of the fires and put some water to the boil. Then, whilst eating some bread, he rummaged through the Elves’ possessions to see what he could find. There was not much, but he found some chamomile tea, which he could use to clean his wounds. He also found garlic and honey, which he could combine to make a cream to apply to his wounds to prevent infection. Amongst the other edible items, he also discovered some marigold and if he drank a tincture of this it would help the body deal with fever and reduce inflammation.
He had always cursed his old master for making him study healing; it had never been his favourite subject. It was so much easier to simply use one’s energy to heal something but, in his current state, he simply did not have the energy required to heal his own wounds. Once the water was boiled he steeped the chamomile and then let it cool so that he might wash himself with it. In a separate pot, he prepared the tincture of marigold. Digging through the various possessions strewn about he managed to find a small eating bowl and, after giving it a good clean, he set to crushing the garlic and then mixing it with the honey. He needed to get the quantities right; the honey would be soothing to his wounds, but too much garlic might make them burn.
Once everything was ready he decided that this might not be the safest place for him to rest and heal; another guard or someone else on their way to join this group might be on their way even now and he did not want to be discovered in his weakened state. Slowly he rose again from his log and folded up one of the smaller tents and packed a bag with some utensils. He poured the marigold tincture into a flask and added it to the bag. Then he set to washing his body with the chamomile. The soothing liquid felt good on his open wounds and it took special care to wash any dirt out of them. The one on his back proved somewhat more difficult and he winced as he had to twist to reach it. But then he was finally done and, having found some clothes that might fit him, donned some garments so he would not freeze during the cold mountain night.
Dragging his loads behind him he left the camp and climbed higher into the mountains; due north, away from the path they had taken to come here and away from the direction of Stoneloft. It took him over two hours to find a little cave where he felt safe enough and, now utterly exhausted, he dropped the tent and his bag and sat down against them. He should make a fire, to ward off the cold, but he had no energy to gather wood. He felt his eyelids droop and he was soon asleep.
It was the shivering that finally woke him. Day had turned to late afternoon and although there was still light coming from the opening of the cave, the sun had set behind the mountains. But he realised that his shivers were not just from the cold; he felt the fever within his veins and he needed to act now.
He struggled to sit up; every part of his body had become stiff and every movement hurt. Gritting his teeth, he took the few steps to the opening of the cave and surveyed his surroundings. He was lucky that it was a much-forested mountain range and the dead lower branches of the pine trees would make good fire wood. With what strength he had left, he gathered as much wood as he could. Once he had the fire going he spread out the tent to act as a sleeping roll and then set down the bag with the spare clothes as a pillow. Then he stripped naked. He drank some of the marigold and then set to smearing his wounds with the honey and garlic. Stiff and sore as he was, it took a lot longer than he would have liked and he was sweating and weak by the time he was done.
He added some more wood to the fire and then, using his clothes as a blanket, lay down to rest. He was instantly asleep.
“Bah, he is stupid,” the Vampyre said, staring straight at Maia.
She stood there, holding her breath. But as another replied and they all turned away from her, she realised that they were talking about the two Generals that had just exited. Silently she let out the breath she had been holding and then carefully circled the room. The Vampyres must have had an argument, for the four still in the room kept discussing the subject. She thought that these must be higher-born Generals for she was able to understand them better than some of the others she had overheard outside; their speech was more refined, slower, and more pronounced. She was startled to find that the argument was about her and her dragon. Carefully she listened to what they had to say.
“She is too dangerous,” the one with the red stripes on his shoulder said.
“Yes, she has … and more,” the tallest one of them replied.
Maia was frustrated that she was not able to understand every word, but she paid close attention; any information might yet save their lives.
“It can be overcome,” Red stripe said.
“Are you thinking of …?” the tall one asked.
“Yes,” the Vampyre with a helmet on his head said, grinning, “they are ready.”
All four of them laughed at this and Maia wondered what kind of weapon they might be talking about.
“He will not like it.” Red stripe laughed. “His fire will be useless.”
Maia was beginning to think that this weapon was to be used against Midnight and she hoped they would discuss the subject more so that she might prepare him for it. But the Generals then turned their attention to a table
against the far wall and started discussing the movement of their forces. Again, Maia was not able to understand every word, but it was clear that they were waiting for various regiments to arrive from different regions. She struggled to make sense of their numbers, unable to distinguish between one thousand and ten thousand but, after a while, Maia began to get a sense of their plan and how they intended to execute it. She listened to them for a long time and only when someone arrived to bring the Generals their food, did they stop discussing the coming war. Trapped within the room, she had to watch them consume what she thought might be cow meat. Although they looked to be prime cuts and were presented on plates, they were served raw and the blood dripping from the Vampyres mouths was making her stomach turn.
When one of them finally excused himself and exited the room, she immediately took the chance and followed him out of the door.
Firestorm was prancing nervously beneath him as they came closer to Greystone. Although she had come a long way in her training, she was still a very young horse and easily agitated. But she was brave and fierce nonetheless and they had become close; he would not want to choose a different horse to go into battle with.
He wondered where her agitation came from, but soon the others’ horses were prancing and snorting too and then they were able to hear it. A deafening roar split the air, followed by men shouting and horses whinnying. Looking towards Riker, who nodded, he nudged Firestorm into a gallop and they hastened up the last hill towards Greystone.
As they crested the hill complete mayhem greeted them and his hairs stood erect with a sense of premonition such as he had never felt before. Surely something must have happened to Maia for Midnight to be this angry.
For about a hundred strides in either direction around the circle, Midnight had flattened everything that had stood in his way. He had trampled tents, fires, weapons and Jaik only hoped that none of the warriors had gotten in his way. Midnight was raging about around the circle, roaring, breathing fire and dangerously lashing out with his tail. Besides during the last war, Jaik had never seen Midnight look this dangerous.
