Spawn of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  “Greetings, King Dohr,” the elf said. “I am Kade, Second Ranger of Thornwood. I offer the condolences of my people on the passing of your father.”

  Dohr nodded. “Aye. Thank ye. But I do not think ye rode all the way here to tell me that.”

  “No, Sire. I did not. I bear a message of some gravity.”

  “Out with it, then. I got a bit o’ trouble needs my attention just now,” Dohr replied.

  Kade nodded. “King of Belgorne, I am aware that the largest portion of your army has gone north into the mountains of the Maw and intends to approach G’naath in stealth from the west.”

  “Aye. I make no secret of it to ye. G’naath has laid my kingdom to waste.”

  Murmurs of agreement sounded among the dwarven soldiers.

  “You are mistaken, King Dohr. The Elders of G’naath have done this terrible thing. The G’naar people are innocent, and their king has offered your people succor for the winter.”

  The murmurs fell silent.

  “Aye, so he told me just this last night, when he and his ilk came under a similar banner of truce, to assess our numbers, no doubt! Yet now they are gone. So ye can see I be pressed for time, elf. Make your point.”

  “Shortly. I will also inform you of this: an hour’s ride north of here, the entire cavalry of Thornwood is camped, along with every ranger under my command. Like you, we had come to confront G’naath.”

  Dohr cocked his head.

  “Ye had come.”

  Kade nodded. “But we now know the truth of it. We will not attack an innocent people.”

  “Then ye be fools. G’naath–”

  “I have not finished. I said we will not attack an innocent people, but we are bound by law to arrest any citizen of Tahr who is suspected of committing violence against another, and–”

  “But ye said yourself, the Elders–”

  “King Dohr, I would ask that you please allow me to finish.”

  Dohr clenched his jaw, nodding curtly.

  “I come bearing charges, King Dohr, and a warrant for your arrest–”

  “What?”

  “–to be tried for the abuse and mistreatment of a prisoner in your custody, Thinsel Greykin, wife of King Oort Greykin of G’naath. You are requested–”

  “HA! Ye jest, elf! Surely!”

  Kade took a breath. “Dohr Silverstone, you are requested to arrange your affairs as you must this day and appoint a steward of your choosing–”

  “A steward?”

  “–and to present yourself for trial at the elven encampment by nightfall. You have the word of the elven people: you will be treated with the respect due your title as you await trial.”

  Dohr stood in openmouthed disbelief. He turned to observe the demeanor of his soldiers. One look told him all he needed to know.

  “Very well, Second Ranger. Ye speak true. I did mistreat the gnome woman. Ye will forgive me anger though, I’d hope, given that me entire bloody kingdom had just been murdered by gnomes!”

  Kade nodded respectfully. “Which will of course be taken into account, Sire. But there must be a trial. The law demands it.”

  “I know the law, elf. And I’ll uphold it.”

  The dwarves again began to murmur. Kade’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Nightfall. As ye say.”

  “You make a wise and honorable decision, King Dohr,” said Kade. “One that will serve your people–”

  “I’d appreciate it now if ye left me to the business of me people. Unless ye intend to level more charges against me?”

  Kade shook his head. “No. I will take my leave.” Kade offered a slight bow and turned towards the waiting knights.

  Dohr motioned for his cousin to approach, whispering something in his ear. Martle nodded and turned to face the dwarven soldiers.

  The short, fine hairs on the back of Kade’s neck barely had time to stand up before the *snick* of a crossbow trigger reached his ears, followed in quick succession by a score of others. His eyes registered the shower of projectiles embedding themselves in his guard of knights before the pain in his back and chest registered within his mind. He fell forward and rolled to his side, the lance and banner he carried falling with him, coming to a rest across his chest. The last blurry scene of his long life was partially obscured by the flapping white fabric, but he saw well enough to glimpse Dohr Silverstone, King of Belgorne, crossbow in hand: cocked, loaded, but unfired.

  Coward.

  As Kade’s eyes closed, his heart struggled to beat one last time against the cold iron shaft that pressed cruelly against it, allowing his consciousness to hold out long enough for one final expenditure of elven magic.

  ~Goodbye, my love.~

  ~

  Nishali Windwillow screamed until the small vessels in her eyes burst, her terrible cry splintering the quiet of dawn. When her lungs had emptied she drew another, deeper breath, her second wail exceeding the first by half. It was not her last.

  Sir Marchion held the First Ranger in his arms for long turns until he felt she had spent enough of her anguish to allow room for a discussion between the two officers. His estimation of when that moment arrived was nowhere near the mark. He managed only to utter a halfhearted request that the First Ranger not rush into imprudent action, but Nishali did not need to respond for him to know his words would forever fall on deaf ears.

  No matter how eloquently he might plead, no matter even what Queen Terrias Evanti might proclaim, Nishali Windwillow and her rangers would avenge their beloved Second. Of that he had no doubt.

  Thornwood and Belgorne were at war.

  XXXVIII: THE MORLINE

  Abitter chill crept its way into Mila’s sleeping body, drawing the warmth from her bones and setting her teeth to chatter. As her eyelids flew open she knew instantly: the imbued sapphire tasked with keeping her warm had not failed; her spell of Warning had succeeded.

  The sorceress had pitched her tent in a copse of apple trees just north of the Morline the evening before, intending to work up a disguise at dawn and make for the Morline Bridge, then on south into Mor. She was ready. The gems she carried contained enough power to lay waste to a city, and when she saw Sartean D’Avers again, if she saw him again, she would not hesitate. Unless, of course, the dragon saw her first, in which case the fate of the Master of Kehrlia would be less certain, as would her own.

  She had been lying awake that night when the voice of her enemy pierced her mind, calling to the beast Kalashagon. It had taken little thought to reason out what had happened: Sartean had managed to discover a way to compel the beast to face him, no doubt with the help of the Daughters, for no such magic existed at Kehrlia. Mila marveled at his arrogance, that he would see himself fit to stand against such a being after being soundly routed by her own hand only days before. Certainly, the Incantors of Kehrlia would stand with him, but she would not be surprised to arrive in Mor only to discover that her foe had already fallen to the dragon, for she had seen the death and destruction it had wrought on the refugees along the Morline trail. Mila had been thinking on the matter for two days, and still could not decide whether she would prefer such news or be disappointed by it.

  Mila sat upright in her tent, quickly extending her thoughts in an expanding radius around her position, soon relieved to discover that whatever approached, it was not the dragon. The disturbance of her Warning spell came from the east, a small group of humans, though she did not let her guard down, for whomever it was, the scent of magic approached with them. The sorceress verified that her illusion was functioning as intended and was satisfied. The travelers could walk within a pace of her and not notice her presence. They did not need to come so near, however, before she recognized a voice.

  “This close enough? Bridge can’t be an hour’s walk ahead.”

  Earl!

  “I have to agree, Yano. I’d like a bit of sleep before dawn. Let’s camp.”

  Sienni.

  Yano sighed. “Very well. Let’s get off the road, though.”<
br />
  Mila listened as the sound of boots crunching through snow drew nearer. The three were walking directly towards her.

  Fury! Mila assessed the situation, deciding quickly that she could not hope to avoid detection when she or they arose at dawn. She pulled on her boots and clambered out of her tent.

  “Hello, Earl.”

  “AAAAHHH!” Earl jumped back a pace, stepping directly onto Yano’s foot.

  “AAAAHHH!” Yano cried, both in pain and fear.

  Sienni kept her wits, immediately casting a bright white light from her fingertips, illuminating Mila and her tent within the dark glade.

  Mila put her arm over her eyes. “Would you care to dim that a bit, Sienni? I do enjoy sunbathing, but a tan would be a bit unseasonal.”

  “For Fury’s sake. It would have to be you, wouldn’t it?” Sienni’s voice was thick with disdain.

  “Mila?” Earl said, his tone more affable.

  Mila searched for something to say and found herself tongue-tied. “I… am glad to see you. To see that you are well, I mean.”

  “Who says we’re well?” Yano asked, belligerent. “I for one am cold, tired, and starving.”

  “Forgive me. Here,” Mila said, reaching her left hand into a pocket to grasp a gem. She held her other hand before her, palm facing outwards. A wave of warm air enveloped the three.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Earl said, rubbing his hands together. “Why didn’t one of you think of that?”

  “Hmph,” Sienni scoffed. “Magic doesn’t come so cheaply to us all.”

  “Do not be bitter, Sienni. It does not suit you. Come. I have a bit left to eat.”

  Mila had more than a bit. She had come across a pack of wolves taking down a buck the day before. It was too late to save the deer, which she might have done, but not too late to put a swift end to the assault and scatter the wolves while she packed her sack full of venison, roasting it on the spot with sorcerous fire. She cast a soft glow about the encampment and shared what she had until the three had eaten their fill, listening to the tale of how Earl intended to return to Mor and find work, while Yano and Sienni planned to gather their possessions and make for the Sapphire cities. They had first sought out the Incantors from the farmlands, thinking to invite any who would wish to join them on the journey, but were shunned on sight, threatened with bodily harm if they did not leave at once. The wayward wizards had holed up in an abandoned farm hold, intending to wait out the winter, and did not care to be associated with anyone who had participated in the war between Mila Felsin and Sartean D’Avers.

  “Can’t say I blame ‘em for hiding out,” Earl said, chewing the last of his meat. “There’s something bad out there. You see the road?”

  Mila nodded. “You did not hear Sartean’s call?”

  “What call?” Yano asked. Sienni shrugged.

  “Curious,” Mila said. “In any case, you are right, Earl. There is something bad out there. It is called a dragon, I believe, and you would do well to steer clear of it.”

  “Huh,” Sienni said after a pause. “It wasn’t you?”

  Yano and Earl shot Sienni a look.

  “Me? You mean… oh, to Fury with you, Sienni! What do you think I am?”

  “Easy, Mila,” Yano said. “You lost your temper after the battle. We didn’t know–”

  “I knew,” Earl said.

  Mila cast a glance at the great wagon loader.

  “I did. I knew it wasn’t you,” he repeated.

  Mila nodded and stood.

  “I think I will go back to sleep,” she said. “You are welcome to camp here, but tomorrow I will go my own way.”

  Mila turned towards her tent. A brilliant light from behind her cast a shadow against the fabric.

  “Dammit, Sienni, if you please–”

  “Mila. It’s not me.”

  Mila turned. The dark of night was gone, in its place a dazzling glow that bathed the trees and ground in artificial daylight. Shadows shifted as the light drew inwards towards it source, focusing into a narrow beam that illuminated the clouds above.

  Only Kehrlia could do such a thing.

  Only Sartean would.

  “Do not follow me!”

  Mila Felsin took off at a run.

  XXXIX: EAST MORLINE

  No words were exchanged as the companions rode through the elms towards the trailhead. Heavy, burdensome sorrow weighed upon each of their hearts as unasked questions hovered like wraiths between and among the companions: questions about Lucan’s slight against the Airies, of Mikallis’ night apart from the others, of J’arn’s intentions upon reaching the Grove. Complicating the solemn procession was the profound new mastery of magic shared by the four, a thing at once both wonderous and pure, yet soiled with guilt; a gift not earned, but rather bestowed, a precious and innocent life lost in its conferral. Trellia and Mikallis could only wonder at what secrets were now known to the four, both silently yearning to discover if the prize was worth the price. Yet an unspoken agreement somehow fell in place among them: to break their silence while in Airie lands would be to sully the great gift they had been given. Their questions could wait.

  Dawn had not yet come when the companions reached the Morline Trail. Lucan, who had led the way, turned Hope and faced the others as they emerged from beneath the canopy. He considered casting a soft orb of light before speaking, but decided against it, grateful to the dark for concealing the looks of sorrow he knew his companions wore.

  “You all want to know what happened back there between Kal and me. I understand that. I will say only this: it is a private matter, and it is not of consequence to our quest.”

  Trellia spoke. “Perhaps that is for us to decide together, Lucan.”

  “It is not. You will take my word or not, as you prefer, but I will not discuss it further.”

  “Lucan,” Aria began, “there is quite a lot at stake here, and–”

  “I will add this,” Lucan continued, speaking over Aria. “Captain Mikallis is your charge, Princess. You may command that he discuss his experiences at the Falls, and he will be compelled to give you answer. But I implore you: if you have a shred of honor, you will not.”

  Lucan did not need light to imagine the look on Aria’s face. A quiet moment passed.

  “Very well,” she said finally.

  Lucan nodded. “That is all I have to say.”

  Another moment of silence hung in the air. J’arn was next to speak.

  “We’ll be needin’ to find this Felsin woman, and get back to the Grove,” he said. “I ain’t meanin’ to add more wood to this fire, but we’d best get on with it. We can use a ring to find the girl, and another to get to the Grove, but then I’ll be usin’ mine to get back to me people.”

  “Might not be so simple, J’arn,” Shyla said. “S’pose she don’t wanna come to the Grove. Or s’pose she does, we get there, and whatever’s s’posed to happen don’t happen right away.”

  “Then ye’ll know where to find me when it does. That, or I can take me leave now, which I’ve a mind to do, truth be told.”

  “J’arn is right,” Trellia said, “at least insofar as to say that we must not delay. I cannot say why, but I sense that time is short. Whatever you four are meant to do, I do not believe it wise to linger.”

  “No objection from me,” Lucan agreed.

  “Me neither,” Shyla added.

  Aria addressed Mikallis. “Have you thoughts on the matter? As a military captain, I mean?”

  “My place in this is to see you safely to the Grove, Princess. Our path is your preference.”

  Aria nodded. “Very well. We will use my ring. Although… Trellia, do you think our horses will come as well?”

  “Examine the magic,” Trellia said. “You will know how to do this now, yes?”

  “I… yes, I suppose I do.” Aria closed her eyes, probing the power of the ring. The task was far simpler than she had imagined; in but a few breaths, she knew all there was to know about the magic contained in the
petrified wood.

  “Oh, Father!” she said, awed by the tremendous power concentrated in the small item. “Yes, it will certainly suffice. Shall we?” She held her hands out to her side as the others drew close. Shyla dismounted Spirit and placed the figurine in Wolf’s collar; as promised, a saddle materialized out of thin air. Wolf did not seem to mind a bit as Shyla climbed atop him. She reached upwards to grasp J’arn’s and Lucan’s hands.

  “Ready. No, wait!” Shyla said. “What if she’s in a boat or somethin’? Or on the edge of a cliff? Or in a wee tiny room? What’s to say we don’t–”

  “The magic is complex, Shyla, and constructed with care. I do not think Lady Lor would have given her life without considering such things.”

  “All right, but if we pop out in the middle of a burr bush, yeh can pull ‘em outta Wolf’s hair yerself!”

  “As you say. We are all ready, then?” No one disagreed. Aria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She held it in, pausing for a moment, both terrified and exhilarated by the prospect of what would come next.

  The words trickled from Aria’s mouth into the ring like a drop of rain.

  “Mila Felsin.”

  XXXX: THE MORLINE BRIDGE

  Dawn arrives. Are you ready to play, magician?~

  Sartean winced at the voice of the dragon. He turned to Jarriah and nodded. Jarriah ran to the apex of the bridge and waved his arms towards two dozen unseen Incantors situated on the northern side first, then to the southern side. The beam of light following the dragon’s circling path went dim. In the dawning light it no longer served a purpose, save to inform one watching from where the dragon might attack. Sartean needed no such warning; his magic was sufficient to track the beast through the sky. He followed Jarriah to the center of the bridge, gnawing at his cheek, the thirst within him becoming less bearable with each breath. Jarriah watched him approach, a look of concern etched deeply into his features as the unsteady Master of Kehrlia closed the distance.