The Harrowing Path

by Cleave Bourbon

  Devyn gathered up his tent and sleeping pallet and packed them away. As soon as he was able, he found Ianthill. “I don’t understand,” Devyn said to Ianthill, who was packing his sleeping pallet onto his horse. “Why are you so upset?”

  Ianthill pulled a strap on his saddle to secure the pallet and then turned his head to Devyn, looking at him as if he were a foolish child. “I am upset, Devyn, because I have failed.”

  “Excuse me?” Devyn said confused.

  Ianthill took a deep breath. “I failed. I underestimated Naneden. That sorcerer is stronger than he seems, or he has help we don’t know about yet.” He tied off the strap. “You see, Devyn, I was too arrogant, too sure of myself. I waited too long to send for you and your friends, and now time has caught up with me and I am unprepared. I have not trained you or your friends, and I let you live among non-believers far too long. All the while, Naneden’s army prepares to march on The Blight. I have failed.”

  “It’s not over yet, Ianthill, I am eager to learn!”

  “My dear Devyn, I have looked into your heart and do you know what I have seen?”

  “No.”

  “I waited so long to find you, and now I see that you are trying to take the easy path, the path of least resistance. You want to learn wielding now because you believe it will make your life easier, and that way of thinking often comes from youth. What you fail to see is it is actually the more difficult path. I fear your decision was influenced.”

  Devyn remembered the three stones and how they had made him feel. The shopkeeper had said they would aid him in decisions, and they did. Devyn wanted to tell Ianthill of the stones, but he could not find the words. “I don’t understand. I am not taking the easy way out. I know it will be tough,” Devyn said in defense.

  “I know you truly believe that even if your heart tells me different. I know about the stones you bought. I know one was probably an essence stone.”

  Devyn was about to reply when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Rennon and Gondrial entering camp. Rennon was as pale as the full moon, and Gondrial was wide-eyed and visibly shaken.

  “What is it?” Ianthill said worriedly.

  Gondrial leaned against a nearby tree and breathed in deep as if he might collapse. “In the dead forest,” Gondrial began, “there are horrible creatures, and the worst part of it is I recognize one of them.”

  Ianthill looked puzzled. “Oh,” he said inquisitively.

  Gondrial stared into Devyn’s eyes for a moment and then turned to Ianthill. “Naneden has been up to something even grimmer than warmongering. He has unleashed a form of Shade I have never seen before. The creatures have assembled not far from here, and the leader of the horrific group appears to be Lady Shey’s captain of the guard, Rodraq.”

  “Rodraq? Are you certain it was he?” Ianthill asked.

  “I am certain,” Gondrial said. “He is white with a black cloak and has thin, gaunt features, but it is Rodraq. We all saw him dead; Naneden must have done something unnatural to him.”

  “Did you see where they were going, Gondrial?”

  “Aye, they were heading east.”

  “Toward the monastery?” Ianthill asked concerned.

  Gondrial nodded. “As far as I can tell they are.”

  Dicarion had wandered up to the men talking and had listened to Gondrial’s tale intently. “That is what he is doing! Naneden plans to sack Vetell Fex and is sending the Shades to his army. Why has the Western army not routed them? Is it possible Naneden’s army has defeated them already?”

  Ianthill coughed. “Not likely, the armies of the West are strong. This news makes no sense.” He eyed Gondrial with a flash of inspiration in his eye. “Are they moving fast?”

  “Nay, they are gathered and milling about in the woods.”

  “We may still have a chance to beat them to the monastery then. If we can convince the monks an invasion is imminent, I may be able to incite them to fight before the Shades can take up positions with the dark army.” He rounded his horse and put a foot in the stirrup. “Mount up,” he commanded.

  “But how can you defend the monastery if you cannot draw essence in this dead land, Ianthill?” Devyn asked.

  “Simple, the monastery is not in The Blight. It is just on the other side of the border; plenty of essence there. I don’t expect I will be wielding much around the monks anyhow; it makes them nervous,” Ianthill said.

  Chapter 27: Vetell Fex

  An early winter wind blew bitter cold across Devyn’s face as he trailed behind Ianthill, who led the party hastily onward to Vetell Fex. Just as Devyn thought the situation could not get any worse, he felt the cold sting of giant snowflakes on his cheek. He reached behind him and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and clasped it tight around his face. Ianthill only quickened the pace when the snow began to fall. The snow covered the ground and the dead trees, making The Blight appear more peaceful as if it were a vibrant land simply cloaked in winter snow. Devyn could make out his surroundings as long as the wind kept down, and the snow fell straight down in large flakes. Behind in the distance and to his right he could just make out a huge lake, serene and silent in the cold night, its vastness making it impossible to see the other side. Ahead there appeared to be a huge ravine in the hills and mountains with a river running down into the lake. On the far edge of the ravine, embedded in the canyon side, was a monstrous structure.

  “That is Vetell Fex in the cliffside there,” Ianthill shouted to his companions, pointing to the structure Devyn was looking at. “We have arrived.”

  Devyn was in awe of the monastery, and he noticed Rennon’s jaw had dropped as well. As soon as Rennon saw Devyn looking his way, he closed his mouth and tried to appear aloof at the sight of the monastery.

  Vetell Fex was built directly into the side of Ashonda’s canyon above the mouth of the mighty Tikaronda River. Its giant columns were as white as the snow falling around them. Devyn wondered why anyone would attempt to attack such a structure; it seemed utterly defendable. Oversized braziers burned all along its expanse, which made the monastery appear to actually be on fire.

  “Monks live here?” Vesperin asked, overcome by the ominous appearance of the monastery.

  “Absolutely,” Dicarion answered. “A special kind of monk, the monks of Fawlsbane Vex himself.”

  Ianthill led them to the opposite side of the monastery where there appeared to be no bridge to cross, and then he rode off the cliff edge, floating in midair. He reined in his horse. “Ride on. It’s an illusion; the bridge is here.” He reached for his staff and drew it from his saddle. He tapped once on the bridge, and it began to slowly vibrate, glowing with reddish-orange light illuminating the way. “Quickly now, the light will fade.”

  On the other side of the bridge, two monks dressed in plain brown robes stopped Ianthill and took his reins. Ianthill dismounted and embraced the first monk’s hand.

  “Welcome, Lord of the Isle,” he said to Ianthill.

  “Praise be to Fawlsbane Vex, Lord of the Gods, Gragar,” he responded.

  “What brings you to Vetell Fex, Ianthill?”

  “You and your monastery are in grave danger, Lord Gragar. Naneden, Lord of Scarovia, comes with his dark army.”

  The stout, tall man laughed a hearty laugh. “Then we shall have him, and the Tikaronda will run red with the blood of Scarovia.”

  “There is more, Gragar. He may have revived the old abominations of Toborne, atrocities not seen since the War of the Oracle.”

  Devyn saw Gragar’s bald head wrinkle at Ianthill’s words. The monk’s jolly round face turned grim and somber. “Let us not freeze out here in the open; we will discuss this inside with the order.” He motioned to the second hooded monk. “Melias, see to their horses and then join us in the main chamber.” The hooded monk took Ianthill’s reins from Gragar and led the horse to Devyn. He reached out his hand for the reins of Devyn’s horse. Devyn handed the reins over to the monk and caught sight
of the monk’s hand. A long scar ran up between the forefinger and thumb. Slowly the monk raised his head, and Devyn began to see his face for the first time. As the light illuminated the monk’s expression, Devyn made out a scar from cheek to forehead, and when the monk’s eyes met Devyn’s, they glowed a blood red. Startled, Devyn reached for Dranmalin as a feeling of utter dread filled him. “It’s one of the creatures!” Devyn shouted.

  In a blur, the monk spun around and under Devyn, unbalancing him. Dranmalin sang as it sailed through the air and embedded point first in the snow nearby. Devyn felt the air exit from his lungs, and before he knew what had happened, the monk stood above him with his foot firmly planted on Devyn’s chest. He was still holding the reins from both horses in each of his scarred hands.

  “Melias, let the boy go and join us in the chamber after you stable those horses,” Gragar commanded. The hooded monk released Devyn and led the horses away.

  “Foolish boy, that is a warrior monk of Fawlsbane Vex.” Dicarion laughed as he walked by Devyn. Two more monks took the reins of the remaining mounts. Devyn retrieved Dranmalin and followed behind Vesperin and Rennon into the monastery; his head bowed to avoid looking at them. He was thankful his friends did not say a word.

  Vetell Fex was not at all what Devyn had imagined based on the monastery’s outward appearance. The rough stone walls were polished and robust, but they were dull and brownish grey. Huge rooms and chambers, which contained almost no furniture, opened up along long halls. The monastery was somewhat gloomy, and Devyn could see in the faces of his friends that he was not the only one who thought so. Vesperin’s childlike awe had been replaced with a slight scowl as if he had just sniffed a foul odor. Rennon carried a blank expression as if he were unimpressed. Gondrial eyed every nook and cranny, searching for any clues to Lady Shey’s whereabouts. At last, Gragar led them to an immense chamber with light and heat emanating from two huge braziers. In the center of the chamber was a large, rectangular oak table that reminded Devyn of an eating hall rather than a meeting hall. Gragar motioned for the party to sit, and they did. Ianthill sat to Gragar’s left since Gragar sat at the head of the table.

  After a few moments of idle chat about the weather and the state of Symboria, Ianthill spoke. “Forgive my boldness, lord of the monastery, but have you any prisoners in your dungeon I should know of?”

  Gragar was startled for a moment. “A few heretics awaiting trial at the hands of the Enforcers, but no one important. Why do you ask?”

  Ianthill’s eyes narrowed, and he moved in closer to Gragar. “You are not holding Lady Sheyna in your prison, are you?”

  Gragar was shocked and defensive. “Certainly not!” He glanced at Gondrial for a moment. “Even if the Enforcers had brought her here, I would have refused to hold her, and if I did receive her, it would only be to set her free. No, Ianthill, I do not have Lady Sheyna here.”

  Ianthill sat back in his wooden chair; his tone was almost a whisper. “I never mentioned the Enforcers,” he said. “I never mentioned them at all.”

  Gragar’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “Ianthill, I speak the truth; I never saw her.” He paused. “But I did hear of her capture.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so!” Gondrial interrupted. “Why the lies?” Ianthill motioned for Gondrial to sit down. “I’ll handle this,” Ianthill said. He turned back to Gragar. Sweat formed on Gragar’s brow. Devyn could feel Ianthill’s anger as well as Gragar’s apprehension.

  “Well, Gragar, I await your explanation,” Ianthill said in hushed tones.

  “All right, I shall tell you what you wish to know. Yarbrille has her. He came to me with her, and I refused to imprison her just as I said I would. He was angry with me when I told him to set her free. I assume they hold her at Brightonhold Keep. It is the only place they could take her.”

  “By thunder, Palanon tricked us!” Ianthill growled. “He sent us on a wild goose chase.” Ianthill pounded the table with his fist. “This has set us back months.” His attention focused on Gragar. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”

  “Spies, Ianthill, Yarbrille has them in every corner, and I cannot attest for the loyalty of all the monks who reside in the monastery. I have to be careful.”

  “Do you trust any of your monks?” Ianthill asked.

  “Of course I do. I trust Melias, the monk you met when you arrived. He will be joining us momentarily.” As if he heard Gragar’s words, the monk appeared at the doorway. “Ah, here he is now. Come sit down, Melias.”

  The monk sat at the long, wooden table; his hood still drawn over his head. After a moment, he lowered the hood to reveal his face. Devyn prepared for the horror of the red eyes and was stunned to see they were now brown, and the scar did not look so menacing in the light.

  “Melias, I have a task for you to perform. I need you to lead Ianthill and his companions to Brightonhold Keep. Use any force necessary to ensure their safety.” The monk nodded but said nothing. “Take them by the swiftest route.”

  “That is not necessary, Gragar, I can find our way to the keep. You will need every hand here when the Scarovians attack.”

  “If the Scarovians attack, I will handle them. Ianthill, take Melias; it is the least I can do.” Gragar smiled. “I think you will find his skills useful.”

  “I’m sure I would, but—” Ianthill protested.

  “I will not take no for an answer, Ianthill. In time you will come to trust Melias as I have.”

  Ianthill took a long look at Gondrial and then at Devyn. Devyn raised an eyebrow hoping Ianthill would interpret it as a sign to use caution. “Very well, we will take you up on your offer. We will leave at first light even if the snow doesn’t let up tonight. Can you lead us through snow, monk?”

  Melias nodded but did not speak.

  “Show us to our rooms, if you don’t mind, Gragar. We have a long day ahead of us in the morrow,” Ianthill said as he looked at Devyn. He could not be sure, but Devyn thought Ianthill had gotten his message and was responding with caution in mind.

  Devyn caught up to Ianthill in the hallway. “Ianthill, what of the Shades?”

  “What of them?”

  “Will they not attack us in the night if we stay here?”

  Dicarion, who was directly behind Devyn, replied, “Shades are notoriously slow creatures. We are safe for the moment.”

  “I thought you said we underestimated Naneden. Does it not make sense he would improve upon them? Gondrial said they were different than he had ever seen before. And why are we spending the night here? We should be making our way to Brightonhold Keep this night.”

  Ianthill grinned. “Spoken like a true leader. Good, good, you demonstrate you do have a brain in that head of yours; however, in this case, we are safe. It would take the whole army to attack this place; the Shades alone cannot defeat the warrior monks of Fawlsbane Vex. And, since it is snowing past nightfall, travel would be slow. It is better to leave at first light.”

  “If you say so, Ianthill,” Devyn replied. “I pray you are correct.”

  Chapter 28: Gatherings

  Devyn stood in a mist; he was warm but damp and a bit uncomfortable. Slowly the mist receded, revealing a long wooden suspension bridge between two massive trees leading to two sturdy wooden platforms. As Devyn looked around to familiarize himself with his surroundings, the mist completely faded. He could see many platforms with elongated buildings stretching straight up and encircling the tree trunks. The architecture was stunning, with curved walls and sharp edges on the tips of the slate roofs, and long, lateral windows culminating in arches. Latticework and engraved mosaics decorated the exteriors.

  Confused, Devyn turned and stumbled to a bulky branch, which extended outward into several smaller branches. For a moment he thought he could see a figure hiding behind the leaves. Devyn looked around for more signs of habitation but found none. Slowly he walked onto the branch, which was wide enough to drive a wagon onto.

  “Hello? I will not hurt you. Is the
re someone there?” he asked.

  The branches and leaves moved in closer and tighter to each other as he approached. “Do not be frightened, I am a friend,” he said.

  Devyn stopped and turned back to the platform, afraid he may have frightened whoever was behind the branches. “See, I will go back to the platform, come out and see.”

  Devyn walked back to the platform, but the branches still remained tightly closed. Devyn was about to give up and explore the platforms when he heard the branches rustle. Slowly the leaves rescinded back and upward one at a time until Devyn could see the figure of a woman walking along the main branch. As she passed, each branch it would reach down and caress her arms and legs before retreating to its position as if the trees were loving parents smoothing back a child’s hair to make them look more presentable, a warm caress. As she drew nearer, Devyn could make out her features. She wore brownish-black hair and had brown eyes. Her facial features were soft, and her lips were full and light red in color. Her clothes looked to be made of brown leather, and a vine descended to wrap itself around her waist and midriff. Two vines moved to wrap around her wrists and settled into place. Devyn realized he had dreamt of her before. “Is this a dream?”

  “If it is, I am dreaming too,” the woman replied.

  “Who are you,” Devyn motioned toward the buildings, “and where am I?”

  “I am called Seandara and this place is called Foreshome in common tongue; although I do not know where my kinsmen may be.” She smiled and Devyn felt his heart jump.

  No, I love Kelle, he thought.

  “I know you love Kelle, and I am sure she is safe with Bren, but for the love of Loracia wake up!” she said.

  “What the...” Devyn said confounded. He awoke to Vesperin’s face above him. “What is going on?” Devyn asked.

  “The monastery is under attack,” Vesperin said. “We have to get up.”