The Harrowing Path

by Cleave Bourbon

  “I thought Ianthill said we were safe for the night,” Devyn said as he threw off his blanket.

  Vesperin cocked his head to the left and gave Devyn a stern look.

  “Right, I knew we were in danger. I should have insisted we leave last night.”

  “Too late now, Ianthill says to get to the battlements. Rennon and Gondrial are already there.”

  “What is the time?”

  “The middle of the bloody night, of course. Is it ever a pleasant hour when we have to be involved in one thing or another against our will?”

  “No, I suppose it never is.”

  “Bring what you can; Ianthill says we make for Brightonhold as soon as we get an opening to leave.”

  Devyn followed Vesperin down the halls where a brown-cloaked monk ran back and forth silently. As they neared the entrance, Devyn began to hear signs of battle. Horrible black creatures were trying to crawl through the battlements and over the balconies. Devyn saw both Dramyds and some other wingless creatures which resembled the Dramyd. He also saw Scarovians with their brownish-green armor swinging long silver swords.

  Vesperin stopped at one of the balconies. “In here,” he said. Devyn entered the balcony in time to see Gondrial clasp his hands together and cast a spell. Blue and red flames leaped from his hands and formed into a pattern that struck down several of the Dramyds approaching in midair. Devyn marveled at the sight of the spell. He had heard stories that wielders of considerable skill used to compete by displaying their spells in designs and colors. The more skilled the wielder, the more elaborate the spell appeared when cast. Dicarion sniffed at Gondrial and then cast a spell of white light that burst into a skull above two more flying Dramyds. The skull opened its mouth and swallowed the terrified creatures, exploding as it grinned evilly.

  Ianthill rolled his eyes. “I have never understood the need for such theatrics,” he stated as he cast a bolt of lightning to the nearest balcony, striking down two Scarovians.

  Devyn laughed at the surreal sight of the casters and their spells, enthralled by them until he noticed Rennon looking at him suspiciously. As if mocking Rennon, Devyn turned to Ianthill. “Teach me how to do that,” he said.

  Ianthill was startled for a moment. “All right, remember how I taught you to feel the essence around you and draw upon it?”

  “Aye,” Devyn replied eagerly. “I am already drawing some.”

  “Good, now focus on the target and think of the spell you wish to cast and release the essence.”

  Devyn watched a Dramyd circle and come in nearer to his position. He cleared his mind except for the essence and the target, and then he thought of lightning and released the energy. Devyn felt a curious sensation as a flurry of sparks issued from his hands but did nothing to the Dramyd. Ianthill ran it through with a bolt of light.

  “Very good, Devyn,” Ianthill commended. “It’s a good start.”

  Devyn glanced at Rennon who immediately left the balcony.

  Devyn felt a pang of guilt for the way he was treating Rennon, but the excitement of the battle and his use of essence soon overshadowed it. Devyn was drawing in more essence for another attempt at wielding when he felt his hair stand on end. Something was watching him, coming at him from behind. Dazed and confused, Devyn spun around to see Dicarion, who was nodding at him with approval. Devyn smiled back at him, and then he caught sight of movement coming up behind Dicarion. Slowly a shadow rose up. Palanon burst into a barking fit, alerting Dicarion. The old man turned to face the creature. The feeling of fear was unbearable as Devyn instinctively took a step backward. He could see through the creature’s body. Its sword was as black as coal and the hilt was etched with skulls. The horrible face of the creature was gaunt, and no eyes occupied the sockets where they should. A hideous smile crossed its pale white face as it thrust the sword into Dicarion’s chest. The old man screamed in pain as he slumped to the rail of the balcony. Devyn watched in shock as Dicarion fell over the edge of the balcony and out of sight.

  “A Shade!” Ianthill shouted, casting a spell at the creature. The spell had no visible effect. Gondrial also cast a spell, which sputtered to an end before it reached the Shade. The balcony was large enough for Gondrial, Devyn, and Ianthill to take a stance on the opposite side of the Shade. Devyn stared helplessly at Vesperin as the Shade moved in toward the cleric. Devyn became paralyzed with unnatural fear. He tried to call out to Vesperin, but his mouth would not form the words his heart was screaming. Devyn, who was already drawing essence panicked. He thought it was about to get to Vesperin too. He haphazardly drew in essence at an uncontrolled and astonishing rate. He held Dranmalin point first at the shade and thought the words dragon hammer. It was all he could think of at the spur of the moment. Dranmalin burst into red and yellow flame, it dripped from the sword like molten metal. The shade turned to look at him and he thought release. The essence flowed through his arm and into Dranmalin. The sword exploded with power, sending shards of molten metal-looking flame into the shade. It burst into white-hot flame and screeched death as it exploded. Devyn could feel Dranmalin in his head, beckoning to do more. Devyn took control of the power and lowered his sword.

  Vesperin was gaping at him, astonished.

  Ianthill’s eyes turned icy and his face was as stone. “Cleric, see to Dicarion!”

  “Aye,” Vesperin reached down to the mindwielder. “I regret the shade has slain him!” Vesperin said.

  A cold wind blew and Ianthill’s scarlet robes fluttered. He reached the railing of the balcony and clutched the edge. Dramyds and monks fought furiously below, but Devyn no longer heard the screams of battle. All he could hear now was the essence rushing in his ears like a wave from a turbulent sea. Devyn shrank back as Ianthill let out a roar of anger. Essence rushed through Devyn’s body and the monastery groaned loudly. Devyn tried to resist the feeling of essence pulling away from his body, but his efforts were abruptly halted as the old wielder spun to face him. The fear he had felt from the Shade was nothing compared to the fear Devyn felt now. Ianthill’s eyes changed from icy blue to blood red as he moved along the edge of the balcony. The monastery itself began to groan under its own strain and sweat started to pour down Gondrial’s face.

  “We had better move back,” Gondrial said.

  Cracks began to form in the walls of the monastery, slowly rising up the columns and balconies, spreading clouds of dust along its face. Glass panes shattered and Devyn’s vision blurred. Ianthill lifted his arms above his head. Devyn felt woozy and his head began to hurt. He saw a hazy view of Ianthill as he faded into a black, shapeless figure and then released the power within him. Devyn felt relief as the old wizard let lose a column of flame as black as raven feathers infused with flecks of purple light. At first, Devyn had to cover his ears to protect them from the rushing, thunderous burst of the spell. He felt a rush of cold air, and then he heard the screams, terrible, painful screams. Parts of the monastery began to collapse in a low rumble. The earth shook, and then all was silent. No sounds of battle, no more screams, it was over. Ianthill turned from his position on the balcony.

  “Gather up your things; we leave now, it is done,” he said somberly. He left the balcony without looking back. Vesperin and Devyn hurried to the balcony’s edge to look over at the valley below. The valley was scorched black, and the river ran red with blood. In heaps, the black, charred figures of the attacking army lay twisted, completely destroyed. What was left of the army was fleeing into the blackness of the night toward the Lake of Souls, Lake Trenan. Only a few confused monks slowly made their way back. The monastery itself had the appearance of being scorched black, and more than half of it lay in ruins from the bottom of the structure to the middle balcony where the party had first crossed the bridge the night before.

  AS MELIAS LED THE PARTY down out of the valley and away from the Lake of Souls, Devyn looked back at the monastery one last time. The damage looked even greater from the ground. If Devyn had not witnessed it, he never would have believed t
hat any one spell could destroy so much. Of course, he realized that the blackfire only destroyed the portion of the army. The monks were busy gathering up the carnage for disposal. The monastery was so severely damaged because of the violation of its essence. Maybe Rennon was right. It certainly seemed to Devyn, by the sight of what Ianthill could use essence to do, that wielding could be evil after all.

  Ianthill rode close behind Melias; no one approached him or bothered him. Palanon sat silently behind the saddle horn of Ianthill’s mount. Rennon brought up the rear, and Devyn felt sure that if he had a chance, Rennon would slip away, but Devyn thought he would at least wait until he felt it was a bit safer to do so. Vesperin rode just ahead of Devyn and behind Ianthill. Beside Devyn rode Gondrial. Devyn felt the emptiness of the fallen wielder as they rode. He understood that Ianthill had been angry for the loss of Dicarion, but to use the blackfire? Ianthill must have been more frustrated than Devyn thought.

  For the remainder of the day, Melias led them through the snow and cold, onward through The Blight. Devyn was not precisely sure why Ianthill stayed to himself, but he suspected the wielder was ashamed for using essence in the heat of anger. As the light of day faded, the temperature drop was more than Devyn’s feet and hands could bear. His boots offered some protection from the cold and he had his hands wrapped tightly, but he would have traded anything for a good pair of gloves. The biting numbness of his fingers made it difficult for him to hold onto the reins.

  The sun had already set when Melias finally allowed the party to stop for the night. They were to bed down in what must have been a farmstead long ago. Remains of a barn sat only a few paces from a stone farmhouse that someone had kept in fair condition. Gondrial told him the Defenders maintained dwellings in The Blight where they could stay the night sheltered from the elements while on patrol. The Defenders even kept stores of dried food in the old farm cellars.

  As soon as a fire was roaring in both fireplaces and they had eaten their fill from the cellar stores, both Vesperin and Melias set about with their meditations in the south room, each in his own ritualistic way. The monk of Fawlsbane Vex had not uttered a word the whole trip. Ianthill disappeared into the decaying barn shortly after they had arrived without eating and had not yet returned. Rennon bedded down in a corner just after supper and was unwilling to speak with anyone. Devyn was left, in the north room, with the company of Gondrial, who had managed to find the Defender’s stash of ale.

  “Ah, here we go, Devyn. I found two mugs in the cellar. This ale will warm our weary bones now that our bellies are full.” Gondrial had rolled a barrel into the room and tapped it.

  “You are not expecting the two of us to finish off this entire barrel are you, Gondrial?”

  “Certainly not, but we shall try with all our combined efforts,” he said smiling.

  “How do you do it, Gondrial?”

  “Do what, my boy?” he said, gulping some of the ale.

  “Keep your spirits up.”

  “Well, it helps to drink some spirits down first,” he joked, holding up his mug. How do you feel?

  Devyn sipped some of his ale. The brew was surprisingly good; it had little of the aftertaste he had expected. “I feel fine. Why do you ask?”

  Gondrial took out his pipe and began to pack it. “We are not going to get very far on this barrel if all you plan to do is sip it like that. Ale’s for drinking, not for sipping.”

  Devyn tipped his mug and took a long, hard drink. He lowered the mug, smacking his lips. “Ah,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

  “There you go, boy. That’s how it’s done,” Gondrial said with satisfaction. “I asked how you feel because that was no easy feat you accomplished back at the monastery. Have you been warned about essence sickness?”

  “No, what’s that.” He took another long drink.

  “Apprentices get it when they first start learning to draw essence. It makes you feel sick, like not yourself, and it tends to affect your thought process and change your personality. It makes you feel terrible and act even worse.”

  “How do you get over it?”

  “Usually the trials at Rugania, where Ianthill is the keeper of the isle. Sometimes it can be cured by other means. Ianthill can tell you more about how to cure it. You may be old enough to skip it. Not every apprentice gets it. I don’t remember Lady Shey ever having it, but I could be wrong.”

  “I will have to talk to Ianthill about it.”

  “Sure, just let him get over his mood first. I think he is proud of you for your impressive use of essence, and the way you controlled Dranmalin. I’m sure he will tell you so soon.”

  Devyn wondered for a moment if he should try and approach the subject of what Ianthill did at the monastery again, but he decided to let Gondrial drink a little more ale to loosen up first.

  Devyn and Gondrial finished off two more mugs of ale before Melias startled them by appearing next to the fire. “Are there any more of those mugs about?” he asked in a voice Devyn would never have believed came from his scarred face. Devyn expected it to be much rougher and raspy. Instead, it was almost melodic.

  “I’d wager there is another in the cellar,” Gondrial said, getting up from his comfortable position on his bedroll and heading back down into the cellar. A moment later Gondrial reappeared and blew the dust out of a brown mug before handing it to Melias. Melias took the mug and rinsed it out with a bit of the ale and tossed it into the fireplace. Gondrial winced at the loss.

  “Is Vesperin still praying?” Devyn asked the monk as he filled his mug with ale.

  “Oh yes, the priests of Loracia spend hours praying. I am not entirely certain what they have to pray about or why it takes them so long, but it does keep them occupied,” Melias said.

  “Monks of Fawlsbane Vex do not pray as long; I take it?” Devyn asked.

  Melias finished filling his mug. “Not nearly as long.”

  “Personally, I am pleased to have someone else to drink ale with,” Gondrial said. “The more the merrier. I would hate to have to drink it all.” Gondrial took another swig of ale. “I thought the monks of Vetell Fex were mostly sworn to silence.”

  “We are within the monastery, but not in situations such as this. Fawlsbane Vex is a just god, so he does not require us to be unsociable. Monks that bear his name need their voices for war after all.” He took a gulp of ale. “How would we speak on the battlefield otherwise?”

  “Good point,” Gondrial said.

  The bald monk smiled at Devyn, and for a moment, Devyn saw his eyes turn red again, and he shrank back.

  “What is it, boy?” Gondrial asked Devyn.

  “I can answer that,” Melias interrupted. “You see my eyes as red, right?”

  “I do; why is that?”

  “I am a warrior monk. I can conjure great strength and stamina when I need it. It is a skill developed by my people over thousands of years. I can also see in the dark as if it were day. When it is dark and I am trying to see, my eyes sometimes appear red.”

  Ianthill suddenly burst into the room, bringing cold from outside and startling Devyn. He eyed the barrel of ale and then the three drinking it. Devyn froze. Ianthill seemed on the edge of anger as he closed the door behind him and stood with his eyes fixed on the barrel. “I see you wasted no time in finding the ale, Gondrial.”

  “You know me, Ianthill, if there is drink to be found, I will root it out,” Gondrial responded.

  “Indeed. Well, how about rooting out some for me?” Ianthill said as he warmed himself by the fire.

  “I will be right back,” Gondrial said as he jumped up from his pallet. Ianthill took Gondrial’s spot as soon as he had left for the cellar. “So, what are we discussing?” Ianthill asked.

  “You seem in better spirits now, Ianthill,” Devyn said.

  “Let’s not kick sleeping dogs, Devyn,” Ianthill said in an even tone. He warmed his hands by the fireplace. “That was some impressive wielding you did by the way.”

  Devyn thou
ght he heard Rennon groan from his sleeping pallet. “You think so?” Devyn answered.

  “Aye, but you need to be mindful of drawing so much so fast at your level of skill. You will get essence sickness right fast.”

  “Gondrial mentioned that. What happens if I get it?”

  “We will cure it. It’s not that difficult nowadays to get rid of it. It isn’t as dangerous as it once was. We have ways to lessen the severity of it now until it can be properly healed. If you do get it, we will take care of it. I am hoping that your age spares you the trouble.”

  A moment later Gondrial returned with three more dusty mugs. He walked into the room and then, as an afterthought, went back outside. When he returned, the mugs were packed full of snow. He melted the snow over the fire and rinsed out the mugs with the resulting water. He tossed the water out the front door. “There, nice and clean,” he said, glancing momentarily at Melias. “I brought enough mugs in case the other two want to join us later. I don’t want to go out again and...” He noticed Ianthill in his spot. “Hey, that’s my spot, Ianthill,” he said.

  Ianthill intentionally looked dazed. “Oh, well, I guess it is mine now.”

  Gondrial glowered, “I guess it is.”

  As the merriment continued, Vesperin finally came into the room, and Gondrial poured him a mug of ale. Devyn lit up his pipe and Ianthill followed suit. Since the laughter had woken him from slumber, Rennon decided to join in as well. Rennon made a point to stay clear of Devyn, however. But Devyn was glad to see Rennon join despite the tension between them, and he realized they all needed a break from the pressures of reality, even if for only a few hours.

  Chapter 29: On the Road

  Devyn did not sleep well due to a pounding headache. He heard Vesperin and Rennon groaning most of the night as well. Gondrial moved about, preparing to make breakfast while nursing his head. Devyn heard Melias complain to Ianthill that the day was gloomy, and more snow was falling. Ianthill and Melias did not show any signs of a hangover, and Ianthill was delighting in speaking loudly to annoy Gondrial, who had drunk more ale than the three boys put together. Melias insisted on putting the farmhouse back in order when breakfast, consisting of hard bread and cheese, was done. He said they would respect the hospitality of the men who kept the farmhouse in good repair by leaving it the way they had found it. The horses had kept well in the stables located in the corner of the barn. Apparently, Ianthill had seen to their care before he had come back into the farmhouse the night before.