“I am hungry,” the Olgla man thundered down at Eliesmore. “You deprive me and my tribesmen of a meal!”
“Find something else to eat,” Eliesmore ordered, waving his sword like he was swatting away a fly.
“I captured them, and I have every right to eat them,” growled the Olgla man, crossing his arms as he failed to notice his potential meal escaping.
Arldrine and Glashar had recovered their weapons and now lifted their bows, arrows ready to fly. Eliesmore took a step backward. “We have our weapons. Now, if you will excuse us...”
He took another step backward, intending to take his friends and flee into the woods when the Olgla man turned to the trees behind him and shouted: “Tribesmen!”
Eliesmore paused mid-step; his eyes widened as six giants, ranging from nine to eleven feet tall, marched up behind the Olgla man, three on each side. They wore animal skins, some with heads still attached. Each tribesman was armed with a long knife for killing and a shorter knife for skinning and eating. Each giant held a bow in hand, and in every bow was an arrow that was pointed at Eliesmore and his companions. Eliesmore opened his mouth and closed it again, knowing one wrong move would mean he and his friends would be skewered on the edge of those arrows. “You win,” he forced the words from his mouth, hanging his head in defeat.
The Olgla man threw back his head and roared. “That’s what I like to hear,” he boomed.
“But.” Eliesmore put out his hand to stop the uproarious laughter. “You may not eat us.”
The Olgla man frowned, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle of his broad face. “What is there to stop us from eating you?”
Eliesmore had no response. He knew he had not escaped from the Rakhai to be eaten by the Olgla man and his tribesmen, yet he could not think of how to talk them out of their situation. Moving his face, he glanced at his friends. He couldn’t see Ellagine — who was likely mortified at their situation— but Optimistic and Glashar had dropped their bows. Arldrine’s expression was unreadable as she cocked her head.
The Olgla man went on. “You should have thought about us before you entered our forest. My tribesmen never miss and running is in vain. Put away your weapons; we have you now.”
Eliesmore clenched his fists in a fury, sputtering and waiting for the brilliant escape plan to enter his mind. He was the One, after all; he should know best.
“You are right.” Arldrine’s calm tone interrupted his panicked thoughts. “We are in your power. Send us to the water tunnels.”
Eliesmore’s jaw dropped as he glared at Arldrine. How could she go against him on this? Wasn’t she on his side? In his service?
The Olgla man stared at Arldrine as if she were trying to trick him. Even his tribesmen turned to their leader in confusion. “The water tunnels,” the Olgla man repeated.
“Yes.” Arldrine stood tall, her voice taking on a commanding ring. “You have captured us, but we have the right to request an honorable death. The water tunnels should be our final stand. Will you honor our request?”
Understanding dawned on the Olgla man’s face, and a malicious grin split his face. “It's better than roasting, eh? Well, then, in you go.”
With hoots of laughter, the tribesman slung their bows on their backs and snatched up Eliesmore and his friends, dragging them, struggling, off to the water tunnels. They were taken to a cave where the Olgla man rolled away a stone door. The five were dropped into a pitch black hole, and the last sound Eliesmore heard was the roar of laughter. “Have fun,” shouted the Olgla Man. He rolled the stone back, and the sounds of the forest disappeared.
Arldrine was the first to rise. “Come on,” she said, her voice echoing in the musty underground. “I know the way out. We have to run, or the waters will drown us. Follow me!”
Eliesmore did not know whether to be angry or amazed. Shaking his head, he leaped up with the others, bumping into Optimistic as they ran through the soft mud of the tunnel. It oozed beneath their feet, causing them to lose their grip and slip and slide downward. It wasn’t long before they heard a roaring sound behind them.
“The water!” Glashar called, her voice high and silvery.
“Run,” commanded Ellagine.
Eliesmore looked back as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the water. A wave crashed toward them, rolling and spinning with all the force of a waterfall. It slammed into their knees, knocking them off their feet. They were forced to the top of the water stream, sputtering and splashing.
“Swim,” shouted Arldrine, diving into the water like a fish. “This is only the first one.”
They shot through the water as the mud sucked it in, creating a popping sound as it turned to slush. The water sank into the ground until they were able to run again. They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when they heard the roar of the second wave. It slammed down on them, tossing them into the mud before lifting them like a water giant. Eliesmore gasped as he sank under the waves. For mere moments he was lost, unable to breathe or see. When the waves lifted him to the surface, he sucked in air, noting the tunnel ceiling was lowering. Ahead, he could see Optimistic and Glashar, but he couldn’t find Arldrine or Ellagine. The roar of a third and fourth wave knocked all reason from his mind as he panicked, remembering the barrels of water in the torture chambers of the Torsilo Quarts.
His lungs begged for air just as he was swept out to a bright land as the water bubbled into a creek. He spit a stream of sour water out as he opened his eyes, coughing. A hand grabbed him, and he looked up at Arldrine. Her black hair dripped onto her shoulders, and her eyes were bright; a slight smile quivered on her lips. Eliesmore watched her help Optimistic up and realized she was laughing. Ellagine was fishing Glashar out of the river, and Eliesmore saw they had come upstream and washed to the other side. The Olgla man and his tribesmen were a distance away on a hill, shouting something indistinct and shooting arrows that did not come close to reaching them. Arldrine’s light laughter floated through the air. “Ah, we tricked them. Let’s go.”
She elbowed Optimistic who laughed with her, his fist punching her shoulder lightly. Eliesmore’s mouth fell open in shock as he watched them. How could they laugh at such a narrow escape? They’d almost been killed! His heart was racing, and his palms were sweaty. As he stood still, he felt a giddiness in his head and found he, too, was amused by their escape. With a final glance back at the Olgla man and his furious tribesmen, he shrugged his shoulders and followed his companions, he would learn more about his interesting friends during their quest. They did not seem fazed by the adventure; they were only a bit wet.
The sun fully rose as they entered the dark forest, which shut out the light. Arldrine, thinking ahead, passed out food for the first meal: dried meat that ended up being quite damp. Eliesmore observed Ellagine and Glashar as they navigated the invisible forest path. Ellagine was unusually quiet; he wondered if she were still recovering from her ordeal with the Rakhai. Glashar, a stranger to him, seemed stiff and jumpy. The forest was silent. Dark vines threaded their way through the tree branches like chains, imprisoning life. Glashar looked up and froze, her sharp chin jutting out like a blade. Following her eyes, Eliesmore saw three vultures circling them, their scrawny necks outstretched as they searched for food. Glashar pulled an arrow from her quiver and raised her bow.
“What died?” Eliesmore asked in surprise. He was under the assumption that vultures only ate dead things.
Ellagine’s hand touched his shoulder. “Prepare for attack,” she whispered.
As more vultures joined the three, Eliesmore saw them eyeing him and his companions. A brief moment of anticipation passed before the vultures dived, their long beaks and sharp talons becoming clearer as they dove through the trees. An arrow flew up with a twang, sending a few of the birds crashing into tree limbs and rocketing off the ivy and vines. Curved talons reached for Eliesmore’s shoulder, and the foul smell of death and decay overwhelmed him as he swung his Jeweled Sword. He saw another bir
d fly toward him, its beak ready to plunge into his face. An arrow zapped it out of midair. For a few minutes, there was nothing except feathers and arrows flying. Then, as suddenly as they had come, the vultures disappeared.
“Evil forest,” Glashar remarked through her teeth, swinging her bow on her back.
They traveled on without further adventure, Arldrine leading the way as they crept through the forest. By midmorning, clouds gathered, and it began to rain. At first, a fine mist clouded their path, giving a pleasant relief to the warmth of the day. As afternoon fell, the rain intensified, pouring down as if the trees were non-existent. Eliesmore found himself dripping with moisture. His clothes were soaked through and clung to him; his pack was no more than a wet lump, and his hair hung in straight strands, dripping into his face and nose with each step he took. After the first hour of hard rain, it seemed as if the forest were dealing out a punishment. No one spoke. Faces were long.
As the day wore on, the rain grew tired of tormenting the travelers and blew off in another direction. The trees shook water off on to the travelers, blaming them for the freak rainstorm. The woods thinned, the grass grew taller, and everything dripped. Their clothes dripped, their hair dripped, their packs dripped, the trees dripped on them, and even their shoes dripped into the grass. The blackness of the forest faded, and suddenly the five walked out into the sunlight.
Eliesmore smiled as they walked free of the boundary line forest. Things were turning up after all. He looked up, and his smile froze. A hill sloped upward, and on top of it, there stood a male warrior. The sun was in his eyes as he pointed a sword at the company who had just emerged from the forest.
The male was a six-and-a-half-foot-tall Tider with dark brown hair hanging to his shoulders. His handsome face was set, and his jaw was locked, issuing a challenge to any who dared defy his will. It was evident from his expression he was used to giving orders and being obeyed. Eliesmore noted the weapons the Tider carried: a sword, two daggers, a short spear, bow, and white tipped arrows. He wore the garb that everyone Eliesmore had met thus far; dark green pants, a white shirt, and a green tunic. “Who comes from the boundary line forest?” His deep voice issued a challenge and a warning.
Eliesmore opened his mouth to answer the challenge. Once again, before he could properly have his say, Optimistic jumped out of line. “Zhane?” He gave a friendly shout. “Is that you? Zhane!”
The Tider sheathed his weapon and hurried down the hill toward them, a questioning look on his face.
“It is you!” Optimistic jogged forward to greet the Tider. “Zhane, I'm glad to see you again.”
The Tider named Zhane grasped Optimistic by his shoulders. “Optimistic, it's been months. Who have you brought with you?”
“Zhane?” Arldrine said. She walked toward him and paused. Their eyes met, and a swift flash passed between the two.
“Arldrine.” He gestured toward her as if he wanted to reach out and touch her. “Old friend, what news do you bring since the rise of the Rakhai?”
She smiled at him, a smile Eliesmore had never seen. “None you do not know. We bring with us…” She hesitated and turned to Optimistic.
Optimistic grabbed Eliesmore’s arm and pulled him in front of the Tider. “Zhane, this is Eliesmore, ‘finder of the Jeweled Sword, ’ he is the One.”
Zhane’s expression changed. Turning to Eliesmore, he knelt in the mud. His face showed the great honor he felt. “Long have I waited for this day. Since you are the One, I will go with you as one of your protectors.”
Once again, Eliesmore found himself at a loss for words as yet another joined his company. “Thank you,” he stuttered, embarrassed and feeling woefully inadequate.
Zhane rose, turning to the others. Reaching out, he touched Arldrine’s shoulder as if he could not resist before he greeted the others. “Ellagine.” He nodded at her.
“Zhane,” she responded, tilting her head.
“It has been long since you have been to the fortress,” he told her.
“I was searching,” she offered.
“Yes,” Optimistic interrupted. “She was the first to find Eliesmore.”
Zhane raised his eyebrows as his eyes met Glashar’s.
“I am Glashar the Falidrain,” she told him. “One of the Idrain who did not flee to the Beyond.” Unlike the others, she did not smile at him. Her eyes were calm, unemotional.
“Yes.” Zhane pulled memories from the air. “You came to the fortress long ago. You did not stay long.” He studied her with a question in mind. Glashar dropped her eyes lest her secrets be revealed.
“She used all her powers healing Eliesmore when the Rakhai attacked us,” Optimistic put in, standing up for her.
“Well done for the little group.” Zhane nodded.
“Where are you going?” Ellagine asked.
“To find you,” Zhane explained, his voice becoming serious. “There is a gathering of White Steeds at the fortress; you must be there. We must plan our next course of action since the rise of the Rakhai, and we should hurry.” He glanced back the way he had come. “We want to be at the fortress within the week.”
“Lead on then, Zhane,” Arldrine prompted.
His eyes fell upon her again; he opened his mouth to say something, but instead, he turned and led the way up the hill. Eliesmore followed beside Optimistic who chatted happily at his side. He felt an exciting adventure was beginning. He would be lucky if he lived through the dangerous and impossible quest. Even as he walked through the fading rays of sunshine, his quiet thoughts drifted toward home and his mother, Myran. Shades of sorrow struck his heart, and he knew, beyond a shadow of the doubt, the rampage of the Black Steeds had killed everyone, even his mother.
25
Sarhorr
Year 782 (161 years ago). Castle Range.
When he saw her, he knew his salvation was at hand. Even though his brother and sister had stopped torturing him, he felt the sting of their hatred daily. Over the past ten years, he’d focused on regaining his full strength and power while his brother and sister wasted their time traipsing through the South World. They hunted for the Green Stone, snatching at every thread of knowledge whispered through the wind. Their actions made him hope he could outwit them, yet he needed an ally.
It was one spring morning when they were away, locking him, alone, in the sprawling citadel in Castle Range. He did not understand why they built themselves a castle; it seemed too similar to the inclinations of mortals, a tomb which kept him away from the nature he craved. It proved useful for their monthly rituals. Each full moon, they captured gifted mortals or immortals and drained their power in a bloody ceremony they called the Klieng. Sarhorr was well aware it was unnecessary to slay the person, but it was half the fun. He thought back to his time with the Green People when he ripped open the heart of their queen and ate it. He had a thirst; he craved more power.
He smelled her first, the odd yet familiar scent of rich red blood mixed with the yellow tang of sunlight and the heather whispers of the wind. He bit his tongue, thinking of how delicious her power would taste right before it flowed through his veins. Blood of my blood.
He went to the balcony that overlooked the ceremonial room. It was shaped like a sphere with a circle in the middle. Four grooves ran out from it like a compass, pointing north, south, east and west. The female stood in the midst of the circle with her hands outstretched as if she were measuring.
“How did you get in here?”
She spun, and her face turned upward, searching for him.
He pulled back into the shadows, cursing under his breath in surprise when he saw what she was. A Green Person.
“Who’s there?” she called; her tone was firm, direct, and unafraid.
The ceremonial room was high in the castle and open to the air, although the curving walls were impossible to climb. Light streamed over the circle, allowing him to see her clearly. Glossy waves of hair cascaded down her back; its color changing according to the whim of light. H
er pale green skin shone like a jewel. “Who’s up there?” she demanded as if she were in charge of Castle Range.
He spread his fingers, leaning over the iron railing to see her better. When her eyes met his he could see her gasp, swallowing quickly to hide her surprise. He was not what she expected, yet she wanted him; they always did. He could tell from the way her cheeks glowed.
“Oh. I thought everyone was gone.”
“Why? So you could steal something?” He narrowed his eyes, unable to guess her desires.
She gave him a quizzical glance, unable to tell whether he was teasing her or being serious. “I wanted to see for myself.” She spread out her hands, indicating the room.
He stroked his chin while his nostrils quivered. The air was full of her intoxicating scent. It seemed familiar. “See? No one comes to see the chamber of death.”
“Death?” Her eyes were drawn to the floor; her feet moved over the deep grooves in the stone. “Don’t you know? You live here. How could you not know?”
“Live?” He gave a bitter laugh. “You are mistaken. I am a prisoner here like you.”
“Prisoner?” This time she gave him an incredulous look. “I am no prisoner.” Her head came up; she unabashedly studied him. He could see the admiration and a hint of lust shining out of her eyes.
“Will you help me?” he purred, taking advantage of her interest. He had nothing to lose; perhaps her curiosity would be enough.
She tilted her head; she was intrigued. “Why would I help you? There must be a reason you’re a prisoner.”
Humility. She would appreciate it. He tucked his black hair behind his ear and dropped his gaze. “Yes, I admit that my deeds have been great and terrible. But they will hunt me to the ends of the world.”
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 78
