The Key

[tamrend]

Chapter 1: The Sorcerer

“Who do you think he was?” Shael squeaked excitedly. It made her sound like a child, far younger than her fourteen years. Kelsia frowned at the question, then moved out from behind the cover of the boulder. She wanted to get a closer look at the body.

The man lay on his side, his face obscured by a tangle of long, blood-matted hair. One hand clutched a pale staff lying partially beneath him. His skin was so light that it was nearly white and his clothing was of a strange cut and material, its surface seeming to shimmer like flowing water as it caught the sun’s rays. Surrounding him in a rough circle was a light dusting of black, white and gray, like dirty snow. Kelsia bent and pinched up a bit of the stuff. It felt gritty when she rubbed her fingers together. “It’s ash,” she said aloud, “and still warm. Strange.” She looked once again at the body, untouched by the fire.

“I don’t like this,” Shael called. She hung back, poised to take shelter behind the boulder again if needed. Her sense of adventure upon first seeing the body from a distance seemed to have fled as they actually approached. “I think we should go. Someone from the village can see to him.”

Kelsia scowled at her friend, but relented. “Alright, we’ll go in a moment, but let me get a closer look at him.” Her feet sank into the ash slightly and kicked up puffs of it as she walked. She was nearing the body when a crunch beneath her feet startled her. Heart pounding, she stepped back and looked where her foot had landed. Though blackened and half-melted, the broken halves were still recognizable as the heavy iron head of an axe. The metal had been made brittle somehow and had snapped when she stepped on it. There were other small artifacts nearby, buried in the ash. One looked like a melted shirt of chain mail.

Shaking her head in bafflement, Kelsia squatted down next to the body. The staff drew her eyes to it, glittering so brightly it seemed to shine with its own light. A twisting set of grooves spiraled around the whole of its length. She reached out with tentative fingers to touch the design.

An icy hand clapped around her wrist. Kelsia tried to scream, but her throat was constricted and no sound came out. The eyes of the dead man were open and feverish with lethal intent. Kelsia twisted and thrust herself backwards desperately, and the grip was broken almost at once. She stumbled and went down, a cloud of ash rising up in a swirling gray blizzard. Too frightened to move, she stared at the apparition that had grabbed for her, her breath coming in too-shallow gasps. The dead man shifted and groaned, turning slightly to look at her. She jumped when he spoke, “You…you’re human. Just a girl.” The voice was gravelly, but not inhuman.

“Y-yessir,” she managed.

He stared at her for a long moment as she stood up. He frowned. “Can you run, girl?”

She took a step back. “I uh-I suppose I can, sir.”

He nodded slowly, as if she had just spoken a piece of sage wisdom. “I have a task for you, girl. There is a village up ahead.”

“Yes. I live there,” she answered, before thinking that maybe she shouldn’t have told him that.

He clenched his jaw and grasped the staff with his free hand, pulling it from under him with a painful effort. The length of it gleamed like flowing silver, untarnished by the ash. He sucked several breaths through gritted teeth, belying the pain that the movement had cost him. It was several moments before he could speak. “Take it. Take the staff to your village. Someone there must take it and your fastest horse and ride for Dalmers Ferry. Waiting at an inn, the Shepherd’s Hearth, is a man named Seith. He will know what to do with this.”

Kelsia’s gaze was drawn to the staff. She felt the urge again to reach out and touch the spiral design. “The village is not far. We can bring back help-“

“No!” he wheezed. “No, there is no time. I am already beyond help. Take it now, please!”

Kelsia reached out with an unsteady hand to take the staff. The tips of her fingers tingled as they drew near. Her grip closed around it and she gasped as warmth flooded into her, a flash of heat that passed through her body and out to her extremities. Now her whole body tingled and the ground swirled beneath her feet. She stumbled and caught herself from falling with the staff, an act that caused even more disorientation. She had felt the ground. When the staff had touched down, she had felt it just as surely as if it had been her own hand or foot. Just as strange, when she closed her eyes she felt the presence of the staff in her mind, could see it just as clearly as before.

Shael’s warning cry broke through Kelsia’s reverie. A growl rumbled from the creature’s throat as she spotted it, crouched low in the grass barely a dozen paces away. Its yellow eyes fixed unblinking on her as its body tensed, muscles visibly rippling beneath short, black fur. It bared its fangs in a hideous grin. Suddenly the beast was moving, powerful lupine body dashing over the ground on all fours, jaws opening for the kill. Somewhere behind her, Shael was screaming.

Run, you fool.

Kelsia stumbled back, pushed by a blast of sound so loud it rattled her teeth painfully. She blinked, but the brilliant streak of green across her vision was slow to fade. The wolf-like creature lay on the ground some distance away, thrashing about dazedly. The thick, choking scent of singed fur nearly gagged her. The wounded man held his palm outstretched, arcs of sizzling energy jumping between his fingers. The creature stopped its confused movements and rose warily to its rear feet. Blackened flesh began to knit itself before Kelsia’s eyes. It crouched for another leap.

“Run!” the sorcerer shrieked, a blast of heat pouring forth as a stream of orange light flowed from his hands and enveloped the creature in midair.

Kelsia fled alongside Shael, the screams of the man and beast trailing them as they struggled to kill one another. Kelsia cradled the staff protectively against herself. A voice, not her own, wept into the stormy mix of fear and confusion in her mind.

Terror drove them on, much further than exhaustion and pain would normally have allowed. They descended from the high, rock-strewn plain and entered the darker, closer confines of a pine forest. Only then did Kelsia begin to feel the pressures of her body's need for rest. Moreover, as fear subsided and common sense began to take hold, she realized that a cramped muscle or a careless misstep by either of them could lead to disaster. They slowed to a walk and Kelsia looked back for the first time. Nothing pursued them. There was only the stoic green silence of the trees and the sound of their own labored breathing.

They walked at an even pace to restore their strength, though the fading light soon began to lend urgency once more to their travel. The trees ended suddenly and they emerged into a wheat field, stalks of grain bending to the wind like waves on a red-gold ocean. Wispy trails of smoke rose up from beyond the ridge in front of them as the village warmed itself against the coming night.

Kelsia forced herself to think, working through the shock of what she had experienced. They had to go to Master Graegor, the mayor, and tell him what had happened. She wondered what could be so important about the staff that the sorcerer would risk giving it to a total stranger to get it to its destination. Suddenly, she was tackled to the ground and a hand clapped over her mouth. She felt hot breath on the back of her neck and her mind summoned up the terrifying image of lupine jaws about to close around her throat.

“Don’t scream,” Shael whispered next to her ear, her voice quavering. “Be absolutely still.”

Kelsia gave a nod and Shael’s hand came away. Several more moments passed before Shael climbed off of her. “There are two of them. I don’t think they saw us. Take a look for yourself, but keep your head down.”

Kelsia raised her head slowly and peered out over the field. Her eyes were not as keen as her friend’s but in a moment she spotted the pair moving close to the treeline. It was difficult to get much detail from such a distance, but they looked slightly hunched and cast off glimmers in the fading sunlight. They came to a halt as another figure emerged from the forest. The three appeared to exchange words with the smaller, slighter figure, which then turned and merged back into the trees. The pair resumed its marching as twilight began to fall.

“It’s a patrol,” Kelsia whispered, watching the pair continue on its line. “They are both wearing armor. They're staying close to the trees in case they need to take cover. If they're from Dunesmar, what would they be doing this far south?” Dunesmar, at nearly a hundred leagues distant, was the closest city large enough to sustain any army.

A movement among the trees made Kelsia duck down with a murmured exclamation. Lying low in the field, she could see little through the grass, but she could hear them, a steady rustle of movement. They came closer, and closer still. She pushed herself down further into the wheat, straining to be invisible. She could feel the thump of feet on the ground against her cheek. Her skin began to itch, but she kept still with an effort of will. Shael had squeezed her eyes shut and her lips moved silently as if in prayer. Levering herself slowly upwards, Kelsia was able catch a glimpse of them. They were armored and carried shields, spears and axes. One of them passed by almost right next to her and she saw a pair of tusks curving out beneath a spike-topped helm.

After what seemed like an eternity, the last of them passed on. The clatter of metal faded but was soon replaced by the chirping of crickets. Kelsia nudged Shael and they carefully rose to look about. The field had gone from gold to silver, lit by the stars glittering in a moonless sky. A smudge of darkness on that silver-black plain marked the progress of the creatures, circling around to the south of the village. “How many, do you think?” she asked.

Shael pursed her lips, staring at the moving group. “Less than a hundred,” she said. “Maybe only a few dozen." She squinted. "I think they’ve stopped moving. I can’t see them anymore.”

Kelsia wondered if Shael really knew how much a hundred was. Either way, it was more than enough to wipe out the entire village. “Come on,” she urged, rising to a half-crouch and starting across the field toward town. She watched the darkness to the south for signs of movement as they ran. They just had to hope that the creatures could not see in darkness any better than they could.

They stayed off the road and kept low to the base of the hill upon which the town was built, circling to a steeper ascent on the south side to keep their silhouettes from showing against the sky. Reaching the relative safety to be had between the buildings, they followed the village’s only street. Flickering light shone through the windows of most of the houses, but the handful of shops lining the street were dark. One building was still well lit and lively with noise and music and it was here that Kelsia and Shael went. Kelsia wrinkled her nose at the smell of spilled liquor and unwashed bodies and hurried through the tavern’s main room, ignoring the looks of the few travelers who bothered to notice them. They exited through a doorway that led into the kitchen, then went down a hallway to a quiet room at the back of the building.

Master Graegor sat behind a huge oaken desk, quill fluttering rapidly across the page of a ledger. He paused and looked up over his spectacles as they entered, jotted down another quick series of strokes, then sat back with a sigh. “Hello Shael, Kelsia.” Then he noticed their dirty, bedraggled appearance. "By the seven hells, what’s happened to you two?”

Kelsia stepped forward. As a girl she had always felt intimidated by the mayor, whose generous height and girth and spiky beard lent him something of the countenance of a bear. “Master Graegor, sir, we just came from the forest to the west of the village. We saw soldiers, just outside the village. They wore armor, and carried all sorts of weapons, and—“

“Hold on, there,” Graegor said, eyeing her critically. She couldn’t blame him. She knew how it sounded. “That’s a very poor joke to try to play on someone, Kelsia. Or are you two in some kind of trouble?”

Shael gulped. “It’s true, sir. We hid down in the grass and a troupe of them passed right by us. They settled in a spot to the south of the village.”

“You really expect me to believe this, don’t you?” His tone sounded a bit less skeptical.

“On my honor, I swear it,” Kelsia said earnestly.

“Your father used to say that,” Graegor said, nodding slowly. “And he was nothing if not an honest man. I’d like to think he raised a daughter much the same. Tell me, then. These soldiers, what did they look like? Quickly now.”

Kelsia told him what little she had gleaned and answered his questions as well as she could.

”It almost sounds like they were demons,” he mused. “And what's that?" he asked, pointing at the staff.

"That's an even stranger story," she began. Time was essential, so she told only the most vital parts of what had happened. In particular, she left out the part about being able to feel through the staff. That might make an otherwise plausible story sound too far-fetched.

"May I see it?" he asked and she dutifully handed it over. He turned it over in his hands and Kelsia winced at the perceived touch of his calloused fingers. "Excellent craftsmanship," he muttered, "and made of a material I've never seen before." He propped it against the ground and rested some of his weight on it, making Kelsia lick her lips nervously at feeling herself being pushed down against the ground. "Do you believe it has anything to do with the soldiers you saw?"

It was a connection that she had not until now had much chance to examine. "Possibly." She remembered the bits of metal in the circle of ash where she had found the sorcerer. "Yes, I think so. Will you be sending a rider to bring the staff to Dalmer's Ferry?"

He shook his head. "That is a matter for another time. We'll need every man here to defend the village. I suggest you two ladies hurry home to your families." He started or the door, stopped to prop the staff against the wall, then hurried out.

Kelsia went over and retrieved the staff before she realized what she was doing. She held it, staring at it for a long time. Graegor would do the right thing. He would send the staff on its way once he knew the village was safe. But what if it didn't happen that way? What if the village were overrun? She couldn't stop thinking about what the sorcerer had done, entrusting the staff to her and then sacrificing his own life so that she could get away. "I will take it," she said, though it was as if she were hearing someone else say the words. "I'll take the staff to Dalmers Ferry."

"Have you lost your wits?" Shael demanded.

"It has to be done. I'm the only one there is to do it. I'm leaving tonight, after I make sure my mother and brother are safe."

"Right. Well then burn me for a pig-headed fool, Kelsy, because I'm going with you."

[tamrend]

Chapter 2: Flight

"You'll meet me at the edge of Graegor’s estate," Shael said, putting a hand on Kelsia's arm. The light from the tavern cast her face half in light, half in shadow. Her tone suggested that she thought Kelsia might try to leave without her.

“I’ll be there,” Kelsia promised. She was anxious to be off. They were each going to warn their families about the possible attack.

“See that you are, and stay out of trouble,” Shael admonished as she shouldered the satchel of food scraps they had weaseled from the tavern cook. She started away towards her house, the satchel bouncing against her side as she ran. Kelsia turned and set off with a brisk stride in the opposite direction, alone in the deepening darkness.

As the walked, the staff struck the road with a hollow thump, a constant reminder of its presence. She flinched at the distant sound of a dog’s barking. For one terror-stricken moment, she thought that the attack had come, but then the noise quieted once more.

Her family’s farm was close by the edge of town. She heard rather than saw the pond that marked the land's boundary near the road, the frogs greeting her approach with a riot of croaking. She turned off of the road and followed the cart trail through the tall, close stalks and sweet, musky scent of the cornfield. The smell of home.

A strange, sudden longing lent urgency to her steps. She leapt up the stairs to the porch and flung open the door. The interior was black but for the shapeless patches of color conjured up by her own eyes. “Hello?” she called. After a few moments, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The front room was empty. She went to the kitchen, really just a corner of the same room. The stove was cold when she put her hand up to it.

She went to the room that she and her brother, Matias shared. The bed was empty, the rest of the room very tidy, the way he always kept it. Her mother's room was last. The floorboard in front of the door creaked when she stepped on it, just as it always did. “Matias? Mama?” No one answered.

She knew that they had planned to go into town that day, but it was rare for her mother to stay out after dark. At a loss, Kelsia stepped back out into the night and closed the door behind her. Her feet felt heavy as they carried her back to the road and toward the village. Her choices swam through her head, slippery, ephemeral. She had committed herself to a quest, a purpose she knew nothing about, but she sensed its importance. What would happen, though, if she didn't find her family and warn them to get to safety?

The staff suddenly grew warm in her hand.

No, she had to go on. She couldn't even begin to know where her family might be. She would have to trust that they could take care of themselves. Whatever the staff represented, it was too vital to risk.

Shael was not there when she arrived at the place they had agreed upon. Kelsia sat down to wait, her back against the fence. Soon she began to grow worried. Graegor's estate was close enough to the village that she should be able to hear if a battle had started, but it remained quiet. At last, Shael's diminutive figure came running across the field from the direction of the town. Kelsia stood up and waved and she corrected her course to meet her.

Shael came to a stop and hunched over, her hands resting on her knees while she regained her wind. "Sorry. I'm. Late," she said between breaths.

"They weren't home," Kelsia told her, knowing she would be able to appreciate how strange that was.

"Women had a meeting," Shael said, now beginning to get back her breath. "My ma was there. Maybe yours, too."

It was a hopeful thought. If here mother had been at the meeting hall, Graegor would get word to them quickly. Shael began speaking again. "I almost didn't make it. My da told me to stay put when I told him. I had to sneak away. Here." She held out one of the two bows that hung over her shoulder.

Kelsia looked at the weapon dubiously. “I don’t know how to use one of those,” she protested.

Shael took hold of her hand, put the bow into it, and closed her fingers around it. “I’ll teach you how. I’m nearly as good as any of my brothers. This one was made for a child, so it will be an easy draw.” She then handed Kelsia a quiver of arrows.

"Is this your old bow?" Kelsia asked.

Shael's expression looked pained. "I had to take my chance to slip away from the house, and I couldn't risk trying to get my bow. I took them out of Master Keese's shop. The latch on one of his back windows is loose."

"You stole these?" Kelsia demanded.

Shael put out her hands in a placating gesture. "We're borrowing them," she said, "just like we're borrowing Master Graegor's horses."

She did have a point, though at least Graegor would probably realize who had taken the horses and why, once he noticed that the staff was gone. The bowyer, Master Keese, was like to believe that he had simply been robbed. Kelsia would rather leave the bows behind and hope they would not need them, but Shael would not be dissuaded. “If you’re a damn fool enough to want to do this on your own, at least have the wits to bring some protection,” she retorted. In the end, Kelsia had to accede that she was right. Even if they weren’t being chased, there were enough dangerous animals in the wild to warrant bringing weapons.

The entered the mayor’s pasture land by squeezing through the wooden post and rail fence. Kelsia was thankful that she and Shael had chosen to wear tunic and breeches for their hike earlier in the day. What they were doing wasn't the kind of thing to attempt in a dress.

Light shone from the house on the hilltop, but the field through which they trudged was empty and quiet but for the sound of night bugs. The large, open space made Kelsia feel exposed. She was glad when the stable loomed before them in the darkness, providing some amount of cover. They crept along the wall of the long, low building until they found a door. At a push, it creaked inward.

“We’re going to have to do this in the dark,” Kelsia whispered. “Try to find a horse that looks like it will stand up to a long ride. This door is too small, so I’m going to open the main doors. Once we’re out, we’ll turn west and head for the road.” Shael nodded her agreement and followed her inside. Kelsia found the huge double doors at one end of the stable. She heaved upward on the thick wooden beam and it gave grudgingly, pushing up out of the bracket that held it on one side. Grunting with the effort, she swung the beam on its hinge until it locked into another bracket on the other side. At a push, the doors swung outward and she hurried back to look for a horse.

Many of the horses were asleep in their stalls, but one snorted at her and lifted its head through the slats of its gate. Kelsia stopped and put her hand out, letting the animal sniff her. She opened the latch and swung the gate out. The horse stepped out through the opening, stamping a hoof and tossing its head at finding sudden freedom. Kelsia checked the animal over quickly. He was a gelding and seemed to be in good health. She couldn’t tell his color without light, but he was a dark shade and had a pair of light spots on his head below his eyes. “Are you sure you want to go with me, boy?” she asked him, stroking his mane. His ears perked up and rotated to follow her voice. “It’s a long way.” For answer, he nuzzled her hand.

She found riding gear stowed on a shelf and saddled the horse as quickly as her limited experience would allow.

A voice sounded from another part of the stable and Kelsia froze, thinking a stable hand had entered and spotted her. In a way, the thought was strangely a relief, that the burden of responsibility might be taken from her by circumstance. But then she heard Shael’s answering voice. She followed the sound of the voices towards the far end of the barn and saw what had happened. Shael stood before an open stall with a bridle clutched in her hands. Facing her, and with his back to Kelsia, was a young man with a crossbow pointed at her chest.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re doing, then?” he demanded

Kelsia’s heart pounded furiously in her ears. She set the staff on the ground. Taking a step forward took all of her will.

“Master Graegor wants me to deliver something for him,” Shael answered. “I saw him tonight, at the tavern.”

The man took one of his hands from the weapon for a moment to scratch his jaw and returned it quickly. “No. He pays me to gaurd his horses. He would have told me. Why are you doing this, Shael? Are you trying to run away?”

Kelsia crept closer, step by careful step. Shael must have noticed her by now, but mercifully had not looked her way and alerted the man. “I’m just borrowing the horse, Edwin. I swear it.”

Kelsia knew that name. Edwin was a few years older than her, but they had played together as children. Whatever he thought, Kelsia couldn’t imagine that he would actually try to kill either of them. Somehow, that thought didn’t do much to make her any less afraid. She was just a step or two behind him and had to make a decision. Steeling herself, she threw her shoulder against him, knocking him into the side of a horse stall. A thwap sounded as the string released and the crossbow bolt skipped off the ground and clattered against the wall. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to drag him to the floor, but he stubbornly kept his feet. His elbow jabbed into her ribs and she fell off him, gasping for air.

Edwin raised the crossbow over her like a club, ready to bring it down on her head.

“Stop!” The command was hissed with enough force that Edwin paused in his swing. Shael stood five paces away, bow in hand, with an arrow drawn back against her cheek. “Put it down, Edwin.”

He lowered the crossbow and let it drop to the floor. Kelsia stared at her friend in amazement, feeling as though she had witnessed a transformation. Shael glanced at her. “Are you alright, Kelsy?”

Kelsia had managed to get her wind back and wheezed a “yes.”

Edwin squinted at her. “You too, Kelsia? Why are you doing this?”

Kelsia looked at Shael, who still had the arrow pointed and half-drawn. There had to be a way out of this without resorting to violence. “Edwin, you know us," Kelsia pleaded. "You know we aren’t thieves. Shael wasn’t totally honest with you. Graegor doesn’t know that we’re taking his horses, but we need them for something very important. If you tell him we went to Dalmers Ferry, he’ll understand. And we’ll bring them back when we’re finished.”

He looked at the bow in Shael’s hands. Kelsia could tell he was weighing his duty against his life. Suddenly he didn’t look as old as he had at first, nor as threatening. “Do I really have much choice?”

Shael flashed him a wry, confident grin. "No, not really. Would you saddle her up, Kelsy?"

Kelsia moved to do as she asked. She attached reins, headstall and bit and tightened the strap of the saddle to fit the mare Shael had chosen.

"Stay where I can see you," Shael commanded Edwin once she had finished. Kelsia took the reins of her own horse and led them both toward the doors, stopping only to retrieve the staff. Shael backed up next to her, arrow still trained on Edwin. Once they were outside, Shael plucked arrow from bow and ran to her horse. Kelsia got her leg over on the second try and spurred her mount to a gallop, sparing a glance back to be sure that Shael wasn't far behind. It took most of her concentration, though, just to keep her seat while hanging onto the staff and keeping her bow from slipping off her shoulder. She had ridden bareback a few times on the old mare her mother had bought a few years ago, but that was nothing like trying to stay on the wildly bouncing back of this powerful horse. When she felt they had reached a safe distance, Kelsia signaled Shael and they slowed to a brisk trot.

"That was amazing," Kelsia remarked, tipping her head back the way they had come.

Shael shook her head ruefully. Her voice was hoarse with emotion. "You can't see it, but I'm still shaking. I was terrified. What if my hand had slipped?"

It was a sobering thought. Their encounter at the stable, though successful for them, had not been what she had in mind. How much might this quest cost them before they were finished?

They joined the main road and turned north, the ground taking on a gradual upward slope on its way up and over the highlands. They stopped for a brief rest to stow their possessions in the saddlebags. Also to give Shael some time to calm her nerves. As soon as Shael was ready, they were off again. Kelsia hoped to put a few hours of distance between them and the village.

They came to the top of a bare ridge and Kelsia glanced over her shoulder, back the way they had come. She gasped in horror. Far below in the valley, yellow flames leapt upward towards the sky. She called for Shael to look, but her voice was cut short by a sob.

The village was burning.

[tamrend]

Chapter 3: Over the Highlands

Kelsia awoke, shivering, to the sound of sobbing. Shael sat next to her on the cold, moist bed of grass. Her eyes were red and swollen.

They had ridden half the night, pushing the horses as long as they dared. Kelsia’s memory of their flight was a haze of shocked silence and endless plodding. More than once, they flew into a terrified gallop, thinking they were being pursued, only to realize it was only a deep patch of shadow or the movement of a small animal. With night slipping away, they had spotted a cluster of trees and left the road to take shelter there, collapsing into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.

Kelsia got up without a word and walked around to a private spot on the other side of the copse to relieve herself. I should be crying, too, she thought. My brother, my mother were both back there. And then the tears did come, hot and wet on her cheeks. She had lost everything. Her home, her family, everyone she had ever known was gone. There was only Shael. Last night when she had made the decision to carry the staff, she had felt pround of herself for doing something worthwhile. This morning she just felt very young and very foolish.

The climbing sun had taken most of the chill from the air by the time she returned to their improvised campsite. Shael was looking much better. While Kelsia had been away, she had sorted through their food supplies and set out an apple and a wedge of cheese for her. She was in the middle of lifting one of the feet of Kelsia’s horse, checking for lodged stones and damage to the hooves. She looked up as Kelsia approached. “Your gelding’s hooves are chipping. He may need to be shod.”

Kelsia sat and bit into the squishy, overripe apple while she watched Shael check over her own horse and sprinkle some grain in a pile for them both. Even if there were a blacksmith to be found, they didn't have the money to pay for a shoeing. At the moment, that seemed to be the least of their problems.
Once Shael was finished, she came and sat next to Kelsia. “So what do we do next?”

Kelsia sighed and began to pluck the seeds from her apple core. “We can’t go back.”

Shael looked toward the south. The ruins of their former home lay that way. “I thought that was obvious.”

The staff lay at Kelsia’s feet, though she didn’t remember putting it there. She nudged it with the toe of her boot. “We could just walk away.” She had to raise the possibility. “Someone or something wants this thing pretty badly. Maybe if we just left it behind they would find it and leave us alone.”

Shael snorted. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? If you had listened to me, you would never have picked it in the first place.”

Kelsia understood what her friend was saying, but it hardly seemed fair. She had picked up the staff because it seemed like the right things to do. She hadn’t known what the consequences might be. She stood up and flicked the last of the seeds from the apple core, then offered it to her horse. He crunched the morsel down gratefully and sniffed her hand, looking for more.

She couldn’t just leave the staff behind. It wasn’t coincidence that the town had been attacked after they had brought the staff there. Her home was destroyed, all because of the decision she had made. She had to know there was some meaning to it. “I’m going on to Dalmers Ferry,” she said. “I’ll leave it up to you to decide where you wish to go.”

Shael got up and began preparing the horses and their packs, and that was answer enough.

The road wound in long, lazy curves across the rolling landscape of the highlands. Except where a boulder jutted up from the ground, everything was covered in dry, brittle grass. Kelsia seemed to constantly be traveling up and down, her horse taking two or three quick steps down a slope, then four more slow steps up the other side. She began to study the tiny valleys, trying to puzzle out in her mind how this land had come to look this way. It was as though a great plow had been pulled back and forth across the land, though they looked a bit too irregular for that. It made her think of the way that water made little canals when it was poured onto the dirt. Could that be it? Did the rain shape the land this way? It would take a huge amount of it, but perhaps it was conceivable that after years and years of water pouring down and draining away and taking little bits of dirt that the land might begin to take on this kind of shape. Kelsia knew better than to make the suggestion to Shael. Her friend was more tolerant of her peculiar ideas than most, but she seldom truly understood what Kelsia was trying to say.

As the sun edged toward noon, the comfortable warmth of the morning began to turn to sweltering heat. They both removed their cloaks and stowed them in saddlebags, but it didn’t help much to relieve the heat. Worse, the skin on her face was beginning to feel hot, signaling the onset of a sunburn. If she had the chance, Kelsia would try to fashion hats for them both, but out here there was simply no materials at hand to use.

“We should name our horses,” Shael said suddenly. “It’s bad luck to make a journey on a horse without a name.”

Despite the fact that the horses likely already had been named by their real owner, Kelsia agreed that it was a good idea. At the very least, it would help to take her mind off her discomfort. Shael stroked the neck of her mare. “I think she looks like a Cloud. What do you think?”

Kelsia looked over the unusual coloring of Shael’s horse, a gray dappled with lighter spots. “I like it. It really suits her.” She studied the color of her own horse, now that she could see him properly in daylight. His coat was dun that ran toward reddish, except for a white spot on either side of his nose. “Copper,” she said. “I'll call you Copper.”

Throughout the day, they stopped every few hours to rest and feed their mounts and Shael would give Kelsia instruction in shooting her bow. The horses didn’t appear to like the stringy brown grass that covered the ground, so they had to use up more of their store of grain. Water was going to become a problem too, if they weren’t able to find a natural source soon. On the third stop, Shael found a long, shallow pit on the roadway and regretfully emptied half of a waterskin into it. The horses greedily drank up the offering until nothing but soft mud remained.

As evening approached, the rolling ground finally grew smoother and the heat began to lessen, though their prospects for water and feed for the horses looked no better than before. They settled down for another fretful night, but this time all they had to sleep on was the hard, dusty roadway. The other half of the waterskin went to the horses, leaving them only one full skin and part of another.
After a cold meal of dried meat, a turnip and a hunk of bread, Kelsia got out her cloak and huddled next to Shael for warmth. Her sunburned skin made her feel both hot and cold at the same time. She closed her eyes and tried not to dwell for too long on the faces of the loved ones they had left behind, but sleep was slow to come.

The next day started much like the last, swinging from bitter cold to stifling heat in the space of a few hours. For lack of a better substitute, both of them draped their cloaks over their heads awkwardly to protect them from the sun. Though the heavy cloth added a bit to the heat, it was well worth the relief it offered from the touch of direct sun.

Kelsia began to notice strange things happening around them. Features in the landscape in the distance seemed to ripple in waves. What appeared to be patches of water appeared and disappeared on the road. The first few times they saw these water illusions, they hurried onward in anticipation of a cool splash and a drink for the horses, but soon realized that they were being fooled. Instead, a second waterskin was eagerly consumed by the horses. Even then, Shael worried that it was not enough.

So it was that when they began to make a winding descent down a narrow trail, they were overjoyed to spot scrub brush and further down, actual trees. The road turned back on itself at least a dozen times, but the air grew perceptibly cooler as they descended. The breeze was no longer a scorching blast, but blessedly soothing on her sore, peeling skin.

Off to the left, the arid highlands stretched on into the distance, but before them to north and east was deep forest. Shrouded by the haze of distance, they could see the beginnings of a mountain range to the north, the top of the nearest peak hidden by a long, streaming cloud. The road skirted the trees for a bit, but then turned and plunged right in. They stopped to allow the horses a chance to graze on the vibrant green grass at the roadside and to enjoy a meal of their own from their stores.

Though it was nearing dark once more, Kelsia suggested they press on a bit in the hope of finding water. Sure enough, before the sun's light had slipped completely away, they came upon a tiny rivulet of a stream that burbled right across the road. They followed it for a fair distance to a clearing and a pool that was several feet across. For their excitement, it might as well have been a lake. Both horses drew long and deeply from the water, showing that they had, indeed, been getting less water than they should. Copper tossed his head and pranced about the clearing when Kelsia removed his saddle, but he quickly came back and nuzzled her hand with a low whinny.

She laughed. "I know what you want," and took out an apple for him, though she sliced it in half to share with Cloud.

While Kelsia arranged the camp, Shael picked up her bow and quiver and slipped away. She returned sometime after dark gripping the scaly legs of a pheasant she had brought down. While she cleaned and dressed it, Kelsia gathered up twigs and dried leaves to set into a circle of stones and got out their only tinderbox. A shower of sparks fell as she struck the iron and flint together, until a tiny red ember began to burn among the leaves. She blew on it, coaxing the spark into a tiny flame. Once the blaze was going well, they speared strips of the pheasant meat and enjoyed the savory smell as they held it over the flames to roast. Though conversation between them was light, there was an underlying tension to it, as neither one was willing to talk about much else than what had happened that day. The future was still uncertain and the past still painfully raw.

Still, Kelsia felt better than she had since that terrible night they had left the village. She fell asleep with a full stomach and the cozy warmth of the fire nearby.


Danger.

Kelsia's eyes snapped open. Her heart was beating wildly. Had it been a voice she had heard that had woken her? She waited, straining to listen through the raccous croaking of the frogs coming from the pond.

There was a rustle, a snap, the sounds coming seemingly without direction. Her imagination? She let out the breath she had been holding and tried to calm herself, but her fear seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. She patted Shael's shoulder, and when that had no effect, shook her forcibly. Her friend muttered something incomprehensible.

"Wake up, Shael," Kelsia hissed into her ear. "Wake up or we die."

That seemed to sink in. Shael blinked a few times and raised herself up slowly. "What is it?"

Kelsia shook her head. "Quietly. Saddle the horses. We have to leave this place." She put her hand to the ground to stand up and it came down on something hard and round. She stared down at the silver length of the staff, this time quite sure she remembered having left it strapped to her saddlebags. Had Shael picked it up and brought it over?

Another sound, something between spoken words and the grunting of a warthog. It sounded much nearer than the first set of noises.

Though it was nearly impossible to get the laden saddlebags onto the horses noiselessly, Kelsia and Shael managed to keep metal from jingling together and the horses from snorting a protest as they lifted first one, then the other onto their backs. Fear was throbbing through Kelsia in waves that were almost painful, though it lessened enough to allow her to get onto her horse. She had been afraid that her weakened knees would keep her rooted to the ground. Kelsia led as they walked the horses single file back toward the road, the grass and leaves of the forest floor helping to muffle the sound of their hooves.

The two creatures that stood watch on the road looked as surprised to see her as Kelsia herself felt at seeing them. Though shrouded in darkness, she easily made out the helmeted head and hunched, long-limbed bodies of the creatures. Their white tusks glowed dimly in the faint light of the moon's sliver and their eyes glowed red beneath their helmets. Both creatures gave a hideous, squealing roar and charged, their heavy, stubby swords raised to strike.

Kelsia dug in her heels and slapped at Copper's flank. He surged forward, slipping to the side of the foremost creature and turning sharply to follow the road north. On her right, Shael and Cloud burst through the foilage lining the road. Shael had taken a path wider to the side to avoid the creatures. The hooves of the two laboring beasts thundered as they raced down the road. Kelsia glanced back in time to see at least a dozen pairs of red eyes converging on the road and running after them, shouting in bestial voices. Copper rounded a bend and the creatures disappeared from sight.

The sounds of their pursuit soon faded, though they did not slow their ride until foam began to glisten on the flanks of the two horses. Even then, it was only a short rest with the pace still at a fast walk. As soon as the horses began to breathe more normally, Shael and Kelsia spurred them on once more, terrified that their pursuers were just around a curve in the trail behind them.

The trees thinned and then gave way entirely to open ground. The road began to slope upwards, climbing across the foot of a mountain. They slowed once more, both for rest and because on the left side, the land began to drop away sharply. Kelsia glanced back to see an indistinct group of figures moving out of the forest a few miles distant, trailing them on the road. She got down off her horse and trotted alongside, hoping that the animal would be able to maintain a bit more speed without her own weight to burden it. In a moment, Shael slipped down as well.

They had to stay ahead of that pack of beasts, but with the distance so close between them, they would soon have to put the horses at a gallop again. She found herself wishing they had pushed a bit harder while crossing the highlands. If they had gotten a bit farther along, maybe they would not have been surprised in the middle of the night. But of course, pushing their mounts too hard would have been dangerous. Horses allowed a traveler only a bit more speed than walking afoot and even that advantage is nullified by the need to stop for grazing. Driven hard enough, a horse would run itself to death.

The trail veered right, following the contour of the mountainside. Kelsia glanced to her left and froze. The wolf-thing hunched over the road on all fours, sniffing at the ground. It reared back and stood smoothly upright, its head swinging to orient on them. A gap separated the place where Kelsia and Shael stood from the part of the trail that the wolf occupied. The trail meandered around the edge of the rift for a few furlongs, but at this spot, the beast was no more than thirty yards distant. A single yellow eye glinted at them from the wolf’s ruined face. Its mouth opened in an expression that could have been a snarl, but could as easily have been a grin.

“Go! Back!” Kelsia shouted, pulling on Copper’s reins to turn him. She threw herself across his back and slid onto the saddle, waiting only long enough to see that Shael had done the same before dashing down the trail back the way they had come. She gripped Copper’s mane so hard that her fingers hurt as his hooves came down dangerously close to a fatal drop at the edge of the road. They hurtled headlong down the slope, racing for the open ground at the bottom and their only hope of escape. But as the road leading away from the bottom of the mountain came into view, they saw that that way, too, was blocked. Kelsia drew Copper to a harrowing, sliding halt on the slope. The boar-like creatures had already reached the foot of the mountain some hundreds of feet below and were making their way up, unconcerned with speed now that their prey had no escape.

Kelsia turned to look behind. There was still no sign of the wolf creature, but that would not be for long. They were trapped, with no way out but a precipitous drop and certain death. She looked over the edge, considering whether that way might be a better one than capture. The drop did not look completely sheer. They might survive, though the horses would not.

“There!” Shael shouted, trotting her horse forward. She stopped a few dozen steps down the trail and dismounted. Kelsia saw it at once: a steep and narrow trail that had been carved out of the mountainside next to the road. Cloud balked at the difficult slope, but Shael managed to coax her up to where it flattened out somewhat. Copper nearly slipped and lost his footing, but then launched himself upward with an effort that nearly sent Kelsia sprawling.

The narrow track was too steep for riding safely, so Kelsia and Shael both led their horses single file as quickly as they dared in the darkness. At some point, Kelsia noticed that she was carrying the staff in her hand, again without memory of retrieving it from the saddle. The trail sloped as steeply as was safely possible, seeming to climb directly up towards the peak of the mountain. She had to wonder why anyone would make a path like this at all, as it seemed to lead nowhere.

The trail abruptly turned back on itself at the face of a sheer drop off, ascending again but in the opposite direction. Looking down, Kelsia could see the road far below. The boars had reached the bottom of the track and were beginning to climb.

The trail continued to cut back on itself, rising each time higher and higher on the mountainside. Kelsia’s side began to ache from the exertion and the chill of the air, but each time she looked down their pursuit seemed to be closer. She did not see the wolf, which for some reason worried her even more. At the next turn, though, she took a glance upward and saw something that gave her hope. “There’s a light!” she said, pointing. Shael nodded, too exhausted for words and struggled on.

The ground abruptly grew more flat, and where there had only been bare rock before, grass now lined the sides of the trail. Their path made a final turn and came out on top of a wide shelf of land. Plants and trees grew all around, though Shael knew that they were too high up to be seeing any vegetation. Even the air seemed thicker, warmer and, easier to breathe than before. The path went forward for another twenty paces and stopped at a tangle of trees and brambles. There was no sign of the light she had seen earlier.

Kelsia looked at Shael, the same question exchanged silently between them. What now?

Shael looked to the edge, listening to the dissonant sounds of their pursuit. She removed her bow from her saddle, bending the wood smoothly across her leg and looping the string to the end. She took four arrows from her quiver and planted them in the ground, shouldered the quiver, notched a fifth, and stood waiting.

Kelsia lay the staff at her feet and brought out her own bow. She strung it clumsily, the bow twisting away from her grasp when she tried to bend it. She held it more firmly this time and managed to slip the string over the end. At that moment, the first of them appeared.

Shael drew, paused just for an instant, and released. The arrow zipped invisibly through the dark to find its mark just below the throat of the first beast. The creature staggered back but quickly righted itself. Shael snatched an arrow from the ground and notched it, then took aim more carefully this time. The creature made a squealing cry and leapt forward, but was cut short by the shaft that found its mark beneath one of its glowing eyes. It crumpled to the ground without another sound.

Shael had plucked another arrow from the ground and sighted on the next beast. It and another of the creatures had reached the top of the trail and broke into a run straight towards them. Kelsia shakily drew an arrow from her quiver as Shael let fly her next arrow. This one clanged when it hit, the sound of the arrowhead striking armor, but the boar still went down. The third beast was less than a dozen paces from Shael when she released again, the point of her arrow piercing completely through its throat and out the other side. It gurgled a scream and swung its falchion blindly as it stumbled forward, forcing Shael to retreat a few steps before it body fell to the ground. She snatched her next arrow from her quiver.

Kelsia fumbled an arrow onto the bowstring as Shael loosed another. The beast flailed its arms when it was struck but could not stop itself from toppling over the edge of the shelf. Kelsia finally was able to draw back her first arrow, sighted one of the half-dozen creatures that had now reached the top. She flinched right when the arrow was loosed, throwing her shot wide. Shael's next shot buried itself in the face of another boar.

"Get back! Back!" Shael shouted when she saw that Kelsia wasn't going to be any use in the fight. Kelsia dropped her bow and retrieved the staff without thinking, moving to put Shael between herself and the growing crowd of creatures advancing towards them. Shael sighted and drew, but then screamed, the arrow spinning off into darkness. Kelsia caught her as she fell back, warm wetness spilling onto her hands. Though an arrow jutted from between the plates of armor at its shoulder joint, one of the boars had crawled up close enough to attack Shael. Kelsia dragged Shael backwards with her as it stood up and readied for another attack.

The staff suddenly flared burning hot, but Kelsia felt no pain. She stumbled and fell, Shael half landing on top of her. Her friend's moans of pain were steadily building to shrieks. The beast reached for them with clawed fingers. Kelsia raised the staff as a feeble shield for her friend.

A ghostly streak of white passed seemingly right in front of Kelsia's face, moving without sound. It struck the nearest boar with incredible force, the pair rolling away in a heap of growling, squealing and rending flesh. Kelsia watched in stunned fascination as the massive white wolf pinned the boar to the ground and ripped out its throat in a great gout of blood. It turned to look at her with bared teeth, dark droplets glistening from its jowls. Another pair of wolves glided silently out of the shadow of the trees. They growled in unison, a strange, otherworldly sound. The boars froze in place. Though they outnumbered the wolves, they appeared on the verge of breaking and running.

A new figure appeared from the trail with a growl and a flash of a single yellow eye. The first wolf came forward in challenge and crouched low to the ground, bunching itself to leap. The werewolf snarled furiously at the boars and they regrouped into a tight line. Weapons outstretched, they moved carefully towards the white wolves, trying to herd them away from Kelsia and Shael. The creature advanced towards them as if heedless of any danger the trio of wolves presented to it.

The staff was still burning hot. A litany of nonsense words began repeating itself in her mind. Kelsia tried to think of a something to do, but there appeared to be no way out. The cornered wolves suddenly charged and tore into the line of boars, but none of them moved to stop the werewolf.

Shael twitched in Kelsia's arms and began to shiver violently. Her eyes were blank, the pupils huge and unseeing. Kelsia noticed, for the first time, the jeweled handle of a knife protruding from Shael's side. The werewolf loomed close. Kelsia closed her eyes against the final moments, giving in to inevitability, surrendering to death.

A deafening roar echoed from the mountaintops. Kelsia waited, waited, counting the beats of her heart, one, two, three, four, five, six, still nothing. She opened her eyes. The werewolf could be on them in a single leap, but now it gazed past her, slaver dripping from its teeth. In a moment, a huge shape came lumbering into view from out of the trees, moving towards the werewolf. A vine slithered out of the trees, snaking across the ground. The white wolves silenced the last of the boar creatures with a sickening tearing of flesh and now they, too, advanced on the werewolf. The creature swung its head from side to side, seeing itself surrounded. It gave a final snarl to Kelsia, then turned and ran, vanishing over the edge of the bluff.

The thing that had faced down the werewolf turned to look at Kelsia, its black eyes regarding her critically. Though it stood on its two stubby hind legs, its body was that of a massive bear. It grunted and then changed, its body shrinking down in a matter of moments to a man of normal human proportions. Kelsia blinked. She hadn't imagined it. But now, the only trace of the bear was the hide the man wore. He approached and knelt on the ground next to Shael, not even glancing at Kelsia. He passed his hand over her forehead and down the length of her body. When his fingers brushed the handle of the knife, he frowned in distaste. Without another word, he put his hands under her and lifted her body easily, then moved off into the trees.

Shaking herself into action, Kelsia leapt up and hurried to follow.

[tamrend]

Chapter 4: The Mountain King

Kelsia glanced behind her, worried for the horses, but Copper and Cloud were blithely munching at the grass, oblivious to the bodies of the boar creatures littering the grass toward the edge of the clearing. There was no sign of the white wolves or the vine.

Shael.

The shape changer moved forward effortlessly, carrying her deeper into the brush, and she struggled to follow. Itchy, stinging scratches already covered her face and arms, and her clothing kept getting snagged o*n brambles. The stranger seemed almost to melt right through the undergrowth, like a ghost.

For o*ne panicked moment, Kelsia lost sight of him entirely, but in the next instant she broke through the last screen of branches and into a tiny clearing. Orange light spilled from the windows of a dwelling that perched at the edge of a rock shelf. The modest dwelling appeared to have been hewn right from the mountainside, its flat stone walls smoothly melding with the much rougher rock floor. Kelsia realized that this must be source of the light they had seen o*n their way up the mountainside.

She crept to the door, blinking at the bright sliver of light spilled out. She pushed and the door creaked slowly open, revealing an interior just as strange as the outside. There were no seams where the walls, floor, and ceiling joined and each surface was so smooth that it glimmered with reflected light. A pair of lamps hung from the low ceiling and a crackling fire sat in an odd curving fireplace that bulged out from the wall.

Kelsia stepped into the warm interior of the house and saw Shael at o*nce, draped raggedly across a wooden table. She took another step but then froze before her toes reached the floor, her heart turning over in her chest. The shape-changer stood holding a knife in o*ne hand, staring at her with intense brown eyes. His raven-black hair hung halfway down his back and his face showed a week’s worth of stubble. After a moment, he seemed to forget she was there and held the knife up to the light to examine it.

Kelsia slowly edged closer to Shael, her eyes focused o*n the man. Shael did not respond, even when she tapped her shoulder. Her skin was a ghostly pale and beads of sweat stood out o*n her forehead. Blood soaked the clothes over half her body and though the knife had been pulled out, a sickly green fluid bubbled around the wound.

“Poison,” the man said suddenly, his voice light and cultured, not at all what Kelsia had expected.

“P-pardon?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“This knife is enchanted with a poison spell.” Kelsia flinched when he thrust the knife toward her, but then she looked down and saw the same glistening green oozing from the hilt. “It is very potent. I’m afraid there is little time. Your friend is dying.” He turned and threw the knife into the fire, where it sparked and hissed wildly. He hurried to a cupboard of a small nook that appeared to serve as the kitchen and began to rummage through a collection of ceramic jars. “Put some water o*n to boil,” he said mildly, “quickly now.”

Kelsia searched around until she found an old, dented teapot and a bucket of fresh water. She filled the pot and used a long, hooked rod she found next to the fireplace to hang it above the flames. When she turned around, the man was pouring carefully measured amounts of powder into a bowl. "Here, girl," he said. "Take a bit of the leaves there and chew them, but do now swallow any of it." He went to another cupboard to fetch something, leaving her next to Shael's unconscious body. She picked up two of the leaves and began to chew and at once had to suppress a gag at the taste, something akin to spoiled cabbage. She looked at Shael, whose cheeks were still devoid of any color, and chewed carefully, trying to put her mind off the foul taste and odor.

The man returned with a leafy green vegetable that he chopped up and began to grind together with the powders in the bowl. "Spit the leaves and juice into the bowl," he told her, which she did at o*nce, grateful to have the vile stuff out of her mouth. After, she had to suppress a wave of nausea all over again.

"The water is ready," he said, a moment before the teapot began to whistle. "Quickly, girl, quickly." Kelsia ran to get the pot, singing her eyebrows in her haste to retrieve it. He snatched the pot from the hook with a bare hand and emptied it into the bowl, then began to stir the contents. She looked, but his hands showed no burns from the pot. While she had been gone, he had added a wad of cloth, which he now pulled out and draped over the wound. "Hold her head up," he said, and lifted the bowl to Shael's lips. The bitter-smelling liquid trickled into Shael's mouth and she swallowed reflexively. He finished by dipping more cloth into a bucket of cold water and draping it across her forehead. After, he gave a long sigh. "We've done all we can for her. Now we wait."

Kelsia studied him in profile as he cleaned up the powders and implements he had used. He certainly looked human, but she had seen him change shape from a bear right in front of her. That made her cautious despite the gentle demeanor he has shown so far. Surely he possessed magic, and that made him less easy to trust, in Kelsia's view. "Who are you?" she asked.

Without hesitation, he answered, "I am King Loric."

Kelsia was taken aback. Was he mad?

As though hearing her thoughts, Loric said, "You are wondering why a hermit living in a tiny stone cottage o*n a mountaintop would call himself a king." As he spoke, he placed each jar carefully in its place in the cupboard.

"Well, yes, I suppose," she answered carefully.

He turned around and dusted off his hands. "Much in the world has changed and the memories of men are short. Two hundred years ago, a great city of men lived in the valley below, ruled by a king in a stone fortress high in the mountains. Though his kingdom was small, his people enjoyed great prosperity, thriving o*n the fertile ground of the valley. o*ne year, the rains did not come in the spring, nor in the next year, nor the next. The king saw the people's suffering and fell into great despair. Finally, against the teachings of his kind, he called upon the forces of the elements to bring rain to the dry fields. For a time, there was plenty for all and the city prospered o*nce more.

"But the king had made a terrible mistake, for he did not consider the perils of human greed and treachery. During the winter, a great army from the north made a desperate and dangerous journey over the mountain pass. The king fought against them with tooth and claw, calling up the spirits of the forest in defense of his people, but the northerners were too strong. Just before he was impaled o*n the spears of the men, the spirits carried away his broken body to the safety of the wild. The soldiers found the king's great stone tower and pulled it down. Then they swarmed into the valley below and raided the stores of food that the people had harvested and saved to get them through the winter. Any who tried to stand in their way were slaughtered. When they were done, the people had almost nothing left to eat. Many died that winter, and those that remained began to leave the valley when warm weather came again.

"The king recovered from his injuries, but he saw that his people were leaving him. He knew, then, that it had been wrong of him to try to tip the balance of nature to favor those he ruled. He had been arrogant, and it had been his people who had suffered for his pride. As penance, he built a small dwelling at the base of where his tower had o*nce stood and vowed to remain to watch the valley until people came o*nce again to settle there. Until then, he would be lord o*nly over the beasts and trees and water and earth, to teach him humility." He gave Kelsia a wry smile. "And I have been here, waiting, ever since."

"Two hundred years?" This was too much to believe. "You can't be that king. No o*ne could live that long. Why, you must be...." but she trailed off. She had been about to make a guess at his age, but his appearance seemed to defy any definite age. Though he lacked the lines and creases of old age, there was something in his gaze that reminded her of old Master Gelf from her village, bald and rheumatic but still keen of mind at the age of seventy-two.

He shrugged, apparently not inclined to argue the point. “I have told you who I am, but I still do not know what to call you and your friend.”

Kelsia told him their names as he placed two fingers at the base of Shael’s throat. "Your friend Shael has a stout heart," he said, "and remarkable skill with the bow."

"Yes, she does." Kelsia agreed. Now that she thought of it, Shael's archery had been nothing short of incredible. In the midst of the attack, she hadn't really had time to dwell o*n it, but now it struck her as very odd. Shael was a good shot, but never that good.

O*nce more, he seemed to have read her thoughts. “She had help, fighting those beasts. I knew I would come too late, so I sent the spirit of the wolverine to steady her aim and lend strength to her draw. If o*nly I had gotten there a bit sooner, I might have stopped that slayer from stabbing your friend.”

“Pity it didn’t work for me,” Kelsia muttered, recalling her terrible shot. Then she realized something he had said. “You called those creatures slayers. How do you know of them?”

Loric had gotten a blanket and unfolded it over Shael. “They are demons. In ancient times, they were the foot soldiers of the Lord of Destruction, Baal. I have never seen o*ne up close, and until now, I thought their kind had been exterminated from Sanctuary.”

“And the wolf that walks upright?”

Loric’s expression turned grim. “That creature was o*nce a druid, o*ne of my kind. The stench of corruption is thick o*n that o*ne. Suffering, too, I could sense, though it has been masked by a predominance of primal, bestial impulses. I would guess that it is now more beast than human.”

He walked towards the fire. “Strange, that such creatures would be chasing after two young women.” With a start, Kelsia realized that he was standing in front of the staff. She had propped it next to the fireplace when she had put the pot o*n to boil. She moved toward him, taken by an urge to keep him from touching it. He put out his hand, but stopped short of making contact with its gleaming surface. He drew back quickly. “But perhaps not so strange after all,” he breathed.

Kelsia fought down the impulse to snatch the staff away. “You know something about this?” she asked, keeping her voice level in spite of the irrational nervousness she felt.

He stepped back with a sidelong look at her, and her tension eased. “This staff radiates a great power of magic. It has been puzzling me since I sensed your approach up the mountainside. I had thought that o*ne of you was a sorcerer, but I can see that you are both female. Unless you have another companion that I have yet to meet?”

Kelsia shook her head. “No, it’s o*nly Shael and me. Please, ah, King Loric, do you know what this staff does? My-my village was destroyed the night we left. The man who gave it to me died to make sure that the wolf did not get it. Why? What does it do?”

Loric pursed his lips and gave a long exhale. “I wish I could be of help there, but this kind of magic is foreign to me.” As he walked away, Kelsia wasn’t quite able to stop herself from picking the staff up o*nce more.

“Your friend appears to be breathing better,” Loric announced brightly. “I believe the antivenin is working.” Kelsia came over to have a look herself. She gave Shael’s hand a squeeze, glad to see color returning to her features.

Suddenly, fatigue seemed to wash through every muscle in her body. She had to hide a wide yawn behind her hand.

Loric noticed it, of course, and smiled good-naturedly. “You should get some sleep, Kelsia. I shall keep watch o*n her and wake you if there is a change. There is a bed in the room at the back. I will not need it tonight.” The bed was a simple affair, a wooden box and a large, thick wool bag stuffed with hay, but Kelsia could not recall any bed she had ever slept in feeling so comfortable.

Kelsia opened her eyes and breathed in the delicious smells drifting into the room. A shaft of sunlight shone through the tiny window high up o*n the wall above her head. She stretched her limbs, aching from yesterday’s wild chase. Yawning, she pushed back the blankets and stood up out of bed. The smooth stone floor chilled her feet, but the promise of food lured her out into the main room of the cottage.

Shael was asleep o*n a pallet that Loric had made for her o*n the floor. Loric was busy preparing a place at the table. He had shaved his stubble and pulled his dark hair back into a neat ponytail. He gestured to Shael. “She is doing well. Will you join me for my noon meal?”

“Noon?”

“There was very little left of the night when you arrived, so you slept o*n through the morning. Shael was awake for a moment but went back to sleep after I gave her water. Please, sit.”

Kelsia did not need more encouragement. Though she had eaten o*nly last night, it now seemed like ages ago. Besides, the meal that had been set before her was unlike any she had ever eaten before. There were thin slices of spiced meat that Loric told her were from a bison, mushrooms basted in a garlic sauce, sweet roasted peppers, and bread smothered with a soft, creamy cheese. She looked over at Shael, sorry that she had to miss out o*n such rich and exotic foods.

Loric ate sparingly and left her with a warning to stay close to the house. She finished her meal and then walked through the house, amazed anew at the incredible workmanship of the stone. There was a wall lined entirely with books, a few of them with bindings that were singed or scarred. She took o*ne down to look at, her interest piqued by an intricate design of what appeared to be angels engraved into its thick wooden cover. She opened it and studied a few of the pictures. o*ne depicted a great battle between angels and demons. Another showed a single angel standing above a great gathering of men, all of whom were dressed just like the sorcerer who had given her the staff. The angel’s face was hidden, but it appeared to be speaking to the men, whose faces were turned up in rapt attention. Something rested in the angel's outstretched hands, proferred to the others like a gift. There were words at the bottom of the page, but she could not read them. She returned the book carefully to its shelf.

Loric soon returned, soaked in sweat and short of breath, to tell her what he had found. “There is no sign of the beast but for footprints leading north," he told her. "You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you like. My home is well defended.”

“Thank you,” Kelsia responded with a bow, trying to give a semblance of his polished etiquette. “I appreciate your hospitality.” She didn’t know how long it would take for Shael to recover and she was not eager to brave the road again, knowing that the werewolf was out there waiting for them.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” he suggested. “I will show you the rest of my home. And have no worries for your friend,” he added quickly. “She will be protected as long as she resides within these walls.” Kelsia agreed that a walk would feel good.

Compared to her first impressions from last night’s chase, Loric’s mountaintop looked far less forbidding by daylight. The variety of trees and plants that grew here was amazing. Great, spreading oaks and slender white birch grew right alongside towering poplars, as well as dozens of others she had never seen before. Loric chatted about the scenery as they walked, pointing out and giving her the names of plants and animals along their path. He had an engaging tone that made the simplest statements seem interesting. Kelsia learned about several edible roots and berries that were common in this part of the world, as well as plants to avoid and a few that could be used in medicine.

Their conversation had lulled to a break and Kelsia noticed Loric regarding her silently. “What is it?”

“I see that you brought your staff with you,” he commented.

He was right. “I thought it would be safer with us,” she lied. She couldn’t remember actually having picked it up and had o*nly noticed when Loric pointed it out. The way it seemed to keep jumping around was starting to unnerve her.

Loric gazed at her with a look of deep concern. “I fear that you are dealing with forces more powerful than you can imagine. Demons do not simply appear from the air, Kelsia, and the staff that they were looking for is not a mere wizard’s tool. I suspected from our conversation last night that it has been manipulating you, and your reaction just now confirms it.”

A wave of dread she couldn't explain went through her at hearing his words. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Think, Kelsia. Why are you so protective of it? I checked o*n you last night while you slept. You held the staff clutched against you. Yet most of the time you don’t even seem to be aware that it is there. It wants to stay with you.”

Kelsia was shaking her head as he spoke. "No. No, it couldn't--"

His fingers gripped her shoulder hard. "Kelsia, I don't know why this task has been placed o*n you, but if you are ever to make it through, you must never underestimate the power of magic. You must not allow your mind to be clouded by its influence. Be aware at all times of your own thoughts and feelings and you will have control of your own destiny."

"Alright," she said uncertainly, "I'll try."

"Good," Loric replied with a half smile. He pointed ahead. "Ah, I believe those are your horses." They had come upon a lush meadow and a clear, deep pond where a trio of ducks paddled lazily. Copper and Cloud grazed near the water's edge. Their saddles lay o*n the ground nearby and their coats shone as though newly brushed. "They seem quite happy here."

Copper lifted his nose and snorted, then trotted over to them. He stopped in front of Loric and bowed his head. To Kelsia's amazement, Loric began to make noises that sounded exactly like a horse. Copper answered him in kind. "Your animal is exceptional for his species," he told Kelsia. "He shows rare intelligence. He is glad to see that you are well. I told him that you are on a very important errand and that he must do his best to look after you."

Kelsia scratched the top of Copper's head. "You've done a very good job of that already, haven't you, boy?"

Loric made a few more noises in horse-talk and Copper went to the pond for a drink. "They have both already recovered from their long ride. They will be ready o*nce you and Shael are able to travel. Let's go check o*n her, shall we?"

The stone cottage turned out to be right nearby the meadow. Entering its warm, inviting interior felt like coming home. Shael had turned o*nto her side o*n her pallet, showing that she must have awakened, if o*nly for a short time. Loric called her name and she opened her eyes and smiled weakly. "How'd you like my shooting last night, Kelsy?"

Kelsia dropped to her knees and pulled Shael into a fierce hug. She laughed through her tears. "Don't let it go to your head. Loric already told me that you had help."

"Oh. Spoiled it, didn't he?" Shael said in mock indignation.

By the next morning, Shael was able to sit up o*n her own and the day after she was able to walk, though o*nly for a short distance before she needed to rest. Each afternoon, Loric went with Kelsia to feed and care for the horses and he would tell her more of the history of the valley and the mountaintop. o*n o*ne occasion, their talk turned to his origins. According to Loric, his father had ruled the valley before him for some four hundred years and his grandfather had first settled the valley a century before that. "Most of the druids make their home far to the north now. We do not have the numbers of the Vizjerei to the east. We are solitary where they prefer the strength of numbers and the structure of the clan system. With very few exceptions, our teachings are passed from father to son, along with our rulership."

Kelsia paused in her brushing of Cloud's mane. "What do you think happened to the druid hunting us? You said that he was corrupted. What did you mean by that?"

"Magic is a very powerful force, Kelsia, but it must always come at a price. It is in trying to cheat or circumvent the paying of that price that o*ne is corrupted by it. You saw me take the form of a bear, but I cannot hold that shape for more than a few minutes and the change is a drain o*n my mind and body. The thing that hunts you must have found a way to make the change more permanent, but the price was his own humanity.”

Kelsia mulled that over. "You are saying there must be a balance. But how do you know what the balance is?"

Loric grinned. "Now that is a prickly question. I'll tell you what I believe. I believe that this world and everything in it tends to seek out a balance. Consider the wolf and the elk. Each depends o*n the other for survival. The wolves eat the elk, yes, and that seems unfair to the elk. But think what would happen if the elk were allowed to multiply unchecked every spring."

Kelsia thought about it for a few moments. "They would eat all of the food?"

"Precisely. The wolves limit their number. If not for that, the elk might graze the land clear of food and then all would die, the other plant-eaters too. When food is plentiful and the elk herds begin to swell, so too do the wolf packs. This ensures that there is plenty for all.

"Humans are not like this. Humans seek dominion over nature, rather than a partnership, and they often succeed. The fact is, man is no longer a part of nature. If he so chooses, man could quite easily destroy everything that nature has built. He has risen above nature, by virtue of his ability to reason. He has entered into a struggle far more ancient and violent than those waged between the creatures of the natural world. He is now a part of the battle between good and evil. And in this, too, there is a balance. For just as even the most vile murderer must have some shred of good left within, so too do even the most virtuous among us have the potential for evil."

"Humans, you see, always have a choice. They have control of their destinies, which is something no angel or demon ever had. You know that the balance has been destroyed when you no longer have a choice. That is what it means to be less than human."

Loric fell silent to let Kelsia contemplate his words. She watched the ducks trolling for food in the cold, clear water. They were unaware from moment to moment of anything but the simple need to remain alive.

The next day, Shael came with them to the meadow. She had regained a great deal of strength in a very short time and was eager to attempt the short walk outside. It was hard to imagine that she had nearly died less than five days before, but Loric had already hinted that his home had unusual healing powers. Shael took a seat o*n a rock near the water.

Once the horses were groomed, Kelsia sat next to Shael, who sat skipping rocks across the pond. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A little tired, but I’m alright. You're looking great. How are Copper’s hooves?”

“Much better since we came here. This place is so nice, so peaceful. We’ve been here o*nly a few days and it already feels like home.” She stopped abruptly, swallowing back the hard lump at the base of her throat. She hadn’t thought of the village, her real home, for days now.

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” Shael asked softly. “That they’re all gone? I’ve tried to convince myself that my dad, my mother and my brothers could have gotten out. It’s possible, right?”

“It is possible,” Kelsia agreed. The effect of that small admission o*n Shael was dramatic. She gave a long exhale of relief and rubbed at her eyes. It made Kelsia wonder. Who could say what had really happened that night? It was a faint hope, but o*ne she could cling to for now.

“What’s he doing?” Shael asked, blinking at Loric. He was standing alone, hand outstretched, staring up at the sky. He put the fingers of his other hand to his mouth and made a high, piercing screech.

Kelsia helped Shael to her feet so that they could get a closer look. Above them, a dark shape circled across the sky. Suddenly, its lazy flight stopped short and it plummeted, unfurling huge wings to beat at the air just moments before it would have crashed into Loric. The eagle settled itself o*n Loric’s outstretched arm and tucked its wings back along its body, beak swiveling to look at the three of them in turn. It uttered a few croaks and waited. Loric answered with a few clipped chirps and a warble, then flung his arm up, launching the great bird into the air o*nce more. He stared after it with a grim look. “Your hunter is returning with help: slayers and worse. They are less than three day’s ride from us. I’m afraid you must leave tomorrow."

[tamrend]

Chapter 5: Magic

Kelsia awoke from a fitful sleep, her dreams haunted by snapping jaws and glowing red eyes. Loric stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the glow of lamplight. “Wake Shael,” he said. “You both need to get ready.”

Kelsia sat up and shook Shael to wake her. Through the room’s window, she could see stars shining in a sky of deep twilight. Though tired from a night of poor rest, anxiety helped fuel her actions. Shael fared worse, as she was still throwing off the aftereffects of the poison, but Kelsia coaxed her out of bed and helped her dress.

They emerged into the main room and sat down for the small meal that Loric put o*n the table for them. He would not touch the food himself, but kept pacing the room silently and casting glances through the window overlooking the valley. The food had been prepared with the same care as all their other meals here, but Kelsia barely tasted it. She knew she would need her strength, so she forced down as much as her roiling stomach would allow. Shael continued to pick at her food for a bit after Kelsia had finished. Loric spoke as soon as she set down her fork. “Get your things. I’ve already packed the horses.”

Kelsia observed her own movements carefully, picking the staff up consciously from its place next to her. She still wasn’t so sure about what Loric had told her, about the staff actually manipulating her, but she would try to follow his counsel.

There really wasn’t much to gather. She had fashioned a new tunic and breeches for herself and Shael from leather and twine that Loric had given her, and she had already put those o*n. Her old clothes she had washed and left to dry overnight, but they were gone from where she had hung them. She guessed that Loric had already packed them. The o*nly thing left to bring was her bow and quiver. Shael looked wistfully at the broken remains of her own bow that Kelsia had retrieved. o*ne of the tips had snapped when she had fallen, after the slayer had stabbed her. “Here, take mine,” Kelsia said, knowing that the weapon would serve them much better in her hands.

“There’s no need for that,” Loric said from the doorway. He stepped inside, a leather case swinging from o*ne hand. He set the case o*n the bed and snapped open the fastenings. Inside the padded interior was a bow that was so thin that it looked like it should break as soon as it was drawn. Rather than a being crafted from a single carved piece of wood, it appeared to be composed of layers of different materials. Midway out toward the tips, the bow was bent in an elegant reflex. He handled the bow easily, bending and stringing it in a single motion. He handed it unceremoniously to Shael.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, running her fingers over the translucent snakeskin covering that protected it from water. It gave the bow a distinctly scaly look. She took it from Loric reverently, turning it to examine it from every angle. She held it by the grip with her left hand, testing the heft, and then pulled the string back next to her jaw and held it. She slowly let out the tension o*n the bow, a look of disappointment o*n her face.

“Do not be fooled,” Loric chided, “for this is no ordinary bow. The draw may feel weak, but I assure you it is not. You will be able to fire it faster and with less effort than any normal bow because there is less resistance. It was a gift for my father’s grandfather, created by o*ne of the finest weapon smiths of his time, or any other. Nearly a dozen enchantments were worked into the creation of it to make it lighter and stronger and to steady its aim. Other, less subtle enchantments, too, it has, such as the ability to pierce metal and to deliver a bolt of lightning to its target. I have thought long about this and it is with no small trepidation and reluctance that I give it to you. As with any magical weapon, it carries great power and great responsibility.”

It appeared to Kelsia for a moment as though Shael might refuse the gift, but then, with a look of grim determination, she closed her fist firmly around the grip. “Thank you, Loric. I will use it well.”

He closed the leather case and beckoned them to follow him to the main room. “I also have something for you, Kelsia.” He hauled open the lid of a massive oak trunk. Inside was a curious assortment of weaponry, clothing, and old, faded documents. There was even what appeared to be a carefully folded flag, though she could not make out what the device o*n its face was. Loric set a few of these items aside and withdrew a light gray cloak. "I'm afraid that this gift is far less grand than the o*ne I have given Shael, but I have little else of value remaining from when my tower was destroyed. This is called a thiefshroud. If you will it, the enchantment o*n this cloak will help to conceal you. It is not perfect and works best when the light is dim, but there may be occasion that you will find it useful."

He shoved the cloak at her in a manner that suggested that she had no choice but to take it. He then dug into the trunk again, this time bringing out a small leather sack. He tipped out a handful of coins, shuffled them around with the fingers of his other hand and then returned them to the bag. Before he did, she saw a few glints of gold among the silver. He pulled the drawstring shut and held out the sack toward her.

"No," she said, thinking as she did that she had just seen more money in a single moment than she had over her entire life. "You've done so much already, Loric."

"Take it," he said, grasping her wrist gently and dropping the coin purse into her hand. "As I said before, I don't know why you were chosen to carry out this task, but I wish to do what I can to aid you. You have no coin of your own and will have need of it when you reach Dalmers Ferry."

Kelsia felt a surge of gratitude that settled into a nice, warm flutter at the bottom of her chest. "Thank you," she said simply, unable to think of a sentiment to match the kindness he had shown her.

The cottage and its comfortable island of warmth and light dropped away behind them as they walked. The meadow was strangely quiet as they emerged from the tree and a low mist hung just above the surface of the water. Copper seemed eager to leave, pawing the ground almost impatiently as she mounted. Loric led the way, not towards the trail they had taken to get here, as she had expected, but taking them deeper into the overgrowth.

Somehow, no matter how thick the foliage, there always seemed to be room for them to pass. o*nce, Kelsia looked behind and was almost certain she could see the branches of the trees slowly bending to close off the way o*nce more.

Kelsia knew the moment they stepped outside of Loric's domain. The vegetation simply stopped. She found herself taking deeper breaths and the cold began to seep through her clothes at o*nce. She looked back wistfully, remembering the warmth of the cottage and the wealth of natural beauty of Loric's gardens. The road ahead seemed all the more cold and lonely. Slowly, she turned away and set her bearing to the journey and the task ahead.

The land began to slope downward, at first quite shallow and gradually more steeply. A trail soon took shape, meandering across the face of the slope while weaving among the boulders and outcroppings. The footing grew more treacherous until Shael finally slid from her mount to walk alongside, prompting Kelsia to do the same. Soon the land began to rise again, carrying them across the face of another peak, then down the other side. Kelsia had a painful stitch twisting in her side when Loric called a rest.

Shael sat down heavily by the roadside and slumped forward, her elbows o*n knees and head down. "Are you alright?" Kelsia asked, taking a seat beside her.

Shael took a few deep, labored breaths. "I was feeling a little dizzy, but I'll be fine. I just need to rest."

Kelsia patted her shoulder. "Take your time." She reminded herself to keep a close watch o*n Shael and to call a rest the next time she began to look weary. Loric was paying them no heed. He paced and sniffed the air while they rested.

The next climb was longer and more sheer than the others, carrying them to the top of a wide, rocky ridge. The morning dragged o*n into afternoon, but Loric would not stop and besides, there was nowhere to rest o*n the vertical slope. Kelsia checked o*n Shael frequently and each time she looked worse. Finally, Kelsia decided she had to call for a halt. Each step Shael took seemed to pain her. She stared at the ground, her teeth gritted in concentration, while o*ne hand clutched the knife wound. Then, to her surprise, she realized that Loric had stopped, and moreover, they had come to the end of their climb. They looked down upon a great expanse of green stretching in all directions. The road was a tiny ribbon of brown snaking away into the distance.

Loric allowed them a short rest and a chance to appreciate the view, but they were off again all too quickly, hurrying to keep up with the massive strides he took descending to the plain. Scraggly grass began to appear among the rocks as the air warmed. By late afternoon, they had reached the foot of the mountain and were following a slender trail towards the road. Loric urged them to mount and press their horses to a trot. He ran alongside them at a brisk clip that should have tired him after o*nly a few minutes, but which he seemed to manage effortlessly.

Their trail soon joined the road going north. They travelled until nightfall and made camp near a tiny spring that Loric found for them not far from the road. While they cared for the horses, he brought out cooking implements and food from their stores. Soon a mix of appetizing smells--roasted duck, o*nions, and peppers among them--was calling them back to the fireside.

The food turned out to be a variety of vegetables and duck meat speared o*n thin sticks, seasoned, and roasted over the fire. It was like a stew without the broth. Loric ate the contents of o*ne of sticks quickly and then sat, legs crossed, looking south. Kelsia took time to enjoy what would probably be their last good meal for several days, at least. Loric had warned that, other than the occasional rabbit, there was little food to be found here. The rest of their supplies consisted of food that was meant to last the journey and longer if necessary and it was altogether rather bland.

Shael spoke around a mouthful of potato and o*nion. "Kelsia, what's going to happen o*nce we get to Dalmers Ferry and deliver that thing? Where are we going to go next?"

Kelsia sighed. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead. I suppose I would want to return to the village and find out what really happened."

Shael nodded. "That's what I was thinking. The sooner we find this Seith and give that staff to him, the sooner we can return. I keep worrying about everyone. I have to know that they're safe."

Kelsia had to admit that she would be glad to when she no longer the burden of carrying the staff. She felt like a child that had been entrusted with a task well beyond her years and ability to perform. She didn't understand magic, and though Loric had given her a newfound appreciation for the uses to which it could be put, she would just as soon be rid of it.

Loric woke them o*nce again in the morning, though this time he let them sleep until the sun had begun to creep above the horizon. “I must leave you now,” he said as they prepared for the day’s ride. “Dalmers Ferry is thirty leagues due north. Your enemies will be coming from the east, but will reach the road well south of here. I intend to mask your trail and try to draw them off. If you travel swiftly, you will reach your destination long before they realize that they have been diverted.”

Kelsia had known that Loric would not be with them all the way, but that did not lessen the impact that his leaving had o*n her, or her confidence. “Goodbye, Loric, and thank you for everything.”

He ruffled her hair with o*ne of his huge hands. "Remember everything I have taught you, wherever the road ahead may take you. Know that I have done all I can to ensure your safety, but you must brave the road ahead with steadfast hearts. Fare well, both of you."

“Fare well, Loric,” answered Shael. She touched her side at the place where she had been wounded. "Thank you for saving my life."

He nodded to her in a way that could have been a bow, then turned and started away down the road at a run. He had disappeared from view by the time they mounted and resumed their journey north.

With nothing but blue sky and an endless expanse of green in all directions, it soon began to seem as though they were making no progress at all. Kelsia tried o*nce to judge their progress by counting the horse’s steps, but had to stop at o*ne hundred, unsure of what came next. Listless boredom set in, but she still had peace of mind enough to scan the horizon from time to time.

The first time they stopped for rest, Shael decided to test her bow. She sighted a hollow place near the edge of the road up ahead. Kelsia judged that it was maybe eighty paces. She drew the arrow back, frowning o*nce more at how easily it pulled. Then her expression changed to o*ne of puzzlement. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

Kelsia listened carefully but there was nothing. Then she turned her head to look around and suddenly heard it. It was a very faint hum. “Yes! Where is that coming from?”

Shael released the tension o*n the string slowly and the hum disappeared. “Draw it back again,” Kelsia suggested. The hum came back, easily detectable now that she knew what to listen for. Shael gave her an unreadable glance, then tilted the bow up and released.

The bow gave a quiet twang and the arrow shot forward. The hum turned into a sizzling buzz, the arrows path marked by a faint white glow. Its arc carried it over Shael’s target and dropped it into the grass a fair distance beyond. There was a tiny flash and a moment later a sharp snap that made Copper and Cloud flinch.

“Amazing,” was all Shael said, flashing Kelsia a grin.

They began to walk down the road to retrieve the arrow. Suddenly, Shael began to run, and Kelsia saw the reason. A thin column of smoke rose up out of the grass. Shael reached the spot first and stamped furiously at the ground. Most of the glowing embers were out by the time Kelsia arrived, but they had burned out a spot of blackened earth around the spot where the arrow had landed. Shael pulled the arrow up out of the ground and held it up to inspect it. There were sooty patches here and there, but she pronounced it fit for at least another shot. Not surprisingly, Shael elected not to try another practice shot.

They pressed o*n through the day, intent o*n covering as much ground as possible before nightfall. They spent the night in the open air o*nce more and woke for an early start the next morning. As the sun neared its zenith, they came upon a red pole jutting out of the ground near the road. Pausing to investigate, they discovered that the pole marked the site of a well. A rope and bucket lay to the side, tied to the pole. After hauling up several buckets for the horses, they sat in the trampled area next to the well to rest.

Shael took a long draught right from the bucket and passed it to Kelsia. “How much farther is it, do you think?”

Kelsia shook her head. “I wish I knew. Thirty leagues, Loric said. I suppose we could travel that in three days. That would put us halfway there now.” She took a swallow of water.

“Have you ever been to Dalmers Ferry?”

“No. But my da went there to trade a few times a year. o*nce he brought back sweets for Matias and me, little spice cakes with creamy white frosting. I can almost remember how they tasted. He also bought me a doll with a face made out of porcelain.” She smiled fondly. “Her name was Rosie. She was so beautiful. I was afraid of breaking her, so I almost never played with her. But what I remember is what I felt when he gave her to me, like I’d never been happier.”

Shael frowned. “Well, what happened to it? You never showed it to me.”

Kelsia drew in a deep breath and dropped her gaze. “My father got sick right after that. Seeing Rosie reminded me too much of him, so I put her away in a closet and tried to forget about it.” She felt as though she danced at the edge of a precipice, shielded from grief o*nly by a veil of numb disbelief. She remembered how much it had hurt to lose her father. How could she go through that all over again?

“We should get going,” Shael said, standing and helping Kelsia to her feet. Kelsia was grateful for the distraction from unhappy memories and focused her mind o*n the task of riding and watching the road.

Late in the afternoon, the sky began to darken, angry gray clouds rolling in from the west to blot out the sun. Rain began to fall, a quiet drizzle at first, but building quickly to a steady pouring. The thiefshroud seemed to repel the water quite well, but it was not long before Kelsia’s leggings became soaked through. She was cold, clammy, and miserably chafed after an hour of riding.

Kelsia reined in Copper and called to Shael to halt. Though it was not yet dusk, Kelsia knew that they needed to have shelter for the night. Loric had given them a tent, but they needed what light was left of the day to put it up. Shael dismounted and helped Kelsia drive the stakes and spread the sheets of cured hides. She seemed to have fared a bit worse for the cold and wet and was shivering the whole time. O*nce the tent was erected, they crawled in, stripped off their wet clothes and huddled together under a moist blanket for the night.

By morning the rain had stopped, but Shael woke with a ragged cough and a stuffy nose. She suffered through packing up their mud-drenched camp in wretched silence. The horses, likewise, milled about and watched their riders dejectedly, their manes beginning to dry in muddy clumps. It was nearly enough to make Kelsia feel guilty for having spent the night in relative dryness.

Though the sky had begun to clear, their boots sank in up to their ankles when they stepped out o*nto the road, each footstep emerging with a wet, sucking sound. The horses splashed through mud and puddles for the rest of the day at a pace barely above a walk. Kelsia had hoped that this would be the day they would reach their destination, but at the crawling pace they had made, it was hardly surprising that they were still trudging through the wilderness by nightfall.

If there was a positive side to their day, it was that the terrain was beginning to change, with oak trees now dotting the landscape from time to time. Scouting around at the bases of a few of them, they were able to gather enough dry wood for a fire. They made camp a stone's throw from the road, near an ashy pit where former travelers must have had occasion to build a fire. They shared a small meal from their stores while the horses munched oats in their nosebags.

Kelsia was just finishing up the last of her bread when a strange and powerful sense of fear and foreboding took hold of her.

“What’s wrong?” Shael asked, staring at her.

Kelsia shook her head to try to clear it. “I don’t know.” The fear was getting worse, a steady pulse of icy dread that clenched her insides with a pain that was very much physical. She looked down and saw the staff clutched in her fingers. She remembered Loric’s advice to her, to be aware of her own thoughts. She focused, struggling to make sense of the jumbled impressions that kept pushing her towards fear.

One thought, Run, came suddenly, clearly to the fore, followed by another, Danger.

“I think we should go,” Kelsia gasped. She stood, using the staff for support, and it seemed to bend and twist to aid her movement. But Shael’s painful grip o*n her arm stopped her. She looked to her left, where Shael was staring in rapt terror.

The wolf-druid bared its teeth when Kelsia laid eyes o*n it, slaver dripping from its jaws. It stood perhaps a dozen paces away, its single eye glinting in the light of the fire that stood between them. It glanced to its left where Shael had carelessly left her bow among their saddlebags and snarled. Were it not for the twisted, bestial features, the look might have resembled a smile.

“Go, run to the horses,” Shael whispered, staying perfectly still. “It’s your only chance.” Kelsia glanced at her friend’s earnest expression with an odd mix of guilt and reverence. Shael was ready to die for her. "Go," she repeated.

Before Kelsia could form her next thought, a vicious growl sounded, but not from the druid. The white wolf was a blur of motion as it raced to out of the darkness, leaping high in the air to pass right over her head. The werewolf came o*n, charging towards Kelsia with single-minded intent, but the spirit wolf was faster, its leap bringing it down nearly o*n top of the other. They met in a flurry of snarling and flashing teeth.

“Run!” Kelsia shouted, grabbing Shael out of listless shock and dragging her toward the horses. Two steps, though, and Shael wrenched free, turning and dashing back before Kelsia could think to stop her. The druid and the spirit wolf were locked together in a deadly embrace. The white wolf’s jaws clamped tightly o*n the throat of the other, but its underbelly was being ripped open by the raking of the werewolf’s claws. Shael dodged well to the side of them and snatched up her bow and quiver, then turned and ran back to Kelsia and the horses.

Kelsia looped a leather strap to the staff, tying it down to the saddle, then vaulted o*nto Copper, her feet finding the stirrups easily from days of experience. Shael's mounting was slower, as she was encumbered by her bow, but after a few moments they were moving quickly towards the road, picking up speed towards an all-out gallop.

"What about the mud?" Shael cried suddenly.

She was right. They would never make good speed o*n the road. "Let's go overland," Kelsia said grimly and turned Copper o*n a path to run parallel to the road. The spongy grass was not the best terrain for riding, but it was far better footing than the soupy road surface. The danger in that was that, in the dark and traveling at a near gallop, o*ne of their horses could put its foot in a rabbit hole and break a leg at any moment.

The camp had nearly passed from sight behind them when a mournful howl sounded and was cut short. Kelsia guessed that the fight between the werewolf and Loric's spirit wolf had ended. She had little doubt as to the result of that encounter, but the battle had bought them valuable time. Kelsia kept her eyes forward, praying from moment to moment that the horses' footing would remain firm.

They fled over the silent gray plain with the rush of the wind in their ears and fear in their hearts. Kelsia wasn't sure whether it had been just moments or hours when she heard a rustling and the pounding of feet behind her. She turned her head to look, already knowing what she would see. The druid ran on all fours, edging closer with each great, loping stride. It had already closed to less than twenty paces away. With a cry, Kelsia slapped the reins and dug her heels into Copper's side, getting from him a surge of speed that began to open the distance o*nce more between her and the werewolf.

Shael saw what was happening and matched Kelsia's speed, but drew Cloud away to the right. Gripping her mount hard with her knees, she let go of the reins and unslung the bow from her shoulder. She fumbled with an arrow several times before she could notch it to the string, then she drew back the shaft and held it. Kelsia could see her brow furrowed in concentration as her bow bounced up and down to the beat of Cloud's gallop. She released, but Kelsia could hear her curse and whipped a glance over her opposite shoulder to see the arrow glowing with bluish light as it arced too high and plummeted into the grass to the left and behind her.

And still the wolf came o*n, grunting with effort now as it ran harder, o*nce more closing the distance between them. Kelsia slapped the reins o*nce more, but Copper had nothing more to give.

Shael loosed another arrow, this o*ne sizzling past Kelsia so close that its magic made the skin of her back and the top of her head tingle. She flashed a look at Shael, who had frozen for a moment with a look of horror at where her shot had almost landed. Suddenly, Shael gave a cry of alarm, pointing.

White fangs and the single, baleful eye gleamed in the moonlight less than a pace from where Copper's hooves kicked up and back. The rippling muscles of the wolf's shoulders bunched taut and then released, throwing it upward and forward. Kelsia flung herself sideways in a desperate attempt to dodge, felt herself teeter over some unseen edge, her feet coming out of the stirrups. She heard Copper scream.

There was an instant when she looked upward at the stars and then she struck the ground and her wind left her. She rolled over a few times, the sky and ground seen in quick flashes. Then she lay still. Her thoughts were muddy and slow, her vision a doubtful haze. Pain began to throb all over her body. Meaningless words chanted in her head. A shadow moved over her, blocking out the light of the stars.

Say the words.

Kelsia's vision drew suddenly into focus. Somehow, impossibly, she held the staff in her hands. The werewolf stood over her, hunger in its feral eyes. It pounced, its jaws driving for her neck. She screamed as she felt the jaws fasten o*nto her, driving jagged teeth into her body.

Say them!

She forced her eyes open. The staff! It was the staff that the wolf had bitten. She had shielded herself with it. Realizing its mistake, the wolf released its hold. Kelsia focused o*n the words that kept repeating themselves in her head. They burst from her mouth on the wake of a scream. The wolf's jaws opened as they descended, this time going for her face.

A wash of heat passed through her, from her center, out to her arms, into the staff. There was a rushing in her ears loud enought to be painful. Something connected, shot through her and out, hitting her attacker with incredible force. The werewolf was thrown completely off of her and landed with a sickening crunch some distance away.

Kelsia sat up, fighting a wave of nausea, and pushed herself backwards from her foe. The words in her head had o*nce more faded to incoherence. Whatever she had touched was out of reach again. The wolf sprang to its feet once more, cradling one of its paws while it clenched and unclenched the fingers. It eyed her carefully, but the hatred burning in its eye blotted out all semblance of reason. It lunged toward her once more.

Something white-hot sizzled past Kelsia's ear and buried itself deeply in the werewolf’s throat. An instant later, there was a flash of light and a snap as a tiny bolt of lightning formed out of thin air and arced into the wolf. It fell, limbs convulsing and smoke rising from the wound.

Shael, astride Cloud less than a dozen paces behind Kelsia, snatched another arrow from her back and fitted it to string. As the werewolf rose unsteadily to its feet o*nce more, she released. The arrow flew true, striking the beast this time in the chest. It took o*nly a single step before the lightning struck it. It fell to the ground o*nce more and this time, it did not rise.

Shael leapt down from her mount and helped her to her feet. She gripped her hand so tight it hurt, but Kelsia could also feel her trembling. Her voice, too, was unsteady as she spoke. "When I saw that beast stooped over you, I thought you were dead. I couldn't move. I thought it had killed you."

"It's alright, Shael," Kelsia said, sounding more calm than she felt. The scent of scorched meat and hair combined with fear made her want to retch. "I'm fine, just a little bruised and scraped. Tell me what you saw."

"I heard you scream something, some words that I couldn't understand. There was a flash of something I felt rather than saw, and then that thing was lying o*n the ground away from you, and you were still alive. It was then I noticed that I already had an arrow notched."

"You did good, Shael," Kelsia said, hugging her close. "You saved my life."

They approached the felled beast warily, Shael with her bow still at the ready. A limb twitched as they came within its sight, but it was a feeble movement. Its head rose from the ground and oriented o*n them, sniffing the air to get their scent. Its lips and mouth began to move awkwardly and it made gurgling noises. It was trying to speak.

“Fay-ol,” it said, “Fay-old.”

Kelsia moved closer. “Failed?” she said.

“Staff.” Its tongue lolled from its mouth, blood dripping from the tip.

“You failed to take it,” Kelsia prompted.

“Fay-old,” it agreed, nodding slowly. Its single eye gazed at her and something seemed to change. Madness faded from its depths, like the flame of a candle burnig low. “Others will come.” It reached out a clawed hand toward her, grasping, then went limp. Its eyes stared past her. No breath rose in its chest.

“Come o*n,” Shael said, pulling Kelsia away.

Copper had wandered, but not far. Blood spilled freely down his flanks where the wolf’s claws had scratched him. He danced away skittishly when Kelsia approached, but she talked to him in soothing tones until he let her get close enough to examine him. She looked over the long, jagged furrows anxiously, but she could see that the cuts were not deep. “That’s a brave boy,” she said, scratching the top of his head.

They led the horses back to the camp at a walk, giving them a chance to rest from their wild ride across the plain. Shael turned to Kelsia suddenly. “What really happened back there, Kelsy? Those words you said. I saw that thing get thrown right off of you. We both know that’s impossible.”

Kelsia tried to remember it as it happened, to put into words what it had felt like. “I’m sorry, Shael. I really don’t know.”

Shael reached over and tugged Copper’s bridle, bringing him to a halt. Kelsia was astonished to see that the look Shael gave her was o*ne of fear. “That was magic, Kelsia. Nothing else could have done that.”

“I heard a voice,” she said, sighing. “It kept telling me words and told me I had to say them.”

“A voice,” Shael repeated, starting forward again. “A voice told you and you made it happen.” She glanced at the staff Kelsia hefted in her hand. There was no mark to show where it had been bitten. “I don’t know which frightens me more, thinking you may've gone mad or knowing you haven’t and that the truth is what's worst of all.”

"I'm not crazy," Kelsia said. No, it was the whole world that was turning mad.

[kidonfire]

This is still my favorite fan fiction. Tamrend did you lose the rest of the chapters?

[tamrend]

This is still my favorite fan fiction. Tamrend did you lose the rest of the chapters?

Nope, just taking this opportunity for a bit of editing and revision. I'm also working towards completing the next chapter. Hopefully it will go up right after chapter 11 (the last one I posted before the crash).

[tamrend]

Chapter 6:
Dalmers Ferry

Kelsia's idea of a city had always been that of a place very much like her own village, only larger. This was something else altogether. Dalmers Ferry spanned both banks of a great, wide river flowing east to west over the plain. Beyond the sprawling gathering of buildings near the riverbank, farming plots made a patchwork of the surrounding countryside for miles around. And the closer they came, the more immense the city seemed to grow.

For the first time since their flight from the village, they began to see travelers on the road, moving toward or away from the city by horse and cart. Kelsia smiled at seeing a group of children playing tag near the roadside. Though she had given up on such games only a few years before, it seemed like much, much longer.

To the left, a road drew in, converging on the city. Across the river, another road snaked eastward, a tiny ribbon in the distance. One last road went due north.

"I think that one goes to Kurast," Shael said, pointing to the road running southwest. Compared to the road they traveled, the traffic there was nearly constant. Kelsia could not even guess where the other two would lead. No one she had ever known had gone far in either direction. The Far East was a mystery shrouded in a hundred tales, all too fantastic to believe. She knew nothing of the North except that it was cold, and that it was said the mountains there touched the sky.

Up ahead and a fair pace from the edge of town, a line of wagons had formed in the road. Men were scrambling around and over the cart at the head of the line. As they drew closer, they saw that the men wore helmets and chain mail. One of them, an officer by the way he ordered the others around, wore a green cloak with the standard of a hawk in flight embroidered on it. The soldiers presently finished their inspection of the wagon and waved the driver through. The officer looked to the next traveler with a bored expression.

Kelsia gave Shael a sidelong look. "My father never spoke of anything like this in Dalmers Ferry. What do you think?"

Shael frowned as the soldiers searched between and underneath the barrels sitting inside the cart that had just pulled forward. "They're obviously looking for something. Maybe someone."

"We have to get inside the city," Kelsia said firmly. Her words did little to ease the dread that had tightened into a lump she couldn't quite manage to swallow.

When their time came, two soldiers stepped forward and took hold of the reins of their horses. Another man glanced at each of them in turn and shook his head. "It's just a couple of girls," he called to the officer. He waved at the pair who held the reins to move back. "Let them pass." Kelsia urged Copper forward up the empty roadway. It took all of her resolve not to look back to see if they were being watched or followed. It was a relief to hear the sounds of the next traveler being scrutinized.

The noise in front of them steadily increased the closer they came to the edge of the city. A few merchants had set up carts on the roadside out in front of city entrance and called out their wares as the pair of them passed by. It was difficult not to stare at the variety and oddity of goods available, from the huge, flattened green spheres that a trader proclaimed as squashes to a collection of intricate wooden dolls with joints and strings. A vendor demonstrated the latter by making one dance on the strings hanging down from the end of a pair of sticks.

They passed through a wide stone archway that marked the entrance into the city proper. The roadway changed from dirt to brick as they crossed the threshold. Kelsia felt as though she had been plunged into another world. A constant babble of voices assailed her from all directions. Conversation, argument, and laughter all merged into a nearly incoherent buzz. More distressing still was the smell, a vile blend of food, human bodies, excrement and rot. Mercifully, she soon became used to it and was only aware of it as a vaguely repugnant undercurrent.

As they made slow progress through the marketplace, Kelsia glanced over from time to time to be sure Shael was still with her. They had to stop for long moments to wait for an opening to go forward. Soon, though, they realized that people would move aside if they simply pressed on through and began to make better speed.

Gradually the crowd thinned, the street vendors dropped behind and the street narrowed. The clopping of the horses' hooves echoed down the alleyways to either side, making it sound as though a host of riders flanked them. Some of the buildings towered two or even three stories high. Glancing upward at these gave Kelsia a nervous, disquieting feeling. She feared that they might topple over onto her at any moment. They passed by a few smaller inns, but none of the pictures on the door signs depicted a shepherd.

The ground sloped gradually downward as they traveled. Abruptly, they emerged into sunlight. The sky opened up above them and the river before them. The street ended at a kind of wooden platform extending out over the water. Boats bobbed gently in the current, floating next to the same wood structures upstream and down from them. A brick road paralleled the waterfront, intersecting roads leading back in among the buildings at even intervals.

"We're never going to find the inn like this," Kelsia said. "It could take hours--days even--to search all the streets."

Shael nodded her agreement and looked around. Sighting a passerby, she trotted Cloud over and leaned down to ask directions. The man nodded and said a few words, then pointed across the water. Shael thanked him and returned. Kelsia did not need to ask to know what it meant. "We need to cross the river."

They began to search the waterfront for a ferry. Out on the river, a single-masted sailing vessel coasted upstream, pacing them. As it approached a dock, the sails were quickly furled. A pair of crewman leapt to the pier and secured the boat with rope to the decking. Almost at once, four soldiers started down the wooden pier toward the ship. Sharp orders were issued to the men, who lined up on the deck. Three of the soldiers searched the ship while the fourth looked the men over carefully.

"I don't think that's normal," Shael remarked as they watched the spectacle unfold.

"Don't stare," Kelsia warned. The soldier inspecting the crew had caught their looks and was peering back at them. They feigned disinterest as they rode by the end of the pier, though Kelsia could feel his gaze on her back like an itch she wanted to scratch. When they were well past, Kelsia risked a glance back and saw that the soldier was no longer watching them.

They soon came to a ferryboat and dismounted to walk the horses on the less sure footing of the dock planking. At the boat side, they had to pass another checkpoint before being allowed onboard. The soldiers barely looked at them, waving them on almost at once.

The ferryman put up his hand to stop them. "That'll be, eh--" he glanced at the two of them and their horses. "Three silver pennies for you and your beasts." Kelsia counted out the coins and handed them over, trying not to think of what such a small fortune could have bought her back home.

Copper balked at the unstable footing as they stepped onboard. Kelsia tugged his reins, careful not to upset him, drawing him forward in small steps until his rear hooves stood upon the wide, flat top of the ferry. Cloud gave Shael far less trouble, following Shael's lead carefully but without fear. Since his encounter with the werewolf, Copper had been skittish and ill-tempered, though his behavior had been improving steadily as the day went on.

A few more passengers came aboard after them, the ferryman scanning the shore for any more potential customers before hauling in the gangplank and untying the moorings. He pushed off from the dock and picked up a pole that must have been six times his own height. Another man, much younger, took up station at the front of the boat with a similar pole. They moved out deeper into the river channel, the current taking them with a mild lurch. They drifted downstream as they crossed, coming to a smooth rest at a pier on the opposite shore.

Yet again, a soldier was there to observe them disembarking. Before getting off, though, Kelsia asked the ferryman for directions to the Shepherd's Hearth. "Four streets over, that way," he said, pointing. "Go on up 'til you see the tailor's shop. Then go right and you'll find it soon enough."

Even with directions, they missed the turn and had to backtrack. Kelsia spotted what she guessed to be the right inn. A sign of a shepherd's crook hung above the door. "This is it," she said, feeling both relief and anxiety at having reached their destination at last. They tied their horses to the railing post at the front before entering.

The common room of the Shepherd's Hearth was crowded, nearly every seat at the tables and bar filled. Almost half of the customers appeared to be soldiers. Kelsia peered around in the haze of the smoke-filled room. She spotted the innkeeper, a rail-thin old woman dozing at the end of the bar, a small locked box sitting next to her. Kelsia and Shael waded carefully through the maze of tables, chairs, and people. The innkeeper was asleep sitting up, her head ****ed over at an angle. Over the din of laughing and conversation, they could clearly hear the woman's snores. Kelsia exchanged an amused glance with her friend, and tapped the edge of the bar loudly to wake her.

One of the woman's eyes snapped open and darted back and forth between the two of them. The other eye opened slowly, as though less eager to be pulled from sleep. "You want rooms, yes?" she said, then grimaced as she got a look at the humble cut of their clothing.

Kelsia had to raise her voice to be heard over the other noise. "No, we're looking for someone. Seith. Does he have a room here?"

"Seith. Seith," the woman muttered to herself. She ran a finger down the page of the book in front of her. "No Seith staying here, girls."

Kelsia looked down at the book. The letters were so much nonsense to her. "Are you sure?" she asked, her spirits falling. "He was supposed to be here. This is the Shepherd's Hearth, isn't it?"

"That it is. I'm sorry, but if he's here, he isn't renting a room."

"Maybe he just isn't here yet," Shael whispered to Kelsia.

Kelsia addressed the innkeeper again. "We'll take a room, then, and stable for our horses."

The price was less than she feared, but still seemed outrageous by her own sensibilities. They made a quick circuit of the room, hoping that Seith might yet materialize. When nothing came of it, they began to think about more practical matters. "It's been four days now since we had a hot meal," Kelsia said, her mouth watering as a steaming bowl of stew and warm, fresh-baked bread were set on the table next to where they stood.

They found seats in a corner away from the thickest part of the pipe smoke. Kelsia leaned the staff against her side and covered it discreetly with her cloak. The server brought them their food and cups of hot tea sweetened with honey. They set into it immediately. Kelsia was coming to the bottom of her second bowl when Shael leaned close and whispered to her. "There's a man over there watching us."

Kelsia swept her gaze across the room, but no one seemed to be looking their way.

Shael looked into her stew as she spoke. "The tall one, black hair, a chunk missing from his nose."

Kelsia saw the one she described, leaning against a wall and sipping from a mug that could have been a small jug. He was a soldier like the others, wearing a scarred breastplate. He turned and looked right at her. Kelsia dropped her gaze, her appetite suddenly gone. "I think we're in trouble," she said.

"Maybe we should go to our room?" Shael offered.

Kelsia shook her head almost imperceptibly. "He'll just follow us. The back door is close. Let's see if he comes after us. If we need to, we can make a run for it and lose him in the streets."

They took a few more token bites of the meal and then stood up from their chairs. Kelsia left several coppers on the table for the server and they moved together along the edge of the room towards the door. When Kelsia glanced back, the soldier wasn't even looking in their direction.

They emerged into a small courtyard near the stable. It seemed, at first glance, that there was no way out, but then they saw that there was an alley that led back toward the front of the inn. Relieved, Kelsia chided herself for worrying. There had to be a way for the workers at the inn to get the horses from the street into the stable.

The sun's last rays glinted off the tops of the buildings in a blaze of crimson. "Let's get the horses and find another inn," Kelsia said as they hurried along the narrow passage. It was right at the end, when their next step was about to carry them to freedom that a hand shot out from around the corner and grabbed the scruff of Kelsia's tunic. She was borne backwards as the man stepped into view, the very same stranger that had stared at them inside the inn. Shael had only an instant to cry out in alarm. She tried to dart around him and into the street, but he thrust out a leg and swept her feet from under her. She went down hard, unable to stop her face from striking the cobbles. The stranger grabbed her ankle with his free hand and gave her a rough tug, dragging her back away from the street.

Kelsia opened her mouth to scream, but as soon as the sound began to emerge, he lifted her and threw her back against the wall so forcefully that the wind was knocked from her. His nails dug in painfully as he squeezed her cheeks. "Don't," he hissed in her face. His breath reeked of ale.

From the corner of her eye, Kelsia could see that Shael had been released for the moment and had risen to her knees. She shook her head, recovering from the stun of her fall. Blood trickled down from a gash on her forehead. Her gaze fell on Kelsia and she immediately snatched the bow from her shoulder and reached for an arrow.

The man's sword was out of its sheath in an eye blink, leaving her mouth uncovered but still holding her pinned with the other hand. The sword swung around and for one heart-stopping moment, Kelsia knew that Shael was going to die. But instead of sinking into flesh the blade struck Shael's bow and sent it flying from her hands to clatter against the opposite wall. In the next instant, Kelsia felt the tip of the sword pressed against her ribs. His other hand released her tunic but instantly clamped down on her neck. She couldn't breathe. Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke in a furious whisper. "Don't move, and don't scream, or I'll run you through."

The staff was trapped behind her back, still clutched in her hand. Her knuckles stung where they had been crushed against the rough-edged bricks that made up the wall. She gripped the staff tighter and tried to focus her thoughts, to catch hold of the voice that had given her the magic last night.

The man turned his head to look at Shael. "Who sent you? Did someone pay you?"

Shael spoke haltingly. "I...I don't understand--"

"Don't play games with me, girl," the man said in even tones. His grip tightened on Kelsia's throat. Spots of red began to dance at the edges of her vision. "You're a bit young to be spies. Just tell me the truth and no one gets hurt. Lie to me and you'll be dead before the body of your friend here hits the street."

Shael stood silent for what seemed like minutes. Kelsia fidgeted, the need for breath becoming more urgent than her fear of the sword pointed at her heart. "She can tell you," Shael said finally, "I'm just her friend."

The fingers abruptly loosened from Kelsia's neck. Her head throbbed as blood began to flow once more. She took a deep, painful breath through her bruised neck. Before she could do more, the man snatched the bow from her shoulder and took hold of the back of her collar. He motioned with his sword for Shael to follow. "Stay in front of me, both of you. Don't think of trying to run."

Shael cast a glance at her bow. "Leave it!" he barked. Kelsia used the opportunity to tuck the staff under her arm, hidden beneath the cloak.

He paced them as they walked, Kelsia wheezing and Shael dabbing at the cut on her head with the edge of her cloak. The man hadn't said anything about the staff and Kelsia did her best to hide it from him. What he had said didn't make any sense, so she had to assume that it was the staff he was after. She tried to think of a way out of their predicament, but as long as he held that sword up to her, her options were few.

Shael started to whisper something, but was cut off by the man's order, "Stop here." They stood before a door at the back of the inn. He pounded a fist against it. A few moments later, there was the sound of a latch being pulled and a tiny flap opened in the middle of the door. Through the opening, a pair of eyes peered out, crow's feet showing around their edges.

"It's me," the man said. "I need to borrow the wine cellar. No questions."

The peephole clicked closed and the main door opened from the inside. "You first," he said to Shael, tilting his head towards the door. Kelsia followed in her wake, pressed forward by the prick of a sword point at the small of her back. She caught a glimpse of an old man partially hidden behind the door, staring down at nothing. Across the room was a closed door that must lead into the kitchen. The room was furnished with a writing desk and a few personal items. She took this in at a glance, and then lost her balance as she was thrust into a darkened stairwell. Shael, just a step ahead of her, steadied her before she fell. They descended the stairs single-file, and their captor's footfalls stopped at the top.

Shael took Kelsia's hand as they reached the bottom of the steps and tugged her back from the thin shaft of light coming from the doorway. The man stood at the top of the stairs, talking in a low voice to someone on the outside. Kelsia's eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness, but there was little to see in the cellar but a dirt floor and barrels stacked along the far wall.

"Do you think he means to kill us?" Shael asked in a whisper.

"No," Kelsia said, her whisper made still hoarser by her injured neck. "He could have killed us already. He must want the staff."

Shael shook her head slowly. "I don't think so."

A creak from the stairs cut off further conversation. Kelsia put the staff behind her back as the man entered and pulled the door closed behind him. He carried a lamp that cast the tiny room in a palid orange. Never taking his eyes from them, he hung the lamp on a hook next to the stairs. He sat on the bottom step and put his sword across his knees. His hand, though, still rested on the hilt. "Better find a seat," he said. "We could be here a while."

Kelsia's stomach fluttered somewhere near the middle of her throat as she took a step toward him. She swallowed and spoke in a voice that sounded surprisingly steady to her own ears. "Tell us who you are. And why did you attack us?"

He gave her an ugly sneer. "You're on dangerous ground, girl. A more cautious man would have slit your throats and been done with it. Now, I need to know who gave you that name, the one you gave the innkeep. Did someone tell you to bandy it about and hand you some silver?"

Kelsia considered her options. Their only chance to live lay in telling him the truth. She could hand over the staff and pretend this had all been a big mistake. He would take it anyway, once they were dead. Or would he? Shael might be right, that the staff did not concern him at all. She had to take a gamble. "I guess you're going to have to kill us," she said. "We'll die before we'll betray Seith."

His eyes narrowed. He stood up and walked toward her, sword held ready to strike. Kelsia held her ground, though her knees felt like water and her head spun giddily. Slowly, the man rotated the sword, slipped the point into his sheath and slid it home with a muffled clack. "You're brave, I'll grant you that, though you could use a bit more sense. I'll make you a deal, girl. I'll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine."

Kelsia nodded at once. "Fine. Do you know who Seith is and where he can be found?"

He snorted. "That's two questions, girl. Well, so be it. Yes, and yes. Now you need to tell me why you are looking for him."

Kelsia brought out the staff for him to see. "I have to give him this."

He took a step closer and she again resisted the impulse to move back. She had to raise her eyes to continue looking at him, as he loomed more than a foot taller than her. The tip of his nose was a jagged mess of scars, with the outer part of one nostril cut away. A thin line, shiny like a slug trail, slid across and down his cheek. He gave the staff hardly a glance. "Your friend stays here," he said. He snatched her arm in one of his huge, callused hands, "You'll come with me."

"Don't, Kelsy," Shael said, coming forward to grab her opposite shoulder. "You don't know what this brute might do to you."

"I think it's alright," Kelsia said, prying Shael's hand away from her arm. "Wait here for me. I'll try not to be gone long." She tried to sound nonchalant, as though she were stepping out for a walk.

He kept hold of her arm as they went up the narrow steps, twisting it around behind her back, though not painfully. She opened the door and found the study empty. Shael's bow, though, had been retrieved from the alley and sat propped neatly in a corner next to her own bow. A gash sliced through the snakeskin covering, but it was otherwise undamaged. After a moment's reflection, she guessed that the old man must have brought it back.

Her captor kept a firm grip on her arm as he turned and locked the door to the wine cellar. Kelsia watched to see where he put the key, but it just seemed to disappear from his hand, no doubt slipped into a pocket somewhere on his person.

Finally, he released his grip on her arm. She pressed against the place tenderly with her other hand. There would be bruises by morning. "Stay close and be quiet," he ordered.

Without Shael to back her, it was harder to maintain her courage. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Are you taking me to see Seith?"

He shoved a grubby finger in her face. "Don't ask stupid questions and don’t mention that name again until I tell you it’s safe. Let's go."

To her surprise, he didn't go out the back way, but took her through the inn's common room toward the front door. No one gave them a second glance as they passed. She thought of running or calling for help but dismissed it. Fear of his sword was only part of it. For better or worse, right now this stranger was her only chance to find Seith. She had to go along with him.

They wound through the streets seemingly without purpose or reason. After only a few turns, Kelsia was hopelessly lost. After they rounded one corner of a deserted street, he caught her sleeve to stop her and put his finger to his lips. He pressed his back against the wall next to the corner, hand resting on his sword, and craned his neck slowly to peer down the street. He stood completely motionless, so quiet that Kelsia found herself mimicking him, not even daring to breathe.

"Alright," he said at last, drawing back from the corner. "I don't think we've been followed. Your name is Kelsy, then?"

"Kelsia," she corrected him.

He frowned. "A country name. I'm Marius. Listen, Kelsia. I need to know I can trust you."

It was the strangest thing he had said yet. He had already threatened her life more than once. Now he was asking for her trust? "First tell me why you attacked us."

"You'll know soon enough," he said. "The name you used is very dangerous. Let me just say that if the wrong people had heard what you said in that common room, you might be dead right now, but more likely just wishing you were. I took a risk in leaving your friend at the inn, but it would be too conspicuous to bring both of you." He dug a piece of cloth out of a pocket and threw it to her. "Wrap this around your head to cover your eyes."

Kelsia did as she was told, tying the two ends together at the back of her head. It was thick wool and made the sides of her head itch. Her view was completely dark except for a sliver of moonlight that crept in at the bottom of the blindfold. She flinched as Marius pulled at the fabric, adjusting it until the last of the light was gone and only a faint glow marked the bottom edge of the cloth.

Marius grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. This time, their walk was surprisingly short. She counted three turns and then they began to climb a flight of stairs. He said, "Stop here," and she heard the sound of a door being opened. She was pulled inside and the door was closed behind her. "You can take that off now."

Kelsia pulled the blindfold up from her eyes. The room was dim. Only a few small candles burned here and there and dark, heavy curtains covered the windows. It was very neat, very clean, with little to show that anyone lived there. A voice echoed from an adjoining room. "Marius, there you are. I was beginning to grow worried..." Coming through the door, he stopped when he saw Kelsia. He was young, a man grown but only just barely. Kelsia had never seen hair like his, a rich, deep red. He was taller than most and had broad shoulders. His pale skin reminded her of the sorcerer who had given her the staff.

He gave a questioning look to Marius, then his gaze snapped back to her. His eyes opened wide. "It cannot be," he breathed. He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. His hand stretched toward the staff and Kelsia snatched it back from him, her grip tightening nearly to the point of pain.

"This is Seith," Marius said, breaking up what was about to become an awkward scene. "Seith, this girl is called Kelsia. She showed up at the Shepherd's Hearth today asking for you."

Seith shook his head slowly. "No, that doesn't make sense. Garron might send someone to find me, but he would never entrust the staff to another. How did you get this, Kelsia?"

She told him her story quickly and without embellishment, choking quickly past the part about their flight from the burning village. Seith took her back to her meeting with the sorcerer, asking her details about his appearance, manner, and speech. Many of them she couldn't answer, but what she could was apparently enough to bring him to some conclusion. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. Kelsia could hear his ragged breathing. "Is something wrong?"

"Forgive me," he said, his voice unsteady. "The man you saw killed by the werewolf was my master. His name was Garron."

She waited while Seith struggled to master his emotion. Marius patted his shoulder and left the room without saying a word. She kept thinking of Shael, locked up in the wine cellar. Finally, though, he seemed to relax, calm settling over his features. "May I see the staff?"

Her teeth clamped hard together, as though her whole body strained to keep its grip. At first, her hand would not obey her command to release, but slowly, she did. Seith peered at her with a quizzical expression. She got her hand opened completely so that the staff was only leaning against her fingertips. It was a great effort to keep it that way. "Take it," she hissed through her teeth.

He picked it gingerly from her fingers. His hand might as well have been closing around her leg. They were strong hands, but soft. They were the hands of someone who had never worked a field from sunrise to sundown. She flinched once as the staff passed beyond her grasp. She felt the urge to follow as he moved toward a candle to examine it more closely. "Incredible," he exclaimed. "This is it. There's no question."

Kelsia gave in to her urge and walked up behind him. She felt better at once. "What is it?" she asked.

"The Source Key," he said, as if that explained everything. He turned it in the light and peered at it from an angle. "Ah!" He squinted and traced a finger along a length of the shaft. The touch raised goose bumps on Kelsia's arms. "There's a script here."

Kelsia looked, but could see nothing but the smooth, metallic surface and twin grooves twisting down its length. She imitated Seith's slanting look and suddenly she saw it, a string of blocky letters running down half the length of the staff. Seith was muttering to himself, sounding out words that were obviously unfamiliar to him. "What does it say?" Kelsia asked. She started to reach, to snatch it away from him, but stopped herself in time. "What is the staff for?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, blinking. "I'm not sure what it says, to tell the truth. I suppose you deserve an explanation about the staff, though. You risked so much to bring it here. How much do you know about magic?"

Kelsia shook her head. "I don't."

Seith frowned at that and peered around the room. "Here," he said, proffering the staff. "Can you hold it just a moment?" Kelsia took it from him gladly.

He picked up a washbasin and a pitcher and placed them on a table. "Imagine that this water is magic," he said, pointing to the pitcher. "Now, let's pretend that this bowl is a wizard. A wizard is able to create a pull, to—well--tilt magic towards him, like this." He tilted the pitcher so that some of the water spilled into the basin. "The more skilled he is, the more a sorcerer can pull on magic and use it to his own will."

He righted the pitcher again. "Do you understand so far?" He waited for Kelsia's nod and then continued. "Now, imagine if there were a way for a sorcerer to get to the water in the pitcher without having to have it poured through the spigot. What if there were a way to access the magic all at once?" He picked up the pitcher and placed it inside the partially filled washbasin. "That is what we think the Source Key does."

Seith picked up the dripping pitcher and set it back on the table. "Of course, that is all just theory. No one knows if it really even works at all. It has been hidden for over two thousand years, the fact of its very existence has faded to myth except for the accounts of a very few texts."

"Maybe that's how I was able to use magic," she said.

Seith gave her a sharp look. "No, that's not possible."

"I hadn't told you that part of the story yet. When the werewolf attacked us, I fell from my horse. It was right on top of me, then a voice told me words to say, and--"

"You don't understand," Seith cut in. "Women can't use magic. They never could."

Kelsia's brow furrowed. "But I'm certain of it. You can ask Shael what she saw."

"I'm afraid I won't get the chance. I'll have little time left as it is. I'll have Marius release you and your friend if you promise not to mention us to any of the soldiers you see on your way out of town."

"I promise," she agreed.

Marius approached from behind him and offered Kelsia a drink. "I hope you can forgive me for the..." he cleared his throat, "the rough treatment."

"I understand why you did it," she said graciously. Marius nodded, but Seith was looking at her strangely. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He gestured with his fingers. "Let me have the staff and Marius will take you back to the inn."

How had she forgotten the staff? "Here," she said, but when she tried to hand it to him, nothing happened.

Seith stepped toward her, but she stepped back at the same time.

"Give it to me," he said, irritation creeping into his tone.

She tried again to hand it to him, straining to complete the motion. Her face grew heated from the exertion. It was like trying to move an impossible weight. Panting, she relaxed from the effort. After all the strange things that had occurred with the staff, this was the first time she had felt completely helpless and it truly frightened her. "I don't think I can," she said. "It won't let me."

"It?" Seith asked with a raised brow.

"Loric, the druid, told me that this staff had a will of its own. He said that I needed to be careful not to let it control me."

Seith looked thoughtful. "I admit, my knowledge of the Key is limited. There might be something to what you say, but the staff must be kept out of the wrong hands. If you cannot give it over willingly, I'm afraid I'll have to take it."

"I'd like nothing more," Kelsia assured him.

Marius started forward and this time, the decision to back away was all hers. However her perceptions of him had changed, he was still intimidating. "Don't worry," he said, "I won't hurt you." She stood still except for a flinch when she felt him grip the staff. He pulled, but her hands would not let go. He strained and Kelsia dug in her heels. She began to slide across the floor as he pulled on it.

"That's enough," Seith said. Marius released his hold and backed away. Seith closed his eyes and put his palms together in front of him. He spoke a few words and suddenly it felt as though the air around her had grown thick and began to press in on her. It tightened until the pressure became so intense she thought that surely it would crush her. Abruptly, it released.

Seith looked shaken. He drew the back of an arm across his forehead where his hair was damp from sweat. "There is some kind of enchantment between you and the Key, something very strong. I could try to break it, but I don't dare."

"Why?" Kelsia asked in a strangled voice. "Just try it, please."

"If I did, it might kill you. Or it might just kill me. I've never seen magic like this before."

"What is to become of me?" she asked.

Seith stared at the staff in her hands. Kelsia’s hands tightened on it against her will. "You'll have to come with us,” he said at last. “The staff must go east. The Horadrim can provide the kind of protection that it needs. Perhaps one of them can unravel this spell that was cast over you."

Kelsia's head was spinning. "Have to sit down," she said, stumbling forward. Seith rushed to steady her and help her into a chair. She suddenly felt so very far from home. Things were not supposed to happen this way. She wished she had never gone out hiking with Shael that day. She wished none of it had happened.

She looked down at the staff, the Source Key. There were still so many unanswered questions. She was being borne along like a leaf caught in a current. What choice did she have but to press on? "We'll have to bring Shael, I think," she said. "She won't let you leave her behind."

[tamrend]

Chapter 7: The Fog

The cellar appeared to be empty when Kelsia descended the stairs. "Shael?" Kelsia whispered into the darkness.

A scuffling sounded from one corner and Shael's head peered out from behind a stack of barrels. "Kelsy!" she cried, and squeezed herself out through a narrow gap between the barrels and the wall. She threw her arms around Kelsia and hugged her tightly. Then she drew back and stared at Marius suspiciously. "He didn't do anything to you, did he?

"It's fine, everything's fine. He took me to Seith but..." she swallowed back a sudden pang of loss, "but I have to go with them, into the East."

Shael gave her a searching look. She nodded. "Let’s go, then. You can explain on the way. Where's my bow?" She turned to glare at Marius as she said it.

"It's here, I'll show you," Kelsia said. She tugged Shael's sleeve to break off the cold stare she was giving Marius. "There are reasons for what he did, Shael. I don't know why yet, but Seith is in hiding from those soldiers we saw. Marius here was protecting us." Shael's attitude did improve when she picked up her bow from the corner of the study. Marius exchanged a few words with the old man, apparently the inn’s owner, explaining what had happened and warning him to be careful over the next few days.

They stepped outside and Kelsia began to shiver. The clammy air seemed to sap the warmth right out of her. She pulled the thiefshroud closer against her, but the cold still bit into her cheeks. The lamps lining the street glowed in a murky sea of fog. Marius froze suddenly in front of them, his hand hovering above his sword hilt. Kelsia could hear the thump of her pulse in her own ears. Marius’ growling voice startled her. “Get the horses,” he said. “We won’t be coming back.”

Copper seemed a bit grouchy at having been tied up for several hours, but his ears pricked up when she offered him a carrot she had taken from the kitchen. After a few moments of contented crunching, he decided to forgive her and nuzzled her hand.

Marius trailed behind them as they walked the horses. In whispers, Kelsia told Shael of what had happened when she left the inn. Neither one heard Marius’ footsteps as he came up next to them. Kelsia turned at his light tap on her shoulder. “Quiet, both of you,” he said sharply. “We’re almost there.”

They entered a much narrower side street and plunged into darkness as they left the street lamps behind. Marius brought them to the bottom of a staircase that climbed the side of a two-story building. “Bring the saddles inside, and work quickly. You’ll have to leave the horses here." Marius watched both ends of the street while they unfastened the saddles. As soon as they were ready, he climbed the stairs ahead of them and opened the door. Shael trailed behind, her slighter frame unbalanced by the weight of the saddle.

Seith was waiting for Kelsia when she came through the door. He seemed agitated. "Inside, quickly," he said.

Marius stood at the top of the stairs, looking out. "The fog. Is it magic?"

Seith looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure, but the weather is not right for it. It's definitely not natural."

At that moment, Shael reached the top of the steps. "Is that Seith?" she asked, pointing to him.

She waited for Kelsia's nod before dropping the saddle and advancing on him. "We've ridden almost forty leagues, been attacked by slayers and werewolves and probably worse, and all of it to bring you this staff. Then your man nearly strangles Kelsia to death." She had counted off each item on a finger, her voice going up each time as well. "Now you say we have to go with you to who knows where. I think you have some explaining to do."

"You don't have to go," Seith began.

"If Kelsy goes, I go," Shael retorted. "But you haven't told me why she has to leave. Now explain."

Seith sighed. "Where to begin?" He went over his explanation of the Source Key once more, for Shael's benefit. "No one is quite certain who created it, or why. Our best guess at its age would put its creation before the time of The Binding, when the Horadrim captured the three greatest of Hell's Evils and put a stop to centuries of war and destruction. There are very few extant records of the staff. So few, in fact, that most scholars consider the scattered references to be little more than myth. All of that changed last winter."

Marius entered the room, carrying blankets for each of them. His timing was apt, as their breath had begun to fog in the deepening cold of the room. He spread some of them out on the floor for them to lie on and busied himself with building a fire. Seith continued his story.

"An Assassin, a mage slayer, arrived at the keep of the Horadrim last winter. You must understand how unusual that is. There was a time, long ago, when their order made frequent visits to all of the mage clans, checking for signs of corrupted individuals. Once a mage has been corrupted by evil, the only cure is death. That is their purpose, and they carry it out ruthlessly and efficiently. Things have changed over the centuries, and a rift of unspoken hostility has arisen between the mage clans and the mage-slayers. Now they visit infrequently, if at all, though many believe that they have simply made their investigations more secretive.

"This Assassin was acting very strangely, strange for their kind, at least. She was agitated, even fearful. She requested to speak to a member of our council named Pallas, refusing to say more to any other. She met with him, and then he called a meeting with a handful of trusted mages. My master Garron was among them. She revealed that the Source Key does indeed, exist, and that it has been in the care of the Assassins for well over a thousand years, perhaps since the time of its creation."

The fire was crackling nicely now and Kelsia settled back, lulled by the warmth and beginning to relax from their days of hard traveling. She took a glance at Shael, who stared at Seith with a perplexed frown.

"There was an attack on one of the Assassin enclaves. Hellspawn descended upon them by the thousands and wiped them out in less than a day. It appeared to be some kind of resurgence in the powers of Hell, but Assassins who visited the site later saw that the ruins had been carefully picked over. Someone had been looking for something, and this struck fear into the hearts of those who headed the order of mage-slayers. Just one year earlier, the Key had been moved from its place at the now ruined enclave to another much further west, following a kind of rotation set up some centuries ago. It was only by a twist of fate that the staff was kept out of the hands of whoever attacked the enclave.

"The Assassins realized that someone had discovered the existence of the Key and staged the attack. Their order lacks the numbers and the organization to stand up to any person or group powerful enough to summon such an army of Hellspawn. The problem was simply too large for them to handle. That is why they sent one of their number to enlist the help of the Horadrim in bringing the staff to a place where even a horde of Hellspawn would be challenged. Pallas and the others conferred and my master was chosen to bring it back."

Kelsia interrupted him. "But why did he go alone? Why not send a dozen mages? Two dozen."

"It is rare for mages to travel in large groups, as you suggest. Doing so might attract the attention of whoever seeks the staff. Besides, Garron was to have a group of mage slayers for escort on the return journey. However, the most compelling reason came again from the Assassin. She believed that the enemy might have ties to any or all of the mage clans. That seems likely, given that it would be nigh impossible for a powerful group like that to remain hidden from us otherwise. If we brought too many into our confidence, we risked betrayal from within."

"Maybe you were betrayed," Kelsia said. "Maybe one of those that Pallas trusted was one of them."

Seith nodded slowly. "It would seem to be the most likely possibility. We mages have access to certain magical conveyances, but it was assumed that they would be watched. Therefore, Garron was to travel overland to avoid detection. The route he should take was the subject of long discussion among Pallas and his group. He used a portal stone to instantly transport to Kurast on the pretense of other business, and from there went south to the enclave. I started away at about the same time for Dalmers Ferry. I was to meet him here, about halfway into the journey, to re-supply and procure horses for the rest of the trip by the eastern road. Only, when we arrived the city was swarming with soldiers from the kingdom of Ganting."

Marius spoke up for the first time. "Dalmers Ferry is a free city and historically of little importance to the rest of the world. Other than proximity, it makes no sense for them to be here, as conquerors or otherwise. I suspected something was amiss and bade Seith to stay clear while I made a few inquiries with the town guard. It seems that the new king in Ganting is searching for a pair of criminals by the names of Seith and Garron. It was good fortune that my name was not in that list as well. Once we knew what to expect, it wasn’t too difficult to sneak Seith in over the wall.”

Seith continued. "We've been here for more than a fortnight, awaiting my master's arrival. We had to hope that he would be able to avoid the soldiers, as we did. We rented these rooms from the shopkeeper down below, and Marius spent every day waiting at the Shepherd's Hearth while I stayed in hiding here. When you went there and began asking about Seith, Marius took notice, since no one should have known the exact meeting place except us and Garron."

Shael looked between each of the three of them. "It's a fascinating story, but no one has given me any reason why Kelsia has to go with you. You have the staff now. You don't need us."

Seith rubbed a finger across his temple wearily. "Let me show you, then. Get the staff and bring it to me."

Shael jumped up and went to Kelsia. She tugged upward on the staff but Kelsia's fingers were once more locked around it. "Let go of it, Kelsy," she said.

"I can't," Kelsia told her. Shael tried to pry her fingertips away, her expression growing more desperate. "Ow!" Kelsia hissed as Shael's fingernails dug into her. "Ow! Stop it, Shael. You're hurting me."

Shael let go and stared down at the red marks she had made on Kelsia's fingers. Her eyes shimmered. "What have you done to her?" she demanded in a choked voice.

"They didn't do anything," Kelsia said gently. "It's the staff. It won't let anyone else take it, but Seith hopes that we can do something about it when we reach the Horadrim."

Shael sniffed and blinked her eyes rapidly. "Alright. So we have no choice." Somehow, the admission seemed to give her strength. “Where do we go from here?”

"We won't be taking the eastern road," Seith said. "If they've known our path this far, that way will certainly be watched."

"The fog is getting thicker," Marius interjected. He was standing in the doorway looking out. "I can't see more than a few feet in this. Do you think we should chance it?"

Seith looked at the two young women. "You two should get some sleep," he said. "There's time for a few hours."

"We're leaving tonight, then?" Kelsia asked, catching a glimpse of the billowing gray wall outside.

"After the moon sets," Seith agreed, "when it is darkest. We should be able to slip away from the city in this. The sentries will never spot us." But Kelsia did not miss the look of uncertainty on his face. She wondered if he knew something more about the fog than he was telling them.

Kelsia faded in and out of waking, but each time she slept, she returned to the same nightmare. She was running through a morass of clinging vines and branches, the sounds of a pursuer crashing through the brush behind her. She knew that if she made a single misstep, it would have her. It closed on her, the sound of its breathing harsh and inhuman. It spoke her name, but not her name. Without thinking, she turned to look back. Her feet caught in a tangle of undergrowth and she began to fall, down, down, the ground opening up to swallow her. The hunter called her name again.

“Kelsy, wake up.”

Kelsia blinked to bring focus to her eyes. Shael drew back. “I’m sorry I shouted,” she said, “but you looked like you were having a nightmare. I tried shaking you and you wouldn’t wake up.”

“I’m awake now,” Kelsia said, though her limbs felt like dead weights as she sat up.

“Marius went to get their horses. We’re to be ready to leave when he returns.”

“I’m getting tired of running,” Kelsia sighed as she got to her feet.

Shael shrugged. “I think I would prefer that to getting caught.”

Seith was seated at the table, staring at a map spread across its surface. He looked up and watched her as Kelsia yawned and stretched. “What is it?” she asked.

“There’s food,” he said, ignoring her question, “and if you need to urinate, there’s a chamber pot in the closet in the next room. You’d better do it now. We won’t be stopping for a few hours.”

Kelsia felt her cheeks grow heated. Seith had mentioned a subject that was simply not brought up in casual conversation. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to notice her embarrassment. He had returned to poring over the map with a look of intense concentration. Shael gave her a scandalized look before getting some tea for herself. What made it worse was that she really did need to use the chamber pot, but she wasn’t about to go in there after what he had said.

She sat down at the table next to Shael, who tore a piece of bread for her. Kelsia glanced at Seith’s map several times but held her tongue. Finally, she was unable to contain her curiosity any longer. “That is where we are, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing to a tiny sketch of houses on either side of a river.

Seith actually appeared relieved for the distraction from whatever he had been contemplating. “Yes, Dalmers Ferry. And this is Kurast.” He pointed to a city at the edge of the map, where a number of thick lines converged.

“So the village must be…” Kelsia spotted what had to be Loric’s city, at the tip of a horn-shaped valley. Further south was only a great, empty expanse. “It’s not there,” she said haltingly.

“Too small,” Seith explained, “and probably too young. This map is a copy of a copy. The original was drawn more than three centuries ago.” He gave the map one last, long look, nodded to himself, and rolled it up. He stowed it in a pack and then crouched on the floor with his hands out towards the glowing embers of the fire.

Kelsia chewed through the piece of bread and gulped a cup of lukewarm tea. When she could stand to wait no longer, she stood up and hurried discreetly to the other room. When she came back, Marius was hauling their belongings out the door. Seith fastened a hooded cloak over his shoulders and pulled the cowl down and forward to hide his face. She followed him outside.

The stairway and the edge of the building hung suspended in a void of gray. Though the ground was less than a dozen paces below, Kelsia could see nothing when she looked over the railing. The street only became visible again once she neared the bottom.

Kelsia cinched up the saddle straps around Copper's body and checked the fit carefully. When all was ready, they mounted and set off at a walk, Marius in the lead. They stayed off of the main streets, though Kelsia began to wonder if that was even necessary. They could have passed within a few paces of someone going the opposite direction and never even known it. More than once, Marius slowed their pace and wandered back and forth across the road. The second time, Kelsia realized the significance. He was confirming their surroundings, getting a bearing on where they were. The possibility of getting lost hadn't occurred to her until that moment.

"You'll reach the gates soon," Seith said quietly. "If the guards speak to you, act like you don't know anything. If there is trouble, follow Marius' lead. I'll meet up with you later." He slipped down off his horse and handed Marius the reins.

"Where are you going?" Kelsia asked.

Marius turned and fixed her with a stern look. "Best if you don't know, in case we're questioned. We have to take the horses out through the main gate. Seith will take another way. That is all you need to know."

"Now listen here--" Shael began, but stopped at Kelsia's exclamation of surprise. The staff had begun to glow with heat.

"There's something here," Seith warned, reaching for a gnarled length of wood tucked into his belt. Marius held his hand up for silence. Ponderous footsteps sounded from the street up ahead of them falling like the slow, heavy beat of a drum.

Marius threw back his cloak and drew his sword from its sheath. "Back, behind me," he said quietly, but with enough force in his tone that even Shael didn't seem ready to question him. Kelsia moved Copper around to shelter behind Marius. His horse pranced nervously as he waited. The footsteps came on.

Suddenly, Seith whirled and pointed back with his wand. He spoke three words and a bright red flame sprang to life at its tip and shot forward. It disappeared into a dull glow and then flashed brilliantly, revealing a handful of vaguely human shapes behind the mist. The low moan that followed sounded angered rather than hurt. "Undead!" he cried. "They've surrounded us! We’re trapped!"

Seith began to climb back onto his horse. As he did, the first of them shambled into view behind them. Shael had an arrow already notched and loosed it on the first to appear. Kelsia had a glimpse of a slack, gray face and a ravaged body, before the arrow spun it around and toppled it to the ground, the lightning strike following an instant later.

"Stay close! Everyone stay close!" Seith shouted.

More of the grotesque creatures stepped forward, treading right over the one that had fallen. Marius wheeled his horse to face the new threat, but Kelsia saw the dark outlines of a massive figure appear behind him. She shouted a warning, but too late. Marius turned just as a huge, bony fist swung into him. The impact drove him from the saddle and sent him tumbling across the ground. His horse screamed and bolted, disappearing instantly into the fog.

The skeletal giant towered half again as tall as she was while mounted. Kelsia looked up into a pair of empty eye sockets and a mouthful of dagger-like teeth. It took a great, jarring step forward and reached for her. Copper reared back, striking out with his fore hooves at the massive arm bone. He dropped to the ground again and backed up, for the moment completely out of Kelsia's control. A sizzling, glowing arrow zipped past on her left. It hit the monster's skull but glanced off and buzzed away out of sight. Copper reared again, this time nearly throwing Kelsia from her seat. She had a fleeting view of Marius, on his feet once more and charging madly at the monster, sword flailing. Then a cold hand locked around her ankle and hauled her from the saddle.

She slapped the ground facedown, shock saving her for the moment from the pain. The stones of the street scraped against her as she was dragged backward. She kicked out in desperation with her other foot, the blows landing on soft, yielding flesh but having no effect at freeing her. She flipped around to her back and swung the staff with all of her strength at the zombie. Her blow struck the ribcage with a wet crunch. Mercifully, the grip on her leg released and she scrambled away on hands and knees.

Kelsia paused, listening to the high, fast sound of her own breathing, nearly loud enough to drown out the sounds of fighting nearby. She tasted bile and warm, metallic blood. How far had she strayed? She scanned her surroundings slowly, but it was the same in every direction. Blank, impenetrable gray. All at once her arms, legs, and chest began to ache from her fall.

“Kelsy!” Shael shrieked, her cry seeming to come from a great distance.

“I’m here! Right here!” she shouted back, but her words sounded muffled and weak.

Suddenly the ground shuddered once, twice. Her heart leapt to her throat as a massive shape took form out of the fog. She threw herself sideways, a glimpse of white descending toward her as she rolled. It struck the ground with a thunderous crash barely a hand’s-breadth from her. Stinging chips of stone sliced at her face and arms. The creature straightened as Kelsia scrambled backwards, small, frightened noises coming from her throat.

Kelsia forced limbs weakened by fear and pain to move, rolled onto hands and knees, pushed herself up to her feet. She ran for a few steps, turned and moved in another direction. Stop she told herself, resisting the urge to just keep running. If she did, she could run right into a wall or trip over an unseen obstacle. She stood still, listening. The ground still shook from the skeleton's footsteps, but they shambled off in another direction, seemingly without purpose.

She was safe, at least for the moment. Safe, but lost. She could hear the hum of Shael's bow and the crack of lightning when the arrows struck. Seith's voice rang out, speaking words in an unknown tongue that resonated with power. And now, Marius' fierce cries and the clang of metal and the crunch of bone. Every few moments, Shael called her name again.

Slow, uneven footsteps shuffled over the cobbles to her right. Kelsia walked calmly, quietly away, and the steps did not follow her. A wall materialized out of the fog in front of her and she put her hand against it, grateful to touch something solid. Her only hope was that the rest of them could fight through and find her. She had no idea which direction to take.

The longer she stood there, though, listening to the fighting, the stronger her shame and frustration became. What if they died while she waited there? What if they managed to fight off the undead but got caught once more trying to find her? Was her life worth more than theirs?

You are not safe here.

Kelsia spun around and pressed her back to the wall, frantically looking for the source of the voice.

He will find you in a moment.

Kelsia remained silent, certain that this had to be a trick. Then she realized that the voice was not coming from anywhere around her.. She spoke in a whisper. "You're the voice that showed me the magic." She could sense some kind of contact, the touch of a presence in the midst of her own thoughts. She tried to take hold and strengthen that contact, but it began to waver and melt. The voice spoke a string of nonsense and faded completely.

She knew that the words were magic, but did not know what they would do. Steeling herself, she said them aloud and tried to will whatever was supposed to happen. Warmth flowed through her and out. A golden glow rose in front of her and faded, that was all.

No, she could see. The fog had not gone, but she was looking right through it. Shael and Seith still fought against a ring of attacking zombies, only a few dozen paces away. Marius' sword burned with ghostly orange flames as he circled the massive skeleton, keeping just out of its reach. A number of its ribs had been sliced off and one of its massive leg bones had been partially hacked through. Marius looked little better. He gripped the weapon in his left hand, his sword arm hanging broken and useless at his side.

Copper wandered in the fog, making short bursts of movement anytime a loud noise sounded from the fighting. Kelsia ran to him, speaking low when she got close to keep from spooking him. "Come on, boy. We'll be alright. Just stay still a moment." He let her climb to his back and guide him back toward the others. Seith and Shael were surrounded, the living dead pressing in on all sides. Kelsia could see, though, that there was one side where their circle was thinnest. She came as close as she dared and called out. "Here! Cut through them!"

Seith turned at once and loosed a jet of flames from his palms, the wand held between them. Three of the zombies were swallowed into the flames but continued to shamble forward. Finally they fell, one by one, a trio of blackened skeletons. "Come on!" Kelsia called.

Shael drove Cloud through the gap, sliding past the hands that reached out for her. Seith threw another blast into the closing circle and then followed her. Blundering through without seeing, they would have crashed right into her had she not moved aside. Kelsia saw the wondering looks they gave her, but there was no time to explain. "Marius needs our help," she told them. Without waiting for answer, she wheeled and led them, maneuvering around the zombies scattered about in the fog.

She approached the giant skeleton cautiously. She knew it had heard them because its elongated skull swung towards them suddenly. "Careful," she said, "it's just ahead."

Marius had used the distraction they caused to rush in and strike at the already damaged leg. His sword made a sound like an axe striking hard oak and the cleft in the bone grew deeper, but he did not get clear in time. A swipe of the massive hand knocked him off his feet. He came to rest half a dozen paces away, arms and legs sprawled at odd angles.

Now, Seith and Shael had come close enough to see the skeleton's towering back. Seith threw a ball of flames, but it seemed to have no effect except that the creature pivoted towards him. "Aim for the heart, Shael!" Seith shouted. "It should break the enchantment!"

Shael paused in the act of drawing back an arrow. "What? It doesn't even have a heart!"

"Do it!" he shouted, as the monster came at him.

Shael loosed her shot and it sailed true, smashing through the plate of bone that joined its ribs together and embedding within the ribcage. It appeared for an instant to have been ineffective, but then the lightning arced into the same cavernous space. A blast of heat struck Kelsia in the face and a bright flash dazzled her eyes. The skeleton froze in the act of swinging a massive fist at Seith. All at once, the bones fell apart from the monster's body, clattering together into a heap.

"Marius!" Seith shouted, casting about blindly.

"He's here," Kelsia told him, heeling Copper to where Marius lay.

Marius did not move even when they approached. Seith leaped down from his horse and put his ear to his chest. Straightening, he fumbled in his pockets for a tiny bottle. He poured the contents down Marius’ throat and tossed the bottle away. "Help me!" he said, looking around, looking right past her. Kelsia hurried forward so that he could see her. "Help me get him on my horse."

Kelsia glanced at the street behind them. The clarity of her vision was beginning to fade, the fog once more encroaching, but she could see that they were not in immediate danger. It seemed that the undead could see no better than they could in the fog. She leapt down and helped him hoist Marius onto the back of his horse while Shael kept watch with her bow. They returned to their mounts once more, Marius draped ridiculously across the shoulders of Seith's horse. Some impulse made Kelsia look back again. The zombies appeared to have regained some direction and were now moving towards them in a group.

And then she saw something else, something behind the main mass of undead, a figure that was not moving like the others. Though its features were indistinct, appeared to be facing right toward her and she could feel its gaze on her like the touch of cold fingers. She blinked and the figure had disappeared, obscured by the fog that was growing steadily thicker to her eyes. She tried to stare through the mist, but Seith's urgent cry finally tore her away.

They rode to the eastern gate as fast as the fog would allow, no longer concerned with hiding Seith's identity. They found the gate unguarded, only a pair of bodies lying on the ground next to the gate. Seith paused for a moment to look at them and rode on without comment. They drove hard to the east until the fog broke at last, then turned north and walked their mounts across the sodden plain.

Kelsia did not miss the puzzled glances that Seith threw her way. Maybe he was beginning to believe her about the magic. If he was, he didn't appear to be very happy at the prospect.

[tamrend]

Chapter 8: Brimstone

The three of them worked together to lower Marius to the ground. By the ruddy, pre-dawn light, Kelsia could see that most of the scratches that had lined his face last night had healed, but he mumbled incoherently and his eyes flitted about wildly beneath the lids. Bits of vomit clung to the edges of his mouth. Seith listened to his heart and held open each of his eyes to peer at them in turn.

“How is he?” Kelsia asked.

“He suffered a blow to the head. It didn’t break the skull, but he’s only now regaining consciousness. The healing potion I gave him has helped with that. Right now I’m more concerned about this arm.” Seith repositioned the limb carefully across Marius’ chest. “If the ends of the bone are not set, it will heal poorly. The potion works against us, I fear. I’m going to try to reset the bone.” He gripped Marius’ arm in both hands. “You’d both better hold him down. We need to keep this arm still. He’s confused but I’m sure he’ll feel this.”

Kelsia took hold of Marius’ legs and Shael held down his shoulders. Seith made a quick movement and Marius did indeed react. One of his feet caught her chin, but she hung on grimly. It was all they could do, between the three of them, to keep him still. When he had calmed down, Seith motioned for them to let go. “I need to make a splint. Find me some bark, two pieces as long as your forearms. I’ll need some strips of cloth, too.”

They found the items he requested and returned. Kelsia tore a blanket into strips and Seith used them to bind Marius' arm between the pieces of bark. While they were working, Shael had begun to collect wood, but Seith called for her to stop. “No fires,” he said. “Unless you want to shout our location to every pair of eyes within twenty leagues.”

Shael dropped the bundle of sticks. Without a word, she stalked over to Cloud and began tending to her. Kelsia stood up from her place next to Marius and went to her. “He’s got a point, you know,” she said.

“He’s a thoughtless ***,” Shael retorted, easily loud enough for Seith to hear.

"Shael!" Kelsia said sharply, but quietly enough that her voice would not carry. "We’re going to have to depend on these people for our lives. You should try to be civil."

Shael stared past her, her mouth in a thin line. This time she kept her voice low. “He didn’t have to speak to me like I’m a witless fool. We risked our lives to bring this stupid staff this far. He could show some appreciation. And he still thinks we're lying to him.”

Kelsia's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"About the magic. Listen, I don't know how I should feel about it, but I know what I saw. I spoke to Seith about it last night while you were asleep. He told me I was mistaken. That's all he would say." Her look became pensive. "What did happen last night, anyway?"

Kelsia nodded, answering the implied question. "Magic, I think. It doesn't make any sense. How could I have magic? It must be because of the staff, but that doesn’t sound anything like what Seith told us."

Shael shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does."

Kelsia smiled. "Somehow I knew you would say something like that. But listen, Shael. We're going to be traveling with Seith and Marius for a long time. I need you to try to get along with them. Please."

Shael looked over at Seith, who was doing trying his best to pretend to ignore their conversation. "I promise to try," she said at last.

Kelsia had to be satisfied with that. She knew that Shael was frustrated with their situation and blamed much more of it on Seith and Marius than she let on. She just hoped that Shael would come around before she did anything foolish.

Seith decided to wait until Marius was coherent again before striking off. As it was, the first indication that he was returning to normal was when he asked where his sword had gone. Seith had fortunately possessed the presence of mind to pick it up and stow it in his saddlebags. Marius accepted the weapon back and went right to adjusting his sword belt to put the sheath on the right side so that he could ready it more easily with his off hand. He frowned when Seith fitted his arm with a sling, as though he were concerned about it limiting his movement.

When it came time to ride, Kelsia again had to halt a confrontation between Seith and Shael. Since Marius' horse had been lost during the fight, Seith suggested that Shael and Kelsia double up on Copper and give Cloud to Marius. Seeing the beginnings of a heated argument, Kelsia stepped in and offered to let Marius ride Copper instead. She and Shael would take Cloud. It was reasonable, she explained to Shael, that the two of them that were lightest should ride a single horse. Shael did not appear completely mollified, but she had the decency to look abashed when Kelsia mouthed the words "try harder".

They traveled overland for a few more hours, turning northeast and then cutting back west to intersect the northern road. Seith expressed some hope that the wide deviation would throw off their pursuit, but he didn’t hide his doubt of that very well. They traveled much faster on the road, and Kelsia and Shael took turns at the reins. More than once, Seith and Marius struck up a discussion as they rode side-by-side. By the way they spoke, they appeared to be in disagreement over something, but with their voices held low, Kelsia could not make out their words. Once, when she began to edge Cloud closer to listen in, Seith glanced over at her and cut off the conversation immediately.

They stopped to rest and eat at around midday. Half of their provisions had been lost along with Marius’ horse, so their meal was rather meager and with the promise for more of the same. Shael ate quickly and slipped away with Kelsia’s small bow in hand. Game was scarce in this region, so it was unlikely she would find opportunity to hunt. Kelsia guessed that she just wanted some time alone. Marius walked a short ways south and stood gazing at the horizon.

Seith had taken a seat on a fallen log. He stared at nothing as he ate. He didn’t notice her presence until she spoke. “What are you thinking about?”

He turned to her, startled. “Oh, it’s you. I was…” He swallowed. “I was just thinking of Garron. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Scared. I wanted to ask you about what happened last night. The giant skeleton, the zombies, how do such things come into being?”

"That has been troubling me also," he admitted. "There is a small religious sect far to the south whose practitioners are said to possess the power to make the dead walk. They have a kind of religion based around the teachings of someone or some being called Rathma. I wondered if the appearance of the undead last night may indicate their involvement, but it seems unlikely. They are a very reclusive group, for one thing, and have never shown even a hint of ambition in their very long existence."

"But are they mages like you?"

"It seems that they are. There are references in the older histories that hint of a time when there was only a single mage group, though it is unclear whether it split to give rise to the priests of Rathma, or whether they appeared later. What is clear is that they posses magic of a sort that is completely foreign from anything we know. However, we do know of one other group that once spawned a great host of undead upon Sanctuary."

She knew the answer by the look he gave her. "The Prime Evils."

"Yes. Hellspawn attacked your village, and now undead have appeared in Dalmers Ferry. Both point to the use of demonic magic. Black magic, you would call it, the powers practiced by the minions of Hell itself. Long, long ago, two mages from the clan Vizjerei, Horazon and Bartuc, were corrupted by the evil influence of this magic. The struggle between them very nearly destroyed the Vizjerei, all of it part of a careful plan by the hosts of Hell. The practice of demonism has been forbidden ever since, punishable by death and enforced by the mage-slayers. To any mage, even the most innocent study of such magic is unthinkable."

She shook her head slowly. "What is unthinkable is that I got caught in the middle of this, a silly country girl, too curious for my own good. What do you think of our chances?”

“They’ve lost the advantage of knowing our path, though they still know where we must go eventually. I’m afraid it may not be enough. Any mage of even middling ability would be able to track us easily, from several leagues away, at least. The staff is like a beacon of power. Once you brought it and I knew what it was, what to look for, I could point to it with my eyes closed.”

“You mean,” she broke in quickly, “you can feel right where it is even when you can’t see it?”

He stared hard at her for a moment. “Shael seems to be quite certain that you can use magic. You yourself said the same, though you weren’t as certain. Are you telling me that you sense the staff, too?”

She nodded slowly. “And I can feel it when someone touches it.”

He sighed. “Perhaps the Key has effects we don’t yet know about. You have had possession of it for close to a fortnight now. That could explain what you did last night.”

She had to gather her courage to ask her next question, dreading the possible answers. “Seith, what makes you so sure about women not having magic? You don’t even want accept the possibility. I have to know why.”

He chewed his food while he considered what she had asked. “You wonder whether my feelings come from a belief that women are not men’s equals? I can assure you that my reasons are not so crude. Quite simply, there are no women mages that we know about, anywhere. There is no reliable record of their existence in all the books in our library. Surely if a female wizard could exist, someone would have heard of them.”

She arched her eyebrows. “But you have another reason?”

He drew a deep breath and sighed again. “There are myths. There is one tale that tells of women who gave their souls to the Hell in exchange for power. The legends name them as witches. The story goes that the witches betrayed the demons during the Sin War and that when the Three arrived on the mortal realm, they sought out these women and destroyed them.”

“But that’s just a myth.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but myths almost always spring from a seed of truth. Though I’ve known you only a short time, I would not want to believe ill of you, Kelsia. That is the other reason I have been reluctant to accept what you suggest, in defiance of the evidence you have shown me.”

A rustling from behind them brought Marius running with sword drawn. In a moment, Shael appeared from the thin screen of trees, holding aloft a rabbit. She looked inordinately pleased with herself, despite Marius' disapproving scowl.

The rest of the day passed without incident and their progress actually picked up as the road continued to dry from the recent rain. That night, Marius insisted that he and Seith would take watch so that Kelsia and Shael could sleep. Shael grumbled to herself but held her tongue.

They set out the next day at a steady pace, giving the horses plenty of opportunity to graze and saving their strength for when they might need it. However, it seemed as though Marius cast just a few more looks over his shoulder at the road behind, as though the lack of pursuit thus far was simply a sign of deeper deception by their enemies.

By nightfall, the unease among the group was almost palpable. The four of them talked little and without much enthusiasm. Marius allowed a small cook fire for the rabbit Shael had caught, but then fussed incessantly over the building of it, insisting upon checking each piece of wood for its type and moisture to ensure that there would be no smoke. Kelsia hid a smile behind her hand when Shael muttered that she’d like it if he dried up.

The next morning dawned cold and bright. The ground was cloaked in thin layer of mist hovering just below the tops of the grass stalks. Kelsia crawled reluctantly from her bed and stumbled towards the edge of camp and the screen of privacy. Marius glanced at her when she stood up, then went back to watching the road.

In daylight, she was able to get a better look at their surroundings, which had become very strange indeed. The scattering of trees had grown quite suddenly thicker, and in among the low dogwoods and great, spreading oak and beech grew strange, narrow trees with a very dark green, almost furry coat of leaves. Upon closer inspection, Kelsia saw that where there should have been leaves there were instead clusters of stem-like needles. Where the other trees were dropping their leaves, these trees held on to their foliage.

She met Shael on her way back to camp. She was looking up into the branches of one very tall member of the new trees. “What do you see?” Kelsia asked, coming up next to her.

Shael flashed a grin. “Nothing yet.” She walked forward to the base of the tree, reached up to grab hold of one of the lower branches, and began to climb.

“What’s that fool girl doing?” Marius grumbled, coming up behind Kelsia.

Kelsia was wondering the same thing. Shael had climbed high enough that a fall could mean grave injury, but she continued hoisting herself up from one handhold to the next.

Marius called up to her. “Get down here, Shael.”

She looked down over her shoulder. “In a moment.”

Seith had joined them at the base of the tree. “Stupid wench is going to give us away,” Marius muttered, pointing.

The screen of branches finally obscured their view of her completely. Kelsia backed up and caught sight of her once more, straddling a thin branch near the top of the tree. She had braced herself against the dangerous swaying of the narrow trunk and peered intently southward. She spotted Kelsia and gave a confident wave, then descended carefully, branch by branch, to the forest floor.

“There was no one there,” Shael said excitedly. “I must have been able to see for ten leagues from up there, but the road was empty.”

Seith’s tone was cold. “That was stupid. Next time Marius or myself gives you an order, you follow it.”

Shael's hands balled into fists as she stared at him. Kelsia opened her mouth to speak, to try to defuse her anger, but Shael just made a disgusted noise and swept past him, moving toward the camp. Kelsia stared after her, feeling as though she should have done something to prevent what had happened.

“She’s headstrong,” Seith said, frowning.

“You should apologize to her,” Kelsia scolded him, suddenly angry herself. “Try to get along with her and she might start listening to you. This bickering between you all is beginning to grow tiresome.”

His frown deepened. “You’re right,” he said vaguely. Kelsia wondered darkly what part of what she had said he was agreeing with.

“What do you think this means?” Marius asked. “Have they lost the trail?”

“I’m not sure,” Seith said. “But we should still keep our guard up. Now is hardly the time to grow complacent. We should break camp. We’ve got some difficult terrain ahead of us today.”

Shael chose not to mention the morning’s incident as they packed their gear and mounted up. In fact, she seemed to have decided that the best course was to simply pretend that Seith no longer existed.

Kelsia was surprised then, when she directed a question his way, though her expression made it look as though she had just swallowed something unpleasant. “What is the date?”

He thought for a moment, counting silently his fingers. “Today is the nineteenth.”

“I knew it,” Shael groaned, clapping Kelsia on the shoulder. “Your birthday was three days ago, Kelsy, the day we got to Dalmers Ferry. It was your sixteenth birthday and we missed it completely.”

Kelsia laughed. “I’m glad you thought of it, at least. With everything going on, I would never have known. Yours is coming up in a few months, too. Maybe we’ll get the chance to celebrate it properly.” That is, she thought, if they weren’t still slogging through the wilderness.

It was strange to think how much her outlook had changed. Back home the whole village would have given her gifts and congratulated her on making the journey from child to womanhood. She had been looking forward to it for months, but now that it was behind her, it seemed like it had been a lot of anticipation for nothing. She certainly didn’t feel any more an adult now than she had before.

When they stopped for the noon meal, Seith approached Kelsia. Shael leapt up with an excuse about checking on the horses. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said. “Where did you get this cloak?”

She hadn’t actually mentioned it before, she had told him about Shael’s bow. She had all but forgotten its significance over the last several days. “It is called a thiefshroud,” she told him. “Loric gave it to me. He said it was enchanted.”

Seith nodded. “I’ve heard of these. It’s based on a spell that absorbs light, but the artificer that made them died centuries ago and took the secret of their making with him. No one in modern times has been successful in replicating the effect. It isn’t true invisibility, but then, most scholars agree that that is impossible.”

“Absorbs light, you said? What does that mean?”

“It is difficult to explain. You know that when light falls on something, you can see it, right?”

Kelsia nodded uncertainly. That was how lamps worked.

“Well, what you are actually seeing is light bouncing off of objects and arriving at your eyes. This cloak lets light strike you, but instead of bouncing out in all directions, it gets absorbed, the same way water would get absorbed. The magic is enchanted right into the material. You just need to activate it. Try imagining yourself fading out, your whole body going dark.”

She tried it, Seith giving her patient feedback as nothing happened for several minutes. She closed her eyes and listened to his voice, letting it lull her into a more relaxed state.

“There! You did it!” he said suddenly.

Her eyes snapped open, but she didn’t feel or look any different to herself.

“For just a moment, your image seemed to waver and grow darker. I don’t think it will work so well in daylight, but it should hide you very effectively at night. You should keep practicing. It might be a useful ability to have.” Oddly, the cloak seemed to be warmer, as though it had been hung before a fire for a time. Now that she thought of it, the air seemed to be colder.

Before they struck out again, a breeze had begun to blow, worming its way through the spaces in her clothing to chill the bare flesh underneath. Despite the sun’s steady ascent into the sky, it continued to get colder. Shael and Kelsia huddled close in the saddle for warmth and Kelsia wrapped as much of the thiefshroud around the two of them as she could. Even Marius seemed perturbed by the frozen air, his breath turning to fog as he searched the sky and tested the direction of the wind. Only Seith seemed at ease, his cloak held close but showing none of the others’ surly discomfort. Sometime in the afternoon, high gray clouds began to roll in from the north, blotting the sun from the sky in less than an hour. Now, the cold only increased further, though the freezing wind had mercifully grown less.

They were bumping along, Shael’s cheek resting against Kelsia’s back, when tiny motes of brilliant white suddenly began to fall all around them. Kelsia stared at them, certain that she had nodded off and was having a dream. She reached out a gloved hand to catch one of the first of the little fairy lights to come down near her. It landed so softly that she didn’t feel anything. Then, it began to disappear as she watched, leaving just a tiny spot of wetness where it had been.

“Wake up!” she cried, nudging Shael with her shoulder. “You have to see this!”

“Wha-“ Shael said sleepily, blinking at the slow shower of white dots.

“It’s snow,” Seith told them. “I didn’t expect to see snowfall this early. We’re not even halfway through autumn. We should pray it doesn’t get any thicker than this.”

As though his words had hexed them, the snowfall did increase and began to cover the ground. At first, it merely outlined each and every rock and leaf with a tiny dusting, but soon the ground had disappeared entirely, swallowed up by a coating half a hands-breadth deep. The cold, too, grew more bitter, and the wind returned. Kelsia’s neck ached with cold where individual flakes had somehow darted inside of her hood. Her teeth chattered incessantly, in time with her shaking arms and legs. Soon, the wind was driving the flakes into her face like hundreds of stinging pinpricks.

“We have to find shelter!” Marius cried above the howl of the wind. “Seith!” he shouted when the other didn’t respond. Seith brought his horse to a halt and looked at him. “We’ll be in the middle of a blizzard soon. We can’t travel in this! The girls are nearly frozen to death already.”

Seith stared at him with a look of stubborn defiance. He looked at Shael and Kelsia, huddling miserably together on Cloud’s back. Finally, his shoulders sagged in acquiescence.

Marius wheeled around and led them back the way they had come, spurring his horse to a canter now that the wind was at their backs. What little light remained faded from the sky as they rode at a clip that threatened to dump Kelsia from the saddle with each jarring step. Seith lifted his wand into the air and a globe of yellow flame sprang up to light their way. Soon, Marius slowed to a more uncertain pace and began to search the road to either side. “Here!” he cried, and slipped down from Copper to lead him off the road. Kelsia nearly fell from the saddle as she dismounted. Her legs were numb and her knees cramped and weak. They stepped into the screen of the trees and the wind grew a bit less biting, but the snow still fell relentlessly from the sky.

A massive trunk loomed ahead of them, pushing up boldly from the choking blanket of snow. While living, it must have been an impressive tree indeed. Kelsia could not begin to guess how old it was or how tall it had once stood. Now, lying next to a jagged stump and covered in fungus and lichen, the hollow trunk opened up before them, large as the mouth of a cave. The roof of the trunk sagged above them and the footing underneath was spongy and uneven, but the inside was noticeably warmer than outside.

They led the horses single-file, deeper into the bowls of the trunk, until they came to a place where the walls began to close in. Kelsia fumbled with the saddle straps, but Seith stepped in and deftly loosened them. She slumped against the inside of the trunk and was pleasantly surprised to find that, though damp, it gave off a fair amount of warmth. She was barely conscious of Shael flopping down next to her. Sleep claimed her before her eyes had shut completely.

She awoke in darkness and was startled for a moment by the strangeness of her surroundings. The wind warbled and moaned past the trunk and finally trailed off to silence. Dredging through murky memories of last night’s endless, miserable cold, she managed to remember that they had finally gotten to shelter. She began to yawn but then quickly stifled it behind her hand. Whispers came from the faintly lit opening at the end of the log.

“And what do you plan to do about the girl?" The surly voice belonged to Marius.

"We've had this discussion before," Seith said wearily.

"And you have failed to give me an answer. I’m warning you, there’s going to be trouble.”

Kelsia held her breath as a few moments of silence passed. “We will deal with the problem when the time comes.”

Marius started to reply, but at that moment Shael shifted and groaned loudly. She settled into a new position and her breathing returned to a steady rhythm once more, but Seith and Marius did not resume their conversation. Kelsia lay in the dark thinking over what she had heard. Were they talking about her, or about Shael? What could it mean? A cold, tight pit of worry settled into her chest. Only questions, but questions of the worst sort. She waited for what seemed like a long time, listening as the wind gradually died down. When she felt that enough time had passed, she made noises to sound like she had only just awoken.

"It is still early," Seith said, coming up next to her. The light had grown brighter, though it looked oddly diffuse, coming in through the open end of the log. "There's food for you if you're hungry."

"Has the blizzard stopped?"

"Yes, but we'll have to dig our way out. The wind has piled a drift at the mouth of the log." He pointed, but for a moment she wasn't sure what he meant. Then she realized that the light she was seeing was coming from a sloping wall of white.

Next to her, Shael sat up and rubbed at her face. "Where am I?"

"Inside of a tree," Kelsia answered matter-of-factly. She tugged off her blankets and stood awkwardly on the uneven surface of the log. The air was cold, but still far from the deep, biting chill of last night. Seith joined them in eating a cold breakfast of stale bread and dried fruits while Marius began the task of digging them out. Considering that their horses would have to fit through as well, Kelsia judged that the double handfuls that he was pulling away could make the job take all morning. Quickly finishing her food, she tugged on her riding gloves and stepped up next to him to help. The staff resisted her efforts to put it down, but she tried propping it up next to her, within sight and easy reach, and that seemed to appease whatever force it was that tied it to her.

Marius glanced at her and nodded his approval without saying a word. The exertion helped to stave off some of the chill, but her fingers began to ache from the cold. Between the two of them, they began to open up a sizable hole by the time the others joined in.

Kelsia dropped to her knees and leaned in work at deepening the tunnel, but after only a few handfuls, a hand grabbed her collar and pulled her roughly backward. She stumbled and landed flat on her back, staring up at Marius’ grim countenance. Then, with a grating squeal, the packed snow above the tunnel shifted and fell, covering over the hole and spilling down inside the log. Her feet disappeared beneath the edge of the mass. Had she still been crouched there, she would have been swallowed completely beneath it.

“Thank you,” she gasped, accepting Marius’ hand up.

“Just be careful,” Marius said gruffly. “I’d rather not waste the time to dig you out.”

“Look at this.” Shael stood at the base of the collapse, peering up. There was now a sizable gap between the edge of the trunk and the snow blocking the entrance.

With a bit of work, it became wide enough for Shael and Kelsia to wriggle out. Patches of morning sun filtered through the canopy and lit up the ground so brightly that it was painful to the eyes. The snow over most of the ground came up to just below Kelsia’s knees. They scouted the area quickly, looking for traces of enemies hiding nearby, but it seemed that they were alone. The only thing that seemed out of place to her, though, was a black column of smoke rising lazily into the northern sky.

Working from both sides now, it still took half the morning to dig a hole large enough for the horses to scramble out.

"A pity the snow didn't linger," Seith remarked as he scanned his surroundings.

Kelsia turned to him. "Why is that?"

"Because now we'll be leaving tracks that anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain can follow. A good heavy snow might have covered up our traces, given a few hours. We should reach safety today though, if our luck and this weather hold out."

“What is that smoke?” she asked, pointing. “Is there a fire?”

“There is,” Seith agreed, “but not like one you’ve ever seen before. We will pass close by there, probably tomorrow. Then you will see for yourself.”

They saddled the horses and resumed the journey north. As the sun climbed higher, the air began to warm, softening the snow into a wet, sticky slush. The plain was finally giving way to more uneven terrain. In some places, the road narrowed to little more than a track, and they could ride no more than two abreast. Here and there, jagged stones rose up from the ground. They passed one large stone that stood out in stark relief, shiny and black with barely a dusting of powder anywhere on its smooth, sharply edged facets. More of the black stones appeared as the day wore on, varying in size from the large rock she had first spotted to tiny stones that could be seen only because the snow tended to melt around them. Kelsia wondered if they somehow generated their own heat, but when she touched one cautiously, it felt no different than any other stone.

Late in the day, they came to a tiny trapper's village set back among the trees. Seith led them to the door of a ramshackle cottage and knocked loudly. They got wary looks from the woman who answered, but her eyes widened when he showed her a handful of silver. She told them to stay where they were and disappeared back into the house, coming back moments later with a leather bag filled with smoked meats. From another house, Seith bought heavy animal furs for each of them. He gave the smallest to Shael, but it still hung so low that it dragged the ground and threatened to trip her any time she took a step. Kelsia's own coat had an odd, musky odor, but she found it easy enough to ignore. The extra warmth was well worth it in any case.

The village disappeared behind them as suddenly as it appeared, swallowed up by the ancient forest. The air warmed gradually throughout the afternoon, but never enough to melt the ankle-deep layer of slush from the ground. They made camp near the bed of a cold, rocky stream and huddled beneath their blankets until Marius roused them at dawn.

Black smoke now dominated the northern sky. Through a gap in the trees, Kelsia got her first look at its source. "The fire's on top of that mountain, isn't it?"

"Not on, but in," Seith answered. "But yes, that is where it comes from. From that mountain seeps forth fire from the deepest depths beneath the ground. Some say it is the very fires of Hell itself that burns within that mountain. In any event, we will not pass close enough to be in any danger. Further ahead, you will get a better look at it.”

The view he had promised them came at the end of a steep climb up a narrow trail cut into the rocky side of a hill. It was like no mountain Kelsia had ever seen. The sloping snow-covered sides rose to a peak of bare rock. It was there, at the top, that the black smoke boiled forth. At the mountain’s base, too, clouds of white billowed up from the ground. “I never knew such things existed,” she breathed. “A mountain on fire from the inside.”

“I don’t like it,” Shael said. “It looks angry.”

Seith gave them just a few more moments to look. “Let’s be on our way. This part of our journey is nearly at an end. There’s sure to be warm food and a bed waiting for us just ahead. Maybe even a hot bath.” The prospect of food and shelter instantly lifted their spirits. Even Cloud seemed to pick up on the mood of her riders. She quickened her pace to a canter without being urged.

Their path soon took them east along a string of hilltops. The land here was a great contrast from the forest they had passed through. Though there was a great variety of life to be seen in the vegetation, it seemed that most of it had sprung up here only in recent years. The scarcity of taller trees gave them all a clear view of the burning mountain. The longer Kelsia looked at it, the more she understood Shael’s discomfort. There was something vaguely threatening about it, as though it truly did possess malevolent will of its own.

With the sun sinking in the west, evidence of the promised relief appeared at last. At the base of the hill they were on, a long strip of land had been cleared and leveled. Nearby stood an orchard of fruit trees. If the cleared space was used for farming, there would be enough food to feed at least a dozen families. Surely it was a sign that there was a village nearby. But rather than going down as she expected, they began to ascend another hill, this one more steep and craggy than any of the last. There was no snow on the ground here. It appeared to have been trampled away by a great deal of foot traffic. Marius pointed this out, prompting Seith to nod and frown in perplexity.

Above them, the cliff side rose sheer for a hundred paces or more, ending in a smoother surface that looked like it had been built by human hands. As they neared the top, her notion became certainty. The wall appeared roughly fashioned, but its surface was almost completely devoid of any cracks or crevices that might be used as a handhold.

Kelsia let go of the reins suddenly to clutch the staff in both hands. The glow of warmth was faint, but enough to feel through her gloves. For that matter, she wondered if the gloves really made any difference at all. "Be careful," she said, remembering the staff's prior warnings all too well. "There may be danger nearby."

As though in response to her warning, Marius spat an oath and spurred Copper forward. In a moment, Kelsia saw what had prompted it. The path ahead led to a tall, narrow gate at the base of the wall, but the door now lay in pieces on the ground. Marius dropped from the horse to survey the damage more closely, then drew his sword and stepped through the opening.

“What is this place?” Kelsia asked.

“An enclave of the mage-slayers,” he answered, not taking his eyes off of the ruined gate. "Get the reins of that horse, Shael," he told her as they neared the entrance. "Both of you stay behind me. Be ready to flee if I tell you." The pieces of the gate showed that it was thick, heavy wood reinforced with iron. The wood had turned a deep, pitted black on one side, as though charred by intense fire, but the twisted metal and splinters lying about made it look like it had simply been ripped apart.

The gate opened onto a large, snow-covered expanse. Dozens of tracks crossed the area, leading to a set of long, low buildings near the other end of the wall. Marius was crouched next to one of the sets of tracks, examining it, his sword once more back in its sheath. He dusted his gloves off as he stood up. "These were not made by human feet. I can't be sure, but it looks like hellspawn. Slayers, I believe, or one of their kin. I'm not certain what made those." He pointed to a massive footprint more than half a pace long. "Whatever they were, they were here recently. After the blizzard stopped, or there would be no tracks to find, but the sun has melted some of the traces. These could have been left yesterday, or this morning at the latest."

The snow in the open yard crunched beneath their feet, hardening now as the air cooled toward evening. “Maybe the mage-slayers got away,” Shael said. “There aren’t any bodies around.” She was right. Except for the footprints, the yard was empty.

Seith glanced at her, looking as though he had something to say but dreading it. Marius spoke for him. “Most hellspawn eat their victims, given the chance.”

Kelsia felt her mouth go dry, and Shael swallowed loudly behind her.

Seith squinted against the glare of the sun setting in the west. “Marius, how long will our food last?”

"Two days, if we ration it carefully. At the rate we've been using it, we'll be out of grain for the horses tomorrow. We may be able to find game to hunt, and there's plenty of grass for the horses beneath the snow.”

“We have another week of travel before we reach Rona.”

Marius nodded thoughtfully. “There might be supplies to be found here."

"We should go," Kelsia said firmly, causing all eyes to turn to her. The staff had been growing warmer since the moment they entered the gate. "Whatever attacked this place might still be here."

Marius spoke. "Dead is dead, whether from hellspawn or hunger. We won’t lose much taking a quick look around.”

Seith surveyed the site once more and shivered. "No, we'll delay here no longer. There is a sinister air to this place. I fear our enemies anticipated our taking this path.”

Shael took the reins this time as they mounted. They descended the trail to the bottom of the hilltop, but Kelsia felt no change from the staff. The track meandered through the brush and rejoined the main road going northeast, well clear of the burning mountain. Snow still lay thick on the road, which Kelsia took to be a good sign. Still, the warmth in the staff never lessened. With every step, it seemed to grow warmer, until it seemed her flesh should sear from the heat. She knew it meant danger, but nothing they had done so far seemed to make a difference. Icy fingers of dread began to tighten around her stomach.

You're walking into a trap.

Kelsia gasped. The voice had never spoken so clearly before. "What is it?" she whispered, and held her breath.

"What did you say?" Shael asked, twisting in the saddle to look back at her.

"Seith!" Kelsia cried. He slowed to let her horse approach. "There's something wrong. We're headed for a trap."

He stared at her. "How can you know that?"

"I...I just know," she stammered. How could she tell him about the voice in her head?

Marius brought his horse to a halt and motioned the others to do the same. He pointed. "She may be right. Look." Up ahead, a great, jagged rock jutted up from the ground across the width of the path. The land rose steeply to one side, offering little handhold and well beyond what a horse could manage. On the other side, the land fell away into broken, rocky terrain, leading down to the foot of the fiery mountain. The only passage through was a narrow slit running down the length of the rock up ahead. "If I were going to choose a place ambush travelers on this road, it would be on the other side of that."

"Is that what you mean?" Seith asked her.

She held the staff a moment. It still seemed to be growing hotter. "Maybe, but I think there's something else. We shouldn't stay here."

"Watch it!" Marius shouted, drawing his sword.

Behind them, a cluster of slayers that had been concealed among the trees now marched onto the road and advanced slowly towards them. She counted as high as she could, but they just kept coming, a river of steel and demon flesh. At their head was one slayer that stood much taller than the others. As Kelsia watched, tiny arcs of light formed between its armor and its mottled green skin.

"There are too many," Marius said.

"Let go of me," Shael murmured, disengaging Kelsia's arms from around her. She took the bow from her shoulder and an arrow from her quiver. The air hummed as she drew back the string.

Marius turned to look. "No!" he shouted, she had already released. The arrow crossed the distance in an eye blink and struck the one that appeared to be the leader. White light flashed from the point of impact, at the collarbone on the demon’s left side, but the creature never wavered. And now, a wave of flickering bolts danced through the air. Wherever they touched, light and searing heat was released. Two of the slayers collapsed to the ground and another was struck by a glancing flicker of energy. A cluster of bolts came their way but dissipated before reaching them.

“That one has been given an enchantment,” Seith explained, “a spell that reacts to any injury.” The creature never slowed its progress, but reached up a hand to smoothly retract the arrow from its shoulder.

"We can't fight them," Marius said. He looked back toward the crevice and grimaced. "And it seems the girl was right about a trap."

A massive shoulder emerged from the rock, followed by a huge and heavily muscled body. Moving sideways, the creature stepped out into the open and straightened to its full height, hand spans taller than anyone Kelsia had ever seen. Its squarish frame was easily twice as wide with a head that seemed tiny compared to the rest of its body. It blinked at them stupidly and hefted a heavy, chain-wrapped bundle.

"This way," Marius shouted, and drove a balking Copper off the edge of the road. At first it looked like he would fall, but the horse somehow managed to keep his feet on the steep incline, though he half ran, half slid to the bottom.

Shael quickly stowed her bow and moved to follow, but Cloud danced away from the edge. "Go!" Seith shouted, standing in the path of the charging slayers with his wand outstretched. The mob of demons took up an inhuman, squealing war cry. "Go on!" he shouted again.

Kelsia gave Cloud's flank a resounding slap and then nearly slid from her back when the mare surged forward. The sky and ground tilted crazily for a moment and then righted. Cloud half ran, half slid down the treacherous slope. Rocks, loosed by their slide tumbled past and dust rose up in a choking cloud. With a jolt and a stumble, they came to the bottom of the slope. Kelsia looked back to see Seith descending, a flurry of the tiny bolts fanning out from the edge but passing harmlessly overhead.

They waited for him to come to rest at the bottom and then were off again, galloping across the rock-strewn ground directly towards the mountain. Kelsia looked back to the top of the hill. Dozens of slayers were beginning to make their way down. Three of the unknown, massive demons were coming as well.

Suddenly, Cloud slowed to a lurching stop and Seith, in the lead once more, swung to face them. The ground up ahead was a strange, uneven blanket of pure black running right to the base of the mountain to a crevice that issued forth thick clouds of smoke. The mountain loomed above, filling their vision. “Get off your horses.”

“What?” Shael shouted back at him. “You’re mad!”

“Do as he says,” Marius said, climbing down from his own saddle.

Kelsia looked back again. The first of the slayers had reached the bottom of the hill and would be upon them soon. “Trust him,” she said, and slid to the ground. Shael followed her, but she didn’t look happy.

“This ground is only a thin crust of rock,” Seith told them, leading the reins of his horse to the edge. “Just beneath it is a pool made of melted rock, hotter than you can imagine. Follow my footsteps and test each step carefully. If your horse breaks through, leave it behind.”

He turned and began to move across the ground at a quick but uneven pace, pausing to tap the ground every few steps. After only a few steps, heat began to seep through the soles of her boots, though that was nothing compared to the heat from the staff. She tried to ignore both and focused on following the path Seith was taking, a jagged diagonal line across the rock and toward the base of the mountain. Despite the seeming solidity of the rock, the horse’s hooves chipped away pieces of the rippled surface.

“They’ve reached the edge,” Marius said. Kelsia looked and saw it was true. The leader of the slayers hung back, but the rest of them charged right on, oblivious to the heat emanating from the rock. They were nearly across themselves, but at the rate they were moving it would be a close thing. The larger demons had moved surprisingly quickly, but they seemed uncertain about crossing the black stone. Finally, one of them took a few tentative steps, then a few more. The ground creaked and groaned as it took another. All at once a great crack sounded and the rock split open. Red flame and great gouts of steam rose up as the demon was plunged below. A terrible roar rent the air and went abruptly silent.

Seith barked a laugh. “That gave them pause.” The other great demons stared at the place where the one had fallen. One of them scratched its tiny head with a finger the size of a ham. The slayers too had been momentarily distracted and slowed their progress.

It may have been her imagination, but the ground seemed more solid when they stepped off the rock flow. “You take the reins,” Shael said, pushing her toward the saddle. Kelsia climbed into the saddle and gave Shael a hand up. The first of the slayers were less than a dozen paces away when she spurred Cloud to a gallop.

“If the terrain stays good, we can outpace them,” Seith shouted over the wind. The ground was surprisingly clear, as if the plants feared to grow too close to the mountain. Perhaps it was just the heat. It seemed to emanate from every surface here and sweat was beginning to slick her skin beneath her thick layers of clothing, clothing that had been warding off the cold only a short time ago.

The steep sides of the mountain and the adjacent hillside began to close in on them, narrowing their passage into a ravine. Neither of the two men showed much confidence in the path they took, making Kelsia worry that they were simply running blindly because there was no other way to go. She feared that at any moment they would find the way ahead closed off entirely, with no way to go but back into the hellspawn.

The last remnants of twilight gradually faded from the sky. The broad silver crescent of the moon shone down from directly above, lighting their path but also casting deep shadows that Kelsia stared into as they passed, looking for enemies lying in wait.

Suddenly, Seith held up his hand to signal a stop. The ground was broken into a jumble of pits and depressions. Wisps of steam rose from the holes, which ranged in size from a less than a handspan to several paces across. In one place, smooth gray mud bubbled. The stench made Kelsia’s eyes water.

“Sulfur vents,” Seith said. “They should be harmless unless you put a foot wrong. Stay behind me until we get through.”

Moving between the sulfur pits slowed their progress to a crawl. The staff began to smolder as the sounds of pursuit grew closer. The ravine made a sharp bend and the four of them came to an abrupt stop. A massive slide of rocks and dirt had rolled down the slide of the mountain into the ravine, blocking off its entire width to the top. Seith surveyed the obstacle calmly. His face hardened. “We can climb this.”

The horses were not happy with the loose terrain, but by picking their way carefully, they were able to make slow, steady progress up the slope of the landslide. Marius pressed Copper into the lead, somehow able to keep his seat with one arm in a sling and the other resting on his sword hilt. Kelsia looked over her shoulder and down, into the ravine. The host of slayers had nearly reached the bottom of the slide. Seith appeared to be having some trouble with his horse and lagged several steps behind.

Kelsia gained the top a few steps behind Marius. Steel flashed silver in the moonlight as he drew his blade. Kelsia looked beyond him to the hulking, black-skinned thing that stood in their path. They could not reach the hillside without going through the spot where the demon stood. "It’s a mauler," Marius said. "Watch closely. When you see an opening, get past it."

He approached it warily, coaxing Copper forward in fits and starts. Suddenly, he swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. With a fierce cry, he charged the towering demon, red flames bursting forth along the length of his sword.

The creature lifted its bundle of chains in one fist and brought it down in an overhead smash. The ground shuddered and a cloud of dust went up. A hail of stones was shaken loose and rolled down both sides of the slide. Kelsia gasped. Marius was gone. The mauler grinned to itself and started towards Copper, hefting its clumsy club so that the chains rattled together. The horse reared back, kicking out with his hooves, but the thing stood its ground and readied another swing.

"Turn!" Shael shouted, her bow bumping Kelsia’s shoulder. "I can't get a shot!"

Before Kelsia could react, a finger of flame suddenly sprouted from the mauler's belly, and a gout of black blood spilled down its lower body. The flame disappeared and the creature stumbled, falling to its knees. “Go!” Marius shouted, his voice coming from behind the creature.

Kelsia dug her heels into Cloud’s flanks and she surged forward, cutting as wide a berth around the mauler as the terrain would allow. It crouched on all fours, shuddering great heaving breaths. Blood poured from its wound, forming deep black rivulets that seemed to pull in and swallow the moonlight. Marius came into view, circling the creature carefully, sword poised to deliver a killing blow.

The creature moved faster than Kelsia would have believed possible. With a deafening bellow, it swung the bundle of chains in an arc. Kelsia tensed for the blow, gripping tight to Cloud’s main, but it was Shael who was struck. A muffled grunt, a jerk as she came free of Cloud’s back. A stale, fetid odor came from the mauler’s club as it swung past, passing over Kelsia’s head.

Kelsia wheeled Cloud around in time to see Marius plunge his blade into the demon’s heart. Seith had finally reached the top and was hurrying toward her. Dread tightened into a suffocating knot in her chest. She hurried to the edge and looked down, but Shael was nowhere to be seen, only slayers filling the ravine from edge to edge and crawling upward like a many-headed snake. “Shael?” she called down into the darkness.

Seith had finally reached the top and hurried onward. The flames vanished from Marius’ sword as he sheathed it. He snatched Copper’s reins and climbed into the saddle.

“Did you see her?” Kelsia called to Seith, her voice cracking with emotion.

He glanced at her, then gave a second glance. “Shael? What’s happened to her?”

Marius shook his head. “The mauler struck her. I saw her go over the edge. She’s probably unconscious, maybe dead, but it matters not. The slayers will have her now.”

“No!” Kelsia screamed, the knot bursting into a flood of pure terror. “She’s alive. We have to go back for her. Seith, tell him.”

Seith’s shoulders slumped. He would not meet her eyes. “He’s right. We can’t help her.”

The torrent of emotion within her shifted, flaring to anger. “You planned this!” she spat. “I heard you two plotting this morning when you thought I was asleep. You both hated her from the start. You were just looking for a chance to get rid of her!”

“Shut your mouth, girl-“ Marius began.

“Enough,” Seith cut him off. “Shael is beyond our help, Kelsia. We have to save ourselves now. There’s no time left.”

He’s right, you know.

In that moment, Kelsia wanted nothing more than to take the staff and fling it as far as she could. But even that small satisfaction was beyond her. And the magic, if it had ever been there, was as far from her reach as heaven itself.

She was a helpless, broken shell. The river, uncaring, swept her on.

[tamrend]

Chapter 9: Assassin

Maeryn crept down steps worn smooth by centuries of feet passing over the stone. She paused at the bottom and peered down each of the three corridors that branched away, forward, and to the left and right. There was no one in sight. Letting out the breath she had been holding, she turned left and followed the long, low hallway to its end.

She resented having to sneak about like this. The Horadrim had perhaps the best relationship with the Viz-Jaq’taar out of all of the other mage clans, but that didn’t stop individuals from being unnerved by her presence. Some simply ignored her, but some cringed as she passed and a few all but fled upon seeing her in the halls. Just the knowledge of her presence here was disruption enough. It had only taken a few days for word to get out that she was a mage slayer, probably the result of an overly curious servant cleaning her room. Despite the story Pallas had put about, that she was simply here for a long overdue inspection, rumors had begun to circulate that someone among the Horadrim’s inner circle was suspected of corruption and that Maeryn was here to deal with the problem. Rumors had a way of both reflecting and distorting the truth.

As she expected, the dining hall was empty. The evening meal had been eaten and cleaned up hours ago. She walked down the center of row upon row of elegantly carved tables and chairs. Brilliantly rendered tapestries adorned all four walls, lit by the light of torches that never went out. Even at a distance of dozens of paces, she could sense the spells that preserved their colors and repelled dust and vermin, a tingling at the back of her neck. Her gaze lingered on one of them, a grandiose depiction of the binding of Diablo. The great demon stood surrounded by a mass of dead Horadrim. A luminous being hovered in the air next to him, glowing arcs of energy surrounding it and locked in a furious struggle with dark streams of fire flowing forth from the Lord of Terror. Distracted by the angel, Diablo was oblivious to the knot of mages still standing, clustered around one who held aloft a shining yellow stone.

Maeryn smiled and pushed a lock of graying hair away from her face. It was a fanciful depiction, to be sure, based more upon symbolism than actual history. Nowhere did the records mention the appearance of an angel, and Diablo's capture was the result of a carefully laid trap, not the bloody battle this tapestry illustrated. Still, the artistry was exquisite, surely the work of a master.

She passed through the low archway at the end of the hall and into the less imposing environ of the kitchen. The cooks knew her routine by now and would have left a tray for her. It was a sign that she had been here too long. By the plan they had set, she would have left days ago, as soon as Garron returned. With each day that passed, it grew more and more certain that something had gone terribly wrong. Maeryn's fingers itched with the urge to do something. But she knew that going out to search for Garron was exactly the wrong thing to do. If her presence here brought so much attention, a sudden departure would bring even more. She could end up leading their enemies right to what they most wanted to find. Maybe Pallas finally had good news for her today.

"Something on your mind, Slayer?" The cook spoke without pausing in the vigorous kneading of a lump of dough. Tall and broad-shouldered, his olive skin, smooth features and slightly down-turned eyes marked him as Kiirosan. He might have been handsome but for the gap between his front teeth.

Maeryn had been scowling without realizing it. She adopted a pleasant, unassuming smile. “Hello Dagan. The only thing on my mind right now is dinner.”

He dusted the flour from his hands. “That, I can help you with. I figured you coming down and saved a plate. The meat will be cold by now, but there’s a loaf just coming out of the oven. Follow me."

The thick, musky scent of baking bread made her mouth begin to water. Dagan pulled on a pair of thick oven mitts that covered his arms up the the elbow and pulled the bread from the oven with a long-handled, wooden peel. "It will need a bit to cool," he said. "Why not stay and chat while you wait? I'll get the rest of your food."

Maeryn took a stool in a nook where the kitchen workers ate their meals. She grimaced when she saw what Dagan brought, her stomach roiling in protest. "I'm not fond of cold mutton," she explained. "I had some bad meat once that put me in bed for three days."

Dagan shrugged. "I can get you some fruit instead. You won't mind if I eat it?"

"Not at all."

They settled down for the meal, Maeryn pulling open the thick skin of a pomegranate as Dagan carved greasy slices from the leg of lamb. "You're not what I expected," he said suddenly, talking around a mouthful of meat.

She gave him a quizzical look. He swallowed and went on. "For a mage slayer. I mean, you're..."

"Old?" she finished for him. "Forty-eight years, to be exact, and well past my prime. Most have retired by my age, but I’ve never had interest in a family outside the enclave."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. Your kind trains all of your lives to hunt and kill mages. I didn't expect you to be so..." He shrugged and leaned in close. "Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you aren’t really frightening at all."

She laughed. "Odd. No one else here seems to realize that. Don't you think it's strange that you aren't frightened of me? "

He grinned, showing that unfortunate gap again, but he didn't seem at all self-conscious of it. "Perhaps I'm simply too much a fool to be afraid. I've always been drawn to the strange and unknown. That would explain how I wound up here, nearly a thousand miles from my homeland."

"Cooking for the Horadrim," she said, breaking into a smile herself. "Do you ever miss your homeland?"

Dagan stared into the distance for a moment as he chewed. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, wistful voice. "I miss walking in the Imperial gardens. I see by your look that you must have heard of them. The gardens are open to everyone, even outlanders. But whatever you may have heard could not possibly encompass what it is like. Every rock, tree and flower is cared for with meticulous detail. Each element is kept in perfect harmony with every other. Nowhere else have I felt such awe at the timeless beauty of nature. Never have I understood so well what my place is in this world. Some nights I have dreamt of the gardens and wept with longing upon awakening. I know I that one day I must return to Kiiros, if only to settle the restlessness in my soul."

He paused in his story and left her, returning with a tray laden with steaming slices of light brown bread. Maeryn took two of the slices. She ate her food slowly while they chatted about the places that each of them had seen. Dagan suddenly made a face and set the mutton aside. “I think you were right to pass on this rubbish. I’d rather eat cold sand leaper.”

Maeryn grimaced. “You wouldn’t get far. You’d have fainted from the smell by now. Nasty little brutes, and the stench is even worse when they’re alive.”

Dagan's eyes widened. "You’ve been to Lut Gholein, the jewel of the desert? I have heard many stories."

She laughed. "Probably not one of them true. The streets are not paved with gold, nor are the rooftops of the palace coated in diamonds. Though they could be, if the sultan wished it. The richest diamond mines in the world lie within the desert to the west of the city."

“So true, that beauty is often found in the most unlikely of places. And in the most unlikely of people.”

She gave a nervous laugh, unsure how to judge what he meant by the compliment. Just then, footfalls clicked across the floor at the far end of the kitchen. "Dagan?" a gravelly woman's voice called. "I need you to taste this. Now where'd he get to?"

"Excuse me," he said, leaping up from his chair. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "It was nice talking with you, Slayer, but I'm afraid there are dangerous folk about." He hurried to meet the stout women just coming into view and holding a ladle full of brown liquid.

Maeryn finished her bread quickly and walked back through the great, empty dining hall to the stairs. She met an apprentice on her way up, a lanky boy in his early teens. She heard a sharp intake of breath as he dropped his gaze to the ground and scurried to the side to get out of her way.

The door to Pallas' study on the third floor was open. He stood at the window with his back to her, gazing into the black. Rain pattered against the window, blown by gusting wind. "I'm here," Maeryn said.

Pallas turned to face her. Standing more than a head taller than most men, he was a rather imposing figure. He looked old even for a mage, whose life spans ranged from two to three times longer than most mortals. He had changed in the twenty years since she had first met him, but even more, it seemed, in the last few weeks. Now, deep lines etched his face and fatigue lent a slump to his shoulders. For the first time, Maeryn realized how old he really was, how frail. Then he smiled, and suddenly he was his typical, stalwart self again. "Early as usual, I see. It's only half past eleven. Please come in and sit. We have much to discuss."

She stepped in and closed the door behind her. Goosebumps raised along her arms as a privacy spell formed and expanded, passing right through her. It enclosed the room completely, an invisible barrier hovering just inside the physical walls that would prevent sound from passing through. She glanced at the source of the ward, a jewel about the size of a thimble sitting on his desk. Taking his cue, she opened up her mental senses to alert her to the presence of telepathic listening. The scrying shield dimmed them somewhat, but she would know if anyone tried to pierce the shield with psionics. She sat in the high-backed, velvet-covered chair near the fireplace.

When Pallas had seated himself, she leaned forward eagerly. Her voice sounded lifeless with the scrying ward in place. “Your message said it was urgent. Do you have word of Garron and Seith?”

He sighed heavily. “Not the type we had hoped. A message arrived by pigeon today. Apparently the Viz-Jaq’taar escorting Garron never returned to the enclave. Scouts were dispatched to look for them. They searched the land to the northeast of the enclave and found the bodies of four mage slayers and dead hellspawn piled all about them. A few hours away, they found Garron’s body."

Maeryn put her hand to her mouth and then slowly let it fall back to her lap. "Then it's over. We've failed."

"It's my fault," Pallas said, sinking into a chair. "I should not have tried to keep our plan secret. If I had gone to the council with this, they would have put all of the might of the Horadrim behind this task.”

“Or,” she pointed out acerbically, “they might simply have debated the matter endlessly while hellspawn attacked the enclave. You knew we needed to move quickly. You knew the dangers in revealing the Key to the larger community of Horadrim. You made the right decision.”

“My decision may have cost us everything. The only possible conclusion to reach is that we were betrayed from within.”

“By whom? One of your confidants?”

He nodded. “Or just someone very resourceful. Now we are left to try to puzzle through just what this turn of events might mean.” He stood, pulled a book down from its shelf and thumbed through the pages. He placed it open before her. "This is a history of the Binding, written by a little-known scholar who was born nearly three centuries after Diablo was sealed away." He pointed to a passage. "Read what he has to say here."

One of the more persistent legends surrounding the time of the Binding is that of an item of great power, often called the Source Key, an item presumably created to destroy the Prime Evils. A search through the personal journals of Horadrim of the time, along with correspondence and official documents, has turned up no direct references to such an item. However, in a few otherwise unimportant documents, we find mention of an item or a weapon, unnamed in every case. Consider the journal entry of a Horadric mage, probably written the year before Mephisto’s capture. In it, he states:

"The war grows more desperate now. Tyrael assures us that the soulstones will contain the evils, but I wonder if this task is beyond us. Despite our efforts to corner them, the Three still roam the land unchecked. Though I believe that destroying the weapon was the only sane course to take, I wonder if we have thrown away our only hope of defeating the Three. I suppose it will be left to history to judge whether we made the right decision.”

Again, the official histories contain no references to such an item, but the similarities between the mention of this weapon and the myth of the Key are too striking to ignore. One intriguing explanation is that this weapon was so feared that the Horadrim wiped out all reference to it and swore their members to secrecy. The more likely explanation is that there was no Key at all, but that the legend itself grew out of an amalgam of such vague allusions.

Maeryn stopped reading and looked up. “The Horadrim of that time believed that the staff was destroyed.”

Pallas nodded. “Yes. They believed it to be gone. Moreover, it appears that great pains were taken to hide the very fact that it had ever existed. Why? It contradicts what little we know, or think we know, about the Key’s purpose. There is some element still missing. Perhaps there is something to it, something we can use to our advantage. I need you to tell me everything you know about it.”

Maeryn shrugged. There wasn’t much to tell. “The staff was given to us over twelve centuries ago, very close to the time that this book indicates its destruction. It was brought to us by one of your own order. He gave us a simple charge: protect the staff, guard the very knowledge of its existence, never let it fall into the hands of a mage. He would not tell us anything more except to warn us once more that it was imperative that we never reveal the staff to anyone outside of the Viz-Jaq’taar.”

“And you’ve learned nothing more about it in all these years?”

“We’ve maintained our promise up until now, when our hand was forced. We have no interest in magic except what we must know to defend ourselves from it.”

“And so all we have are tantalizing rumors and half-truths. An item we know next to nothing about is now in the hands of an enemy we truly know nothing about. There may be nothing we can do to get the Key back, for now, but perhaps we can learn more about our enemy. This is the task I give you. I want you to find the one that betrayed us.”

Maeryn’s eyes narrowed. She shook her head briskly. “I could not do that in secret. I might need to probe the minds of every mage here. Few could fail to notice the intrusion. There would be an uproar.”

“I am not suggesting you conduct your investigation in secret. The old laws give you the right to inspect any mage clan to the extent that you see fit, with full cooperation. We’ll flush this traitor into the open, expose him for what he is. Then we can begin to understand who or what we are up against.”

Maeryn chewed her lip, remembering vividly her last mage hunt. Pallas had helped her, smoothing over relations with the Viz-jerei so that she could search for the rogue effectively, but she had still been met with deep fear and suspicion by the members of the mage clan. This could hardly be worse, though the stakes were much higher. Moreover, it was her duty. “I’ll do it,” she said. “When do I get started?”

“Tomorrow. In the morning, we'll inform the council that your efforts here are to be intensified. I'll send a servant to wake you.”

The privacy shield vanished, leaving Maeryn's senses suddenly sharpened. Desperate anxiety pulsed into her mind, but it was not coming from Pallas. "There's someone moving about in the hall," she said. She started for the door, but he stopped her.

"Best not draw attention to our meeting here," he explained and opened the door himself.

"Master Pallas!" a youthful female voice cried, a wave of relief going out in the same instant. "I was afraid no one was still awake. Please come quickly. One of the cooks has taken ill."

Pallas nodded for Maeryn to come along. The young servant spared only a puzzled glance at seeing her and ran on ahead, pausing at each landing of the steps to wait anxiously as Pallas descended as quickly as his aged body would allow.

"I found help!" the girl blurted out as they rushed through the dining hall, back to the kitchen that Maeryn had left less than half-an-hour earlier. A cluster of servants had gathered, most of them milling about uselessly. A figure lay on the floor, flanked by two men and a woman crouched low over him. It took her a moment to recognize the one on the floor as Dagan. One of the three was holding a funnel to his mouth, trying to administer a black liquid, while the others held onto his spasming limbs.

"How long has he been like this?" Pallas asked, as the three abandoned their efforts.

One of the men answered. "Just a few minutes, sir."

The woman was the same one who had pulled Dagan away from his meal earlier. She stared down at him as though disbelieving of what she saw. "He got dizzy and confused. He said he was going to his room when he collapsed."

Pallas stood with his palms stretched out over Dagan and chanted softly. Maeryn's skin prickled with gentle warmth. He stopped suddenly, hands dropping to his sides. "He's been poisoned. He is nearly gone. I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do." Almost as soon as he said it, Dagan's convulsions slowed, then stopped altogether.

Maeryn put her fingers to his neck. His pulse fluttered and failed. He was not breathing and his lips had begun to turn blue. "I think it was strychnine," she said, "a very deadly poison. It can be inhaled or..." she swallowed, "or ingested." She knew as soon as she said it where the poison had come from. It had been meant for her, but she had been saved purely by happenstance. Dagan had died because she disliked mutton.

She projected her thoughts into Pallas' mind, relating what she had determined. Someone has been watching me and knows my routine. It seems that my prey has become a hunter as well.



The wolf descended the slope in long, loping strides, its coat glowing silvery-white in the moonlight. It paused at the edge of a great, black expanse and began to pace warily back and forth. This was a dangerous place. It took a tentative step and jumped back at once from the hot surface. Moving laterally, it sniffed along the edge, but then quickly doubled back when the trail disappeared. Finally, it gathered itself, muscles bunching to spring. With a grunt it shot forward, a racing blur of white cutting across an earthly mirror of the midnight sky. It reached the other side with feet grown tender from the scalding heat, but slowed its pace only slightly to keep the trail.

The boiling and smoking pits presented a new obstacle, but one more easily traversed. The wolf had to pant harder to breath through the choking fumes, but ran on. It began to climb a rough slope, the horse scent clouded but still detectable beneath the foul, burning stench of hellspawn.

But there. The wolf paused, distracted by the new scent, human scent. It followed the faint smell back down to the bottom of the slope. It was stronger here, but so were the traces of hellspawn. A human had lain here, if only for a short time. And here, a new trail leading away from the main mass of hellspawn that followed the horses. The new trail doubled back, leading away from the slope, back towards the sheet of black. The human scent was very faint among the hellspawn and would fade away completely soon.

With one last glance at the trail leading north, the wolf set off at a lope, following the second trail.

[tamrend]

Chapter 10: The Portal Stones

“…top of the last rise.” Kelsia jerked upright, grabbing a handful of Cloud’s mane to keep her saddle. They had slowed to a walk to give the horses a rest and she had begun to fall asleep.

“Are you alright?” Seith asked. It took a moment for her to realize that the question was meant for her.

"I'm fine,” she croaked through a dry, raw throat. She would not look at him.

“I can hear them again,” Marius said. Kelsia listened closely. She could just make out the hellspawn’s bestial cries. “They’re gaining ground.”

“Let’s give it another sprint.” And they were off again, forcing the horses once more to run when cold sweat already soaked Cloud’s sides and she panted at a dangerously quick pace. Kelsia prayed silently over and over again for her to stay up, not to fall over and die.

“Seith, we can’t push them any more,” Marius called out.

Seith slowed his mount reluctantly. "I don't know how much farther it is. Marius, you know what to do if they overtake us. Whatever happens, get her to safety."

Kelsia closed her eyes. Just need to rest them, she thought to herself. Cloud would follow the other horses on her own. She slowly relaxed, though it seemed to make every ache throb more painfully. The staff's warmth increased, but so gradually that she didn't even notice.

She was home. She looked around the room with an inexplicable sense of relief, comforted by the sight and feel of her room and her possessions. She looked at Matias' bed, but it was empty and for some reason that worried her a great deal. She leapt out of bed and hurried toward the door, intending to check that her mother was safely sleeping, but movement from the corner of the room caught her eye.

She stopped and peered at the darkness. "Is someone there?" she quavered.

Silence. The shadow in the corner melted and flowed, taking on a vaguely human shape in the center of the room.

She retreated a step. "Who are you?" she asked. She peered at the figure, but her gaze seemed to slide of, never coming to rest long enough to make out what it looked like. "Where is Matias?"

"You are not what I expected."

At the proclamation, she shuddered with sudden dread. This stranger was not supposed to be here. "Get out!" she cried. "Leave me alone!"

Kelsia gasped as the cold closed around her legs, snapping her awake in the space of a heartbeat. The river was a good fifty paces in width and swollen from the melting snow. She began to shiver violently almost at once, her coat and thiefshround offering no protection from the frigid water. Cloud's labored breathing grew even more forced as she fought the swift-flowing current, angling upstream to follow the crossing of the other horses.

She heard splashes and twisted in the saddle to look back. A half-dozen slayers had entered the river but stopped with the water swirling about their waists. One of them bellowed a challenge and cut the air with its axe, but none seemed willing to any farther into the river. More of the creatures appeared on the riverbank, crowding together at the water's edge. A flash of heat from the staff made Kelsia look closer. One of them had leveled a massive crossbow at her.

Kelsia threw herself flat against Cloud's neck and felt the bolt whip past, just above her head. Had she still been upright, it would have struck her in the face. Seith whipped around in the saddle with wand in hand. Kelsia felt something then, a kind of shifting that culminated in the focus of intense heat that Seith threw toward the slayer. It raised the crossbow to block the flames, but that seemed to be exactly what Seith had intended. The weapon was engulfed, blazing brightly, though the slayer refused to drop it until all that was left was a sooty lump.

Cloud's hooves struck solid ground and began to lift her up out of the freezing water. She climbed the bank unsteadily, her whole body quivering. Kelsia's legs felt so cold that they burned, but were numb to everything else. She didn't think she could sit a saddle very much longer like this.

They forged through the undergrowth, slowing to a walk once the river was well out of sight. Kelsia could not guess how long they went on like that, her shivering atop her plodding mount, keeping her eyes open by force of will alone. She was so exhausted that she did not at first notice that they had stopped. They stood at the base of a cliff and before them was a shallow cave, little more than a crevice with an outcropping of rock overhead, but enough to shield them from the wind.

Marius and Seith began working to remove the tack and saddlebags from the horses. Kelsia could not quite believe that they were truly making camp. Surely the slayers would be catching up to them soon. Seith must have some reason to be sure that they would not be arriving anytime soon. She swung her leg over Cloud's back and lowered herself to the ground. When they touched down, her feet burned as though set aflame. Grimacing against the pain, she worked at the fastenings of her saddlebags with cramped, senseless fingers. She thought ruefully that the job might have been easier if she had been able to put down the staff.

"I'll get the rest," Marius said, stepping up to remove the saddle.

Kelsia stared at him with vague resentment, too tired to maintain real anger. In the end, she held her tongue and dug through her saddlebags for her spare clothes. The bags themselves had gotten soaked in the crossing, but her clothes had managed to get through only a bit damp. Her bedroll, though, had soaked through completely. It squished wetly when she unrolled it and dropped it over a rock to dry.

She gathered her spare tunic and breeches, intending to steal away to change in privacy, but realized that she was unlikely to find any here. Their cave looked out over a shallow rocky slope to a tree line hundreds of paces below. She doubted that she could make it down there and back again in her present state. Hoping they would take the hint, she laid her clothes out carefully.

Marius finished unpacking Cloud and moved off, picking his way down the slope. Seith gestured and a flame sprang into being overhead. He sat and began to pick through his saddlebags, sorting the contents.

Anger rekindled itself within Kelsia. She gritted her teeth, unwilling to speak to him, to ask him to leave. How dare he make her ask? Face burning, she turned her back to him and pulled her tunic over her head. Switching the staff between her hands, she bent to pick up the dry one and quickly pulled it on. She stole a glance over her shoulder at Seith, who was still sorting his belongings.

Now she was positively livid. Let him just sit there and act as though he had seen nothing! Still facing away, she peeled her wet breeches away and dried herself with a spare blanket that had escaped getting wet. She drew on the dry clothing and then turned to stare at him. He frowned at a bit of sopping bread and tossed it aside, still engrossed in his belongings. She stood glaring at him until he finally glanced up. He looked mildly taken aback but gave no indication of wrongdoing. Shrugging, he separated out a set of clothes for himself, stood, and began to undress.

With a yelp, Kelsia spun around and fixed her gaze on the wall of the cave. Her face burned even hotter than before. She could hear him wringing the water from his clothes and wondered if he had finished. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You are clothed?” she asked stiffly.

“Yes.” There was a note of confusion in his voice.

She turned to face him and spoke in a cold, level voice. “Have you no sense of decency?”

He stared at her, mouth open. “I, uh-“

It was in that moment that Marius returned, a huge bundle of wood clutched in his arms. He looked from one to the other of them with eyebrows raised. It appeared for a moment that he might say something, but, thinking better of it, he dropped the wood on the ground and began to build a fire.

“Well?” Kelsia asked again.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Couldn’t you see that I was changing my clothes? Marius noticed. He had the good sense to offer me a moment of privacy.”

“But you--you didn't say anything at all. And Marius was just going out to gather wood.”

Marius sounded amused. “Women don’t always speak with words, but I find it’s still best to heed what they say.”

“No, you have the wrong idea,” Seith said. He put his hand to his head in belated embarrassment. “I'm sorry. It’s so easy to forget that things are different for you country folk. In my culture, there is no shame in the human body.”

“And what about life!” she snapped, her anger coming into full force. “Do you feel shame when you throw it away?”

The words hit him like the blow of a hammer. He swallowed, his confidence melting completely. “Please, Kelsia, believe me. If there had been any other way--“

“I don’t want to hear that it was the only way,” she cried raggedly. “She was my friend. She was all I had left. And she was braver than any of us. She didn’t deserve to…” Her words were cut short by a sob. She sank to her knees, a fist clenched up against the pain in her gut. She was going to be sick if she couldn't make herself breathe deeper. “I'm the one that caused all of this. It should have been me.”

A hand rested on her shoulder. Marius' tone was surprisingly gentle. "It's not your fault, Kelsia. Shael knew what she was doing when she chose to come with you. You are right about her, though. She was one of the bravest warriors I've ever met."

"We've both lost loved ones," Seith said quietly. "Garron was the only family I ever had. I've tried to stay true to our task and not to let you see it. It has not been easy."

She couldn't understand how that should make it any easier to bear, but it did, knowing that she was not alone in her suffering. "It's just not right," she protested, brushing her tears from her face. "I don't even understand why I'm here.” She looked at the staff disdainfully. “So many people have died for this."

"You’re here because you chose to meet the challenge that was placed before you,” Seith said gently. “You did what you thought was right.”

The anger had burned out of her, but questions still needed to be asked. “What did it mean, then, when you and Marius were talking that morning?”

Seith sighed heavily. “We were talking about you, Kelsia. Perhaps I understated the seriousness of what has happened when I spoke to you before. Women do not use magic, and as far as anyone alive can tell, they never have. I can’t predict how the other Horadrim will react when they discover how the staff has affected you. Marius believes that I should try to divine what this bond means, but I am wary of attempting such probing. I’ve never seen magic like this before.”

“I still say it is worth the risk,” Marius broke in, with some heat. “What if they decide that she has been corrupted?”

Seith flinched at that word as though stung. “Pallas will protect her, Marius. I am sure of it. I have made my decision. Let that be the end of it.”

"Well," Marius said briskly, in a manner that suggested it would not be settled so easily, "let’s get a look at that map then, shall we?"

Seith composed himself quickly. "Yes, of course." Beads of water stood up on the outside of the map case, but it was dry when Seith withdrew it. He unrolled it carefully and placed stones at the corners to hold it flat on the floor of the cave. “Here is the volcano,” he said, pointing. He looked at Kelsia and added, “The burning mountain. This is the road.” His finger snaked along northward. “We diverged from the road here, some eight leagues south of where we are now. We crossed the river somewhere near this area.” He pointed to a spot near the northern bank of a river. “As you can see, we went west for a time before we turned north again, traveling through the wilderness. The road cuts east around a tributary of the river and heads northeast for six leagues before reaching a ford here. That ford is at least eight leagues west of us. That means that the hellspawn will likely need to backtrack and travel a distance of twenty leagues to reach us.”

“Unless they find another way to cross the river,” Marius prompted.

“Unlikely. The river is deep and swift this far west. We will have a full night of rest before they even approach this region, and then they still have to find us.”

Marius nodded, satisfied. “You did well.”

“Why didn’t they just swim across?” Kelsia asked.

Seith shrugged. “Slayers were built for fighting and little else. They can’t swim because they do not float. They would sink right to the bottom and drown.”

“Then we’re safe for a while,” she breathed, sinking to the ground with her back against the wall. She watched Marius strike sparks from his flint into the bed of dry needles at the base of the woodpile. She imagined how nice it would feel to be warm again.

She lay in bed, blinking up at the moon. She could see it right through rock above. She stretched out her arm lazily. “Come to me,” she said and waited. The great silver disc began to grow in size, slowly at first. The ground began to tremble then, the walls and ceiling crumbling away. The moon, no longer an orb stretched across the entire sky. A roar of sound filled the air, growing louder and louder. Earth and bone shattered alike. She screamed--

“Who are you?”

Her room was whole once more, but now a figure stood in front of her. The stranger made her feel very uncomfortable, someone who had walked into her home without bothering to knock. “I’m…” she thought for a moment. The answer eluded her, but she concentrated and brought it up out of her mind. “My name is Kelsia. Who are you?”

The figure regarded her silently, as though unimpressed by the answer. “You really don’t know what I am?” it said at last.

She shook her head from side to side.

“Do you know that you are dreaming?”

“Oh,” she said, recognizing the truth of that. She willed her feet to lift off of the floor and laughed in delight as she began to float. “So you're just something I've imagined,” She said.

“I was someone, once. Long before you were born. I am something else now. A voice in your head, perhaps?”

She gasped. “That was you? But where did you come from?”

Kelsia opened her eyes and then closed them again at once. She needed to go back to that dream. But try as she might, she could not make herself fall asleep again. Groaning in frustration, she sat up. During the night, someone had moved her onto a dry bedroll and covered her with blankets. She looked to her left where deep, even breathing came from Seith's motionless body.

The fire had died down to a soft glow of embers, but she left its side reluctantly, stepping out into the biting chill. The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but there was plenty of light to see her way. Marius nodded in greeting as she emerged. He sat in the middle of a haphazard pile of boulders that would afford him cover if he needed it. She descended the gradual slope to the privacy of the trees. Something seemed amiss, but after a moment she had it. Though it was still bitterly cold, there was no snow on the ground here.

She returned quickly and sat shivering in front of the fire with her coat drawn around her. Her thoughts returned to her dream, but she was dismayed to find that it had begun to fade from her mind. She could remember enough, though. The shapeless figure she had seen was also the voice in her head. But what did it mean, really? There had to be some connection with the staff, of that she was certain.

Feeling restless and unsatisfied, she cast about for something to distract herself. Her gaze fell on the map case lying on the ground next to Seith. She deliberated with herself for a moment but decided there was no harm in taking a look. She unfurled its length and quickly found the markings that Seith had pointed out last night to indicate their position. They had been traveling almost due north since Dalmers Ferry. She could see the path that they had taken, moving towards the edge of the map that Seith always positioned upward.

She squinted, thinking hard. If that way was north, then there, to the right, must be east. Yes, that made sense, because the ocean was to the left. But which of the markings marked the Horadrim's stronghold? She settled on one place that looked more detailed and imposing than the others. She spread her fingers wide to measure the distance between Dalmers Ferry and where they were now, then counted how many lengths it was to that place. "Five," she mouthed, dismayed. It had taken them six days to travel to where they were now. She counted to six five times on her fingers, putting a mark in the dirt each time she reached ten. Three marks looked up at her when she finished. That was an entire month! And that was assuming they could find a direct path overland.

Kelsia frowned at the map, wondering if her count might be wrong. Something caught her eye that she had missed up until now. A scattering of symbols showed up here and there, dotting large regions of the map. She studied them, curious about what they could be, since they were definitely not cities or towns. In fact, a few of them actually lay within towns, though painstakingly marked out to call attention to them.

Something about the way they were spread nagged at her. She turned the map sideways, but that made it no clearer. It was a pattern, no doubt, but a very complicated one. A vague memory suddenly stood out in her mind, of looking through the rails of a fence at a field beyond, of seeing the rails seem to split and overlap each other. She let her gaze drift, focusing on a point in the distance, well beyond the map. Holding that focus, she looked again. Suddenly, she saw it. A pattern played itself out across the whole of the map. The symbols were points on the edges of triangles, which in turn grew inward and outward of the edges of larger and larger triangles. The smaller triangles were well defined, but as they got larger, the points along the edges became more and more rounded. The largest one of all traversed the entire map, seeming to stretch even well beyond it. Many of the smaller triangles were only partly formed and a great deal were missing altogether.

Keeping the picture of the pattern in her mind, she woke Seith. "What are these?" she asked him.

He stared blearily at the map for a moment. "Portal stones. Those symbols mark the placement of the stones."

She explained to him the odd pattern she had seen, his expression becoming more and more amazed as he listened. It took him a bit longer to see it, but when he did, he stared, openmouthed, at the map. "Do you realize, Kelsia, that we may be the only people alive in Sanctuary that have seen this? The distribution of the portal stones has always seemed random, or set to the whims of convenience."

"Why do the bigger ones have curved edges?" she asked.

"I suspect they follow the curvature of the planet," he said. "Triangles inscribed on a sphere appear to curve when you spread the surface flat."

"Curvature?" she asked, shaking her head. "But the land is flat."

Seith barked a laugh. "Well, that is a discussion for another time. Just trust me that it makes sense."

"What about these missing ones?" she asked. "Why aren't they on the map?"

"Forgotten, I'd expect. It's nearly impossible to destroy them. Only a fraction of the stones are located anywhere useful, actually. You have to know exactly where you are going to use a portal stone. This pattern may hold a clue as to why there are so many apparently worthless portal locations."

Kelsia studied the map again. "You know, some of them are right near the path we've been following. It’s not on the map, but there should be one here--"

Seith snatched up the map. "That's about half a dozen leagues west of here. If the terrain permits, we could get there before nightfall."

"I thought you said the portal stones were being watched."

But he was grinning widely. "I said we suspected they might be watched. And we're beyond worrying about that now. I believe it is well worth the risk. Just a short trip overland and we could be home tonight." She followed him out through the cave's mouth. "Marius," he called, "Let's mount up. We've got a new plan."

They rode west across deep wilderness. They tried at first to make their way overland due west, but after numerous backtracks and long detours to get around impassable terrain, they turned south and followed the riverbank, which afforded them much swifter travel at the risk of being closer to the place where the hellspawn had lost the chase. Even so, they had to travel well past sundown.

"Quiet," Marius hissed suddenly. He dismounted and knelt to examine the ground. He stood and gazed ahead at the screen of foliage. "Stay here and keep your eyes open, both of you.” He moved quickly but very carefully, making no sound despite the ground cover of needles and twigs. Within moments, he had vanished.

Kelsia leaned over in the saddle towards Seith to whisper. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “The stone should be just ahead. Marius must have seen something.”

She waited for more, but Seith turned his attention back to the fore, watching for Marius. She had just begun to grow worried when he appeared once more, crouched low to the ground and moving swiftly toward them. “I don’t think I was seen,” he gasped. “The stone is being guarded. Two dozen hellspawn, as near as I could see, encamped around it. Mostly goatmen, but I spotted something else there. I didn’t recognize it.”

“What could hellspawn be doing here?” Seith wondered aloud. “Can you get me close enough to see?”

Marius ran a finger along the hilt of his sword, considering. “It’s risky. If the wind should change, the goatmen will be on us in seconds.”

“This stone is our best chance to get home. If I can get a sense of what we’re facing, perhaps we can come up with a plan for getting to it. I’m willing to take the risk.” He turned to Kelsia. “You’ll wait here with the horses.”

“No,” Marius said, surprising both of them. “Kelsia is defenseless without us. It is folly to leave her here alone. If we go, she must come with us.”

“You’re right, of course,” Seith said, taken aback. “But you’ll have to be extremely quiet,” he warned her.

Kelsia nodded numbly and dismounted. The last thing she wanted was to get closer to hellspawn. Too, she regretted leaving Copper and Cloud alone. Hellspawn would likely go after horseflesh as well as any other kind of meat.

Marius moved more slowly this time, motioning with his hands to indicate the path they should take or point out ground to be avoided. The terrain ahead appeared to drop steeply away and as they approached, Marius dropped to all fours and urged them to do the same. Nearing the edge, he dropped to his belly and pulled himself along on his elbows. It was an awkward way to move while holding the staff, but she managed it and drew abreast of Marius, on his left side. The heat pouring off of it now broiled her right side.

The portal stone lay below them. Kelsia was surprised by how plain it was, nothing more than an irregular rectangle with a large circular symbol etched onto its surface. A few paces away from it stood the hellspawn Marius had been talking about, an imposing figure at least half again as tall as a man. A pair of massive horns jutted up and out from a wide bull’s head. Most of the body below was covered in heavy armor and it carried a pair of enormous axes, one for each hand. It swung its massive head in an arc, surveying the land, then moved on, patrolling a tight area surrounding the portal stone. In a ring further out, similarly bestial humanoid forms milled about. These were obviously the goatmen Marius had referred to, resembling nothing so much as goats that walked on two legs, but all of them armed with spears and polearms.

Marius tapped her on the shoulder and began to slide backwards, motioning her to do the same. “Wait,” Seith whispered, still lying at the edge.

Kelsia pushed herself carefully back into place. A point of blue light expanded into a slash in midair. Quickly, it widened into a perfect oval. She blinked, trying to wrap her mind around what she was seeing. Flashes of light danced along its edge, lancing to the ground occasionally with a white arc. Strangest of all, it appeared to have no thickness.

The bovine creature had ceased its pacing and watched the object intently. A hand and foot appeared in the air in front of the oval, followed an instant later by a hunched body. Seith stifled a surprised intake of breath at the appearance of the slayer. It waddled out to meet the other creature and exchanged noises in a grating language. Then, with what appeared to be a few quick sniffs of the air, the slayer turned back to the oval and disappeared once more.

A tug on her ankle reminded Kelsia of the precariousness of their situation. No one spoke as they hurried back to the horses, but she could already guess from the mood of the two men that the quick return that Seith had been hoping for was not likely to happen.

They found their mounts grazing near where they had been left. “What’s going on?” Kelsia asked.

“On your horse,” Seith said shortly. “Let’s get moving and I’ll explain.”

They turned north, Marius in the lead to pick their trail. “We cannot depend upon the portal stones,” Seith told her, “at least not the stones in this area.”

“Something surprised you,” Kelsia prompted.

Seith thought for a moment before answering. “The portal stones present somewhat of a problem, don’t you think? What about borders between countries? How could any nation be safe if an army could reach nearly any point on the continent, perhaps even the whole world, by pouring through a portal like the one we saw? There are limits, surely, with a passage only large enough for a single person at a time, but even a few hundred soldiers could bring down a king, given the right placement.”

Kelsia nodded, acknowledging the point.

“Whoever created the stones apparently took that into account. Normally, travelers can only go to stones that they have visited before. It is possible for one person to open a portal that others can travel through, but all of the most critical portal stone locations have either been irrevocably destroyed or are guarded with the utmost care. The point is that there is one other very important limitation placed upon the stones. Hellspawn can never use them.”

He waited a moment for this to sink in. “What we witnessed back there should not be possible, but it explains much. It tells us, for example, how hellspawn were able to arrive at the enclave before us. They did not need to track us. They had already anticipated our path. Perhaps they simply waited for us down every possible course.”

“Then no path is safe,” Kelsia said quietly. If Seith heard her, he didn’t bother to respond.

When they did stop, well into the night, they did not build a fire. The cold, stale hunk of bread that Marius handed her barely took the edge off of her hunger. A far deeper void weighed on her, though, as she lay down for bed. For just the briefest moment, she had forgotten that Shael was no longer with them, and turned, expecting to find her friend ready to help her brush and rub down Cloud. “I can’t do this without you,” she whispered, tears burning across her cheeks.

I’m sorry this had to happen, but you can’t give up, Kelsia. It was the first time the voice had used her name.

“Tell me what you are or get out of my head,” she whispered fiercely.

That seemed to be enough to break the ever tenuous connection, leaving her to cry alone until sleep finally took her.

[Ron_Lugge]

I thought there used to be more about Shael in there -- what happened after she fell.

Or did you just not remember to post that, or something?

[tamrend]

Oh, there was one more chapter, but I've had to make some changes. All in all, I've erased more of Chapter 12 than I've written, having two false starts that weren't going well. Also, searching for a job and frantically trying to grow my business clientele so I don't NEED a new job have sapped my time. I'm in my happy place now, though, and a few thousand words in. It won't be much longer until chapter 11 (already posted before the crash, but with some changes) and chapter 12 (all new) go up.

[skilledlord]

immensely long, however, i'll read it when i got time seems cool :wave:

[tamrend]

Chapter 11: Enemy

Pain exploded in her side. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged from her parched, swollen throat. She rolled and curled up instinctively, drawing her arms around herself for protection. The next blow connected with her shoulder blade. Red light flashed across her vision. She tensed for the next blow.

“Get ub.”

Grime caked Shael's eyes, making it an effort to open her lids. Her throat rasped when she swallowed. A three-toed, clawed foot stood in front of her face. Slowly, with her neck giving little jolts of pain at the movement, she looked upward into the snarling face of a slayer.

“Get ub now!” The foot drew back for another kick.

She struggled to stand, but her arms would not support her weight. She felt the wind of the foot approaching an instant before it landed. This time, she was lifted from the ground and sprawled on her back more than a pace away. Waves of pain coursed through her, so intense that for a moment she could only lay there, gritting her teeth and staring up at the sky. She turned her head just in time to vomit a stream of pale liquid onto the ground.

Coarse laughter sounded off to one side. She turned her head by a fraction and looked from the corner of one eye. There were three of them. One munched slowly on the remains of a small animal, but it was to the demon next to it that her eyes were drawn. Slung casually over one shoulder of the creature was her bow. The patterned snakeskin covering was unmistakable.

A shadow loomed over her. The slayer slowly lowered the point of a sword. Cold steel brushed her cheek and came to rest against her neck. Shael’s breath came in quick, short gasps. She stopped, forced a deep inhale. She was going to die if she didn’t do something.

She flinched as the blade moved downward. The tip came to rest on her heart. She stared up at the slayer, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. The demon tensed and made a quick motion with the sword. Shael closed her eyes. The only sensation was a kind of tugging and moist warmth over the lower half of her body.

Laughter erupted from the slayers. Shael opened her eyes. There was no blood, only a rip down the front of her tunic. She hurriedly covered herself and then realized what had caused them to laugh. Her breeches were soaked through.

Shael gritted her teeth, rage and embarrassment finally overcoming her fear. She propped herself on her elbows and rolled to one side. Fighting down a wave of nausea, she got first one, then the other knee under her. With every muscle in her body protesting in pain, she planted one foot on the ground, but could go no further. Her legs would not lift her.

A pair of hands seized her by the shoulders. She looked up defiantly, expecting more violence from the slayers, but the one who had moments ago attacked her merely lifted her and deposited her roughly onto her feet. “Come, hooman,” it grunted, motioning her ahead.

Each step was an agony, but she followed. The other three hellspawn fell in behind her, keeping pace.

As she walked, she explored her left side gingerly with her fingers. The skin was tender in a wide patch that wrapped around to her back. She grimaced as bones ground together and a lance of scalding pain shot through her. So that’s what a broken rib feels like, she thought wryly.

She knew that that could be trouble. She’d heard of a man dying once from a broken rib. He was able to work despite the pain, but then he began to cough up blood. He died soon after that. The story went that the jagged edge of bone must have pierced his lung. If he had simply stayed in bed until the injury had healed, he might have lived. She would have to be very careful or she might suffer the same fate.

That brought her to thoughts of escape. She had to get away. She had to find the others. With her injuries, outrunning her captors was simply impossible. And from what Seith and Marius had said about them, they were excellent trackers, capable of following a scent as well as visible traces like footprints. It was quite a prickly problem, but one that she intended to find a solution to. When the right opportunity arose, she would take it.

The first march must have gone for hours. The slayers did not follow a road or path of any sort, just bulled right through whatever obstacle stood in their way. Shael had a harder time of it. Scrapes and scratches soon crisscrossed her arms where twigs and brambles had caught her. Any time she showed signs of slowing, a hand would push her or drag her forward by the collar. It was sometime late in the morning when they came to an abrupt stop. “Rest, hooman,” the lead slayer barked at her.

Shael collapsed to the ground. She felt like one of the stringed puppets she had seen at the marketplace in Dalmers Ferry: just lying there, prone, unable to move until the doll’s master picked it up and forced it to dance once more. A terrible void of hopelessness suddenly welled up inside of her. She couldn’t escape. She could scarcely move. When the slayers decided it was time, they would kill her and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

And with that came an even darker thought. She faced it grimly, forcing herself to look despair head on. What if the others were already dead? What if she were the only one left alive?

Then I have nothing left, and nothing left to lose but my life. Oddly, the revelation gave her strength. It might be that nothing she could do would make a difference, but at least she would be able to choose when and how she died.

Shael studied the demons from her resting place in the grass. The one she had identified in her mind as the leader made a circuit of the small clearing and then walked off into the trees alone. Her gaze roamed to the demon that had stolen her bow. It clumsily fitted an arrow to the string and drew it back halfway, hindered by its hunched body. The string struck the slayer in the forearm and sent the arrow skittering away, but the beast gave a satisfied grunt and reshouldered it. Shael clenched and unclenched her fingers, her mood alternating between fury and pleasure as she contemplated what she would do when she managed to get a hold of her bow. Then she smiled as the thunder strike from the lost arrow gave all three of her captors a moment of alarm.

It was actually quite difficult to tell the demons apart. It was as if the same twisted being had just been copied over and over endlessly. One of the two that remained carried a huge mace and the other had a whip and a short sword at its belt. Either one could kill her in an eye blink.

The leader returned and grumbled in the demon tongue to the others. The mace-wielding slayer gave a terse reply and trotted off back the way they came. Shael felt that she had at last regained her vigor, but she remained prone. She wasn't certain what she intended to do, but she wanted it to be a surprise. Maybe if they thought she were dead.... She took, slow, shallow breaths. Try not to blink. Wait.

The one with the whip approached first. She saw him moving just on the edge of her vision, coming up to her from the direction in which the top of her head lay. She itched to turn her head and get a better look, but she steeled herself to lie absolutely still. Her mind raced with possibilities, plans. She would have one chance only, one opportunity to earn her freedom. She thought of the short sword tucked into the belt of the demon. Could she manage to reach it in time?

No. The weapon she needed was right there in her hand. Her fingers rested along the stone’s jagged edge where it jutted up from the ground. A firm grip and a strong upward pull, plus a bit of luck…it was a damned foolish plan, but it was the only one she had.

The footsteps stopped. A coil of the whip touched the ground in front of her face, was snapped upward again.

Shael scrabbled at the rock, tearing it out of the earth. With all the force she could muster, she drove it into the unprotected groin of the demon. Ignoring the hot flash of pain from her side, she clambered up to her knees. The demon stumbled back a step, but its belt was still within reach. Her fingers brushed the leathery skin of the demon’s abdomen as they curled around the bone hilt.

Fire lapped the back of her neck. Her whole body jerked, and her hand ripped away from the weapon hilt. She crumpled to the ground, her knees and elbows become jelly. The sides of her neck tickled where blood flowed. She waited for the next searing blow to follow.

It didn’t land. Instead, the scaly hand gripped the back of her tunic and gave a great tug. Cloth ripped and stitches tore down both sides of the garment. The creature tugged once more, snapping the last few strings holding the two pieces together. A single tug tore away what was left of her breeches, leaving her with just a few tatters. Only then did the whip lash out once more.

She rolled away from the blow, but another, harsher pain erupted in her shoulder, forcing her down on her stomach again. A booted foot pinned her to the ground in time for the next lash. She clamped down her teeth, trying to hold onto the screams that burned in her throat. Finally, a tortured wail forced its way out of her. The whip strikes, steady until now, paused, giving her a moment to draw in a few sobbing breaths.

“Please, no more,” she rasped. It was all she could get out before the whip struck once more. It went on like that, the scalding sting of each blow punctuating the dull, crushing pain that throbbed with every heartbeat. Each scream earned her a moment of respite, but a moment only. She knew they were toying with her, breaking what little remained of her pride, but that soon ceased to matter. If she had possessed the strength, she would have begged them to stop. Tears streamed down her cheeks to mingle with the blood soaking into the ground.

When it was finally over, she could only cling to consciousness. The flogging had stopped soon after she grew too weak to cry out. They hauled her to her feet, but not even the threat of more pain could get her legs to support her. Finally, they resorted to throwing her body over the shoulder of one of the demons and started off again.

She passed in and out of waking for a time, the inscrutable shadows of the forest floor yielding to the still deeper black of unconsciousness. She dreamed that the others had come for her. Marius’ sword blazed as he cut down the leader. Seith cast streams of orange fire from his wnad. And Kelsia wielded sizzling white lightning from the end of her staff. “Look, Shael,” she cried when the slayers were dead. “Look, I’m Horadrim now!”

Pain, red and angry, brought her up out of the depths. Hands grasped her shoulders and set her on unsteady feet once more. She stared at the ground, fighting the sense of loss at the dream’s departure. Something prodded her shoulder, a weapon perhaps, but if there was any pain, it was swallowed up in the fire already racing across her back. But she did take a step, and then another, her fear of further punishment keeping her on her feet when her strength would otherwise have failed her.

The next time they stopped, Shael fell on her side, panting, and was certain she would not be able to rise again. Hunger gnawed at her, but none of the slayers deigned to offer her food. Watching them forage, she decided it was perhaps just as well they didn’t. The demons’ diet appeared to consist of whatever forest animals they could catch without too much effort, sometimes stripped of fur and feathers before being consumed, sometimes devoured whole.

Shael watched them eat, too tired and too hurting to have any room left for disgust. It’s a wonder I’m even alive, she thought, remembering what Marius had said about hellspawn’s tendency to eat the dead. And that got her to thinking. There must be a reason. All day, their path had scarcely wavered from southeast. They were taking her somewhere, to meet someone perhaps. But why? What could drive them besides hunger and bloodshed?

Shael half-rolled, half-pushed herself into a sitting position. There was little left of her tunic but tattered strips, but she somehow managed to tie the bits together enough to cover her chest. It was silly, she knew, to worry about modesty at a time such as this, but at least it was something to do, something to make her feel more in control of herself and her situation.

She glanced at the slayer that had been posted to guard her. It was the one that had taken her bow. Its eyes glittered from beneath its helmet, never wavering from their focus on her. There was hunger in that gaze, a feverish, unquenchable craving of darkness and depravity. It hated her as no earthly being could ever hate. She could sense the creature straining against whatever force held it back from indulging its violent urge.

The moment broke suddenly. She could feel the slayer's eyes leave her. Its head made small, jerking movements and snuffling sounds came from beneath its helmet. It was sniffing the air.

There was silence for a few moments as the demons looked at each other. The leader gazed northwest, its hands straying to the pair of double-headed axes hanging from its belt. It tested the edges of each blade idly with its thumbs, not flinching when one drew blood. Finally, it spoke a single word in its own language. The four of them sprang into action, dropping their meals to stow their few possessions. The mace-wielding slayer grabbed her roughly by the arms and hoisted her over its shoulder. In moments, they were off, racing over difficult terrain without hesitation or misstep.

Shael bounced against the demon's back with each long stride, watching the ground rush by beneath her. They ran for what must have been leagues, until even the unflagging strength of the demons appeared to be reaching its limit. Their pace had slowed considerably, and from the sound of its breathing, the slayer that carried her seemed about to collapse from exhaustion.

Once, from far off in the distance came lonely, warbling sound that rose up and trailed mournfully away. Moments passed and another cry came, this one just as far away, but off to the south. Shael paid the sounds no mind. It was only the howling of wolves.

And then, rather abruptly, they stopped. Shael was lowered to the ground with uncharacteristic gentleness. What she saw chilled her at a time she had been certain nothing more could faze her. Human corpses, dozens of them, then hundreds, moved to gather around her. All in varying states of decay, their empty sockets and cloudy eyes gazed at her, through her--she couldn’t tell. The slayers backed away, leaving her alone at the center of the circle. She almost felt sorry to have them gone.

As one, the undead moved, making a gap on one side. Shael waited and soon a single figure appeared, moving toward her with an unhurried step. The walking corpses stared at her stoically, unaffected by the appearance of the newcomer. When he reached the inside of the circle, for Shael could see that it was a man and not a demon or zombie, the undead closed in once more.

He stopped only a few paces away and regarded her silently. He was tall, reaching almost as high as Master Graegor, though with nowhere near the same bulk. His skin had the same olive tone as Shael’s, but there was an odd slanting to his dark brown eyes. Something about his face struck her as wrong, as if he were wearing a mask. His clothes were plain but richly made, and bits of jewelry glittered from beneath gaps in his long travel cloak. One hand rested on the curving headpiece of a slender white staff. Looking at him, she was suddenly certain that everything was going to be fine. There was no need to be frightened. It would all soon be over.

“Tell me your name, girl.” The voice flowed like silk, reaching right down into her bones and pulling out the answer before she could even think to stop it.

“Shael.” She tried to form a question of her own, but it was like trying to grasp water.

A smile touched his lips. “Your name is a word of power. How quaint. You there.” He addressed one of the slayers. “Bring me her weapon.”

The demon stepped forward, its shoulders bending low and its eyes to the ground as it walked. It proffered Shael’s bow. The man slowly ran his hand over it. He smiled again, but this time more coldly. “So it was you. You killed my hound.”

Shael stared at him, uncomprehending. A faint memory jogged loose. Snapping jaws. A creature just as at home on four feet as on two.

“An experiment of mine, that,” he went on. “An attempt to quantify and expand the untapped powers of the druids. In terms of its intended purpose, it was a dismal failure. Still, he did prove useful, from time to time.”

“Who are you?” she asked, fighting through the muddiness of her thoughts.

“You have a strong will. Who I am doesn’t really matter. Your identity, however, was of great concern to me. But you are not the one I am interested in.”

The sense of well-being abruptly dissipated, letting fear sweep in once more. She looked wildly around at the ranks of undead, the same creatures that had attacked them in Dalmers Ferry. “You’re the one that’s been trying to kill us! You’re after the staff.”

“We’ve been looking for it for a very long time. Long before your father’s grandfather was born. It’s true we’ve had to take extreme measures, but you cannot even begin to imagine what is at stake. Sacrifices had to be made for the good of all.”

“Sacrifices?” Shael demanded, aghast. “You’ve killed hundreds of people. We saw the assassin enclave. Everyone slain and dragged away for food.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “That was a mistake. We miscalculated your arrival at the enclave, having no knowledge of the blizzard. Unfortunately, most demons have little capacity for independent thought. When they did not find the staff, they created an ambush which you obviously were able to see through and escape. Had we known you would be delayed, we would have staged an ambush further south and those lives would not have been lost.”

Shael could not believe what she was hearing. What could possibly justify such meaningless destruction? “What is it you’re really after?”

The man looked at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry you were drawn into this. Good bye, Shael.” He turned and began to walk away. The circle of undead broke and followed.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Shael cried, scrabbling up to her hands and knees. She cried out as hands grasped hold of each arm and dragged her backward, kicking at the air. She relaxed and looked up into the face of one of the slayers that held her. The ravenous hate showed on its face, but this time there was no restraint holding it in check. “Wait!” she cried to the figure still moving away in the other direction. He stopped as though he had heard her, but then he waved his hand, bringing a brilliant blue shimmer into existence. He stepped into it and disappeared without looking back.

“Wait,” Shael called, more faintly. The undead were funneling through after, flashes of white signaling each disappearance.

She was released so abruptly that she fell to the ground once more. The four stood over her, watching her. She was going to die. They intended to kill her and eat her. And then a greater terror dawned as she saw a whip being lowered, coil by coil, to the ground. No, they intended to torture her first.

With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had, she lunged up to her feet. Pain flared across her cheek and she went blind as her eyes closed involuntarily. She lost her footing and went down. Agony pierced her chest, so intense that she was barely even aware of the whip striking her on the back again, again. She only wanted for it to be over. Surely death was a better fate than this.

And then, it was as if the fear and hurt had gone as deeply as they could go and had finally burned themselves out. What was left was anger, a spark that fanned into full-blown rage. She wouldn’t be the plaything of these murderous brutes. She…would…not.

She rolled onto her back in time for the next blow to land, cutting a deep gash across her stomach, but her fingers tightened around the thin cord of leather and hung on. The slayer tried to wrench it from her grasp, but only succeeded in tugging her across the ground.

The leader approached, tugging an axe loose from its belt. Relief washed through Shael, though she had the presence of mind to keep her grip. She was growing weaker, each breath harder and more painful than the last. The demon raised the axe high and stumbled. Its free hand lifted to touch the black shaft that now protruded from its neck. Blood poured through its fingers.

From somewhere unseen, a deep growl resonated with the very earth, followed by an answering chorus of growls from every direction. A monstrous bear tossed one of the slayers through the air with a swipe of its claw as ghostly white wolves lunged into the fray, ravaging the others in a fury of snapping teeth. The battle had lasted only moments. The whip now dangled loose, but Shael kept her grip on it, just as she held to the life that was slipping away. Each breath was bringing her closer to her last.

Her vision was only a small circle, a patch of blue sky. Suddenly, a familiar face hovered into view. She tried to say his name, but no sound emerged from her lips. In the moment before all thoughts left her, she wondered if Edwin was here to get the horses back.

[tamrend]

Author’s Note: Readers may note that the group’s arrival in the steppes, hinted at in the previously written second part of chapter 11 (now excised and in the process of a rewrite and reinsertion as a new chapter) does not materialize here. After carefully considering the pace of the story and refreshing my memory of Sanctuary geography, AND giving it a go anyway for about 2000 words, I’ve decided on a different course. Please just pretend that the missing part never existed and it’ll all make sense.

On a different note, the following work is not as finished as I had planned, only covering half of a chapter for one thing, and still lacking a title. Also, it's been embarrassingly long between updates, but yada-yada no time blah blah who-cares-just-write-the-damn-story. In short, my muse and I are in contract negotiations and I'm going to ask Father Time if he has financing options available.

Chapter 12: (Title Undecided)
Part I

Kelsia let her breath go suddenly, but then held the very next. The distant knocking of a woodpecker was the only sound on the crisp, cold air. She leaned slowly outward, straining for a sign of the hellspawn. The tree hid her view just as well as it hid her. Only fractured glimpses of the road could be seen through the foliage. She knew that Marius and Seith were down there on the ground somewhere, but she could see no sign of either of them.

How long have I been sitting up here? she wondered. Too long, it seemed. Had the hellspawn gotten wind of their presence? Could they have anticipated this ploy and taken another route to flank them? The thought was enough to make her sit up and scan her surroundings carefully, but of course she could see only patches of ground through the dense foliage. They could be sneaking up behind them right now and they wouldn’t know it until it was too late.

She looked below her to where Cloud was tethered, hidden from the view of the road by the wide trunk of the tree. The drop looked further from up here than it had from the ground, but Seith had assured her she would be fine as long as she landed properly.

The last two days of their journey had been furtive and questing. They had shirked the road and labored overland, always angling northeast. That morning, they had found the road, though it seemed remiss to call it that. The stones that marked its edges had been long overgrown as the forest crept forth lazily over the years to reclaim it.

Marius had been quick to spot goatman tracks in the soil, which led to a heated discussion about their next move. In the end, they decided to retreat a distance from the road and allow Marius to scout ahead on foot. When he returned, out of breath, with news of a patrol coming their way, they hastily put together a plan for an ambush.

The staff warmed to her touch and she reflexively tightened her grip. There was something different this time, a faint stirring beneath her fingers. Points of light danced at the corners of her eyes and she was suddenly aware of every touch on her skin, every wrinkle of her clothing. She began to grow, to expand beyond herself. Her body remained where it was, a part of her, but seemed to shrink in proportion, becoming an appendage of what she had become. She could feel the pitted bark of the trees as she touched and flowed past them. Branches sighed and swayed rhythmically in the wind, trailing fingers of their living presence through her. Wildlife hid just beneath the surface of the forest, in burrows and dens and hollow trees, shielded from the cruel winter that was only just beginning.

And then she felt them. She recoiled at once from the oily, stinging touch of their presence. Hatred pushed through their veins, festering and feeding upon itself until it boiled out of them. They were evil given flesh, a blight upon the face of the world.

Good, Kelsia. You are learning to use the strength within you. The words rippled across her swollen consciousness, both at one with and separate from her own thoughts. You are truly Zann Esu.

Terror knifed into her breast and she gasped as her normal senses reasserted themselves. She touched her face with trembling fingers, reassuring herself that it was still her own. She had felt, for just an instant, as though someone else was sharing her body with her. She knew that something lived inside the staff. Loric had said as much, but she had not until now realized the import of what he was telling her.

Her thoughts were cut short as the goatmen appeared from the east, moving with surprising stealth down the narrow roadway. Four, five, six, she counted, though she couldn’t be certain, catching only glimpses of mottled steel and gray fur. She waited, the moment seeming to stretch on and on. She began to feel faint, but dared not breathe.

With a roar, flames leapt up from the ground and spread out along the trail. Tortured bleating erupted from the goatmen the very next instant. Metal rang against metal as Marius appeared and disappeared from a gap in the trees. Fire flared to life once more and hurtled through the air to explode further down the trail. The flames on the ground flickered and died, though the clashing of weapons continued for some time longer. Finally, the only sound that remained was the bleating of a single demon. Kelsia began to breathe once more, the hiss of air through her lips the loudest sound in her ears.

“You can come down now,” Marius called wearily from the ground, catching sight of her. He cradled his right arm in the other hand, but still held his sword at the ready. Tortured bleating continued unabated from within the screen of the trees.

Kelsia braced herself and dropped to the ground, letting her knees take the shock of landing. She could see the scorched bodies of five of the goatmen lying in the road. “How did we do?” she asked as Seith approached. He panted with apparent exertion from the magic he had cast.

“I think we got them all. I counted eight before we struck. One almost got away, but…” He waved his hand toward a smoking corpse a dozen paces away. “Marius took care of the other pair.”

“A risky business that was,” Marius said, grimacing, “but worth the trouble, I think.” He switched the sword to his left hand, wiped it clean with a handful of dried needles from the ground, and sheathed it.

“Are you hurt?” Kelsia asked him.

“A strain,” he said, sounding annoyed at having it pointed out to him. His arm had only come out of the splint the day before. Evidently the flesh had not mended completely.

“Take this,” Seith told him, handing over a flask of his healing liquid. “It should heal any new injuries.”

Marius took the potion and emptied it in one draught. “We’ve bought some time, but that patrol will be missed when it does not check in. That there were so few gives me hope that the enemy is spread thin, but we should move on as quickly as possible.”

“We must be careful,” Seith admonished. “It might be true that the enemy’s ranks are spread thin in searching for us, but any path that leads east will be watched more closely. Move too fast and too predictably and we’ll likely end up right in the jaws of another trap.”

“What about her?” Marius said, tilting his head toward Kelsia. “She picked up on the last trap pretty well.”

Seith appeared to consider it for a moment. “I don’t think we can rely on—well, whatever that was. We should leave the road now and do our best to conceal our trail.”

“Our food will be gone in a few days,” Marius said, his voice rising. “We can reach Rona in five if we stay on the road. It could take us two weeks if we keep blundering about in the wilderness.”

“We’ll have to forage what we can. If need be, we can survive without food for that and longer.”

“I can tell when the hellspawn are near,” Kelsia said, forestalling Marius’ reply and bringing the attention of both men on her. “The staff gets warm when they come near. That’s how I knew about the ambush at the burning mountain. And I felt the goatmen’s approach long before any of us saw them.” She longed to say more, to seek some reassurance from Seith for what had happened, but she knew it was a false hope. Whatever was happening to her was beyond the grasp of either of them to help.

“There,” Marius said triumphantly. “She’ll know of any hellspawn before they get anywhere near us.”

“The roads are not safe,” Seith insisted. “The longer we stay on this one, the more dangerous it becomes. Besides, you’ve been saying all along that I should try to break whatever hold the staff has on her. Now you want us to use it?”

“If it will save our skins, why not? What do you think?” Marius said, turning to Kelsia.

The question took her by surprise. It was not the first time she had seen an argument between the two, but it was the first time one of them had chosen to involve her. She wondered if it was wise to trust their safety to the staff. In the end, the answer was quite simple. She just wanted it to be over. “I think we should try to get to safety as quickly as possible.”

Seith put up his hands in defeat. “Alright. We’ll chance the road for as far as we can.” He pointed at Kelsia. “But I expect you to let me know the moment you feel anything.”

They hurried along the road in sprints, taking cover in the trees to rest and feed their mounts on the thin, tough grass that grew in scattered patches on the forest floor. At each stop, Seith would bring out his map, only to put it away moments later with a frown or a sigh.

“Is something bothering you?” Kelsia asked him as he repeated the ritual for the third time.

He started to tuck the map away again but then thought better of it and unrolled it for her. “The problem is, I don’t know for certain where we are. My best guess puts us somewhere in this area.” He circled a small section of the map with his fingers. “But there are no landmarks to show us if that’s true.”

She could see that was true. There was nothing but blank space across that area of the map. Mentally, she traced the pattern of curving lines and triangles and pointed to a spot within his circle where a portal stone should be. “Do you think that patrol came from the stone here?”

He shrugged. “It is likely. It has occurred to me that this road might be leading us straight into it.”

“Then why haven’t we turned away from the road?”

He frowned again. “Marius has a point about the food. This land is poor for forage and most of the game has gone to ground or moved south for the winter. And we have you, of course, to warn us.”

“Right,” she said softly. The memory of her mind being invaded came back to her once more. The voice and the presence she had felt were surely one and the same, but what did it all mean? What did the staff want from her?

“And now I can see that something is troubling you,” Seith said, packing the map away.

She considered telling him what had happened, but it seemed doubtful he could offer her any kind of help. Best not to add another worry to the already staggering burden. “I was wondering about the goatmen,” she said, grasping for a reasonable question. “They are different from the other demons. They look almost like they are part human.”

Seith sat down against the trunk of a tree and bid her to do the same. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and began. “During the Sin War, the powers of Hell often tempted humans with the promise of wealth or power. There was once a clan of humans whose members were lured to servitude and worship of the Lesser Evil Andariel by the belief that they would be granted eternal life. Most such promises were nothing but illusion, just as most humans who took the side of Evil in the Sin Wars were cast aside as soon as their usefulness had ended. The humans of this clan, though, committed such acts of unwavering evil that Andariel finally granted them their wish for everlasting life. But it cost them their humanity. They were transformed into demons and gained the cursed immortality that all of Hell’s creatures possess.”

Kelsia pondered that. It had never occurred to her that a person could become a demon. “I wonder if they ever regret their decision.”

“Regret is a human emotion. In becoming demons, they were changed into beings that lack even the capacity for hope. No, I’d say they don’t regret it at all. That part of them simply died.”

They saw no hellspawn for the rest of that day. Kelsia did feel a tingling of warmth from the staff late in the afternoon, but it quickly passed. As a precaution, they made their camp far from the road and scouted the surroundings thoroughly to get a feel for the terrain if a quick flight should be needed. Dinner was a thin strip of dried meat and a dry husk of bread smaller than her palm. She broke a piece from the bread and held it in her mouth until it had softened enough to chew. It seemed that each meal was more meager than the last; the tiny portion was gone before she’d begun to take the edge of her hunger.

Still chewing the last of the toughened meat, she put the staff in her lap and hugged her knees against herself. Loneliness and hunger together gnawed at her insides. She stared into the inscrutable shadows on the forest floor, listening to a quiet broken only by the pulse of blood in her ears. She exhaled and a silver mist formed in front of her. Reality suddenly fell away like a mask.

It was all a lie. A dream, perhaps. None of it had happened because it couldn’t happen. Demons did not exist. Magic was a bunch of silly tricks and nonsense. That was the truth she had known all her life. This, all of this, had to be the lie. Shael was still alive in the real world.

The puff of fog lingered on the air for only a moment and vanished. The fragile illusion she had built crumbled as easily as she had built it. Grief rushed in to fill the void, so potent, so keen that a stark wail of agony burst from her throat. She covered her face to muffle the sound, but was otherwise helpless before the sobs wracking her body.

She felt pressure on her shoulder, a squeeze of a hand. She knew it was Seith without looking. He remained there, without speaking, as she purged herself of the paralyzing sorrow she’d been forced to bury so that she could keep going. When the worst was over, he sat down next to her, still silent, and enfolded her in his arms. She stiffened, feeling suddenly vulnerable in her pain, but he patted her arm soothingly, as though to assure her he wasn’t a threat and she relaxed. She leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing gratefully at the comforting warmth. She fell asleep almost at once.

[van_ham]

WOW!!! This is great stuff. I think you have a real talent for writing... hehehe a lot better than I can do anyway. Keep it up! I can't wait for the next chapter. :clap:

[bradley_turner]

tamrend, really nice story, just read through the whole thing in one sitting, took me like 2 hours but it was well worth it, keep up the good work

[mashimaroinc]

took me 50ish minutes

awesome story! im a bit confused though. the last piece you wrote up... does it follow up the chapter just before it? i read your intro this on the last chapter, but it didnt make sense.

[tamrend]

Back before the forums reset the last time, there was more of chapter 11. When I reposted, I did not put it in. The note is for the people who read the story before the reset.

[tamrend]

Note: Part 3 is already mostly written and will be following close on the heels of this post (that means within a day or two, folks). I had a creative burst and churned out about 3000 words today.

Chapter 12: Snare
Part II

Kelsia woke up shivering in her blankets. She burrowed further down into them, drawing them close against her body with her fingertips. The moon was a silver crescent hanging low in the southeastern sky. From the pile of blankets and furs lying next to her came Seith’s slow, even breathing. Marius leaned against a tree trunk at the edge of the tiny clearing, arms crossed for warmth. He saw her turn over and came to squat next to her.

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’m freezing,” she said, letting her teeth chatter to demonstrate.

He retrieved an animal fur from his own, unused pallet and draped it over her. “Thank you,” she said.

“It’s nothing,” Marius muttered. “Seith had the first watch, so I don’t need it. I was worried you’d felt something from the staff.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing at all.”

Marius stood and began to walk back to his post.

“Marius?” she called quietly.

He stopped.

“Have you ever heard of Zann Esu? Do you know what it means?”

He wrinkled his brow. “No, I wouldn’t know. It sounds like it could be from the wizard's tongue. Seith might know, I suppose. Where did you hear it?”

“Oh, I’m not really sure,” she said quickly. “Maybe I heard it in a story.”

He shrugged his indifference and left her to ruminate alone. She wished she could talk to Loric again.

They broke camp before dawn and returned to the road. Marius searched the ground, but could not find any new goatman tracks. Seith took a bearing from the sun to confirm that it was still running east before they started away. After a few hours of brisk but steady travel, they topped a rise and saw below them a fork. Seith paused at the diverging paths for a moment before selecting the one that curved away southeast.

With midday approaching, they stopped near a brook to water the horses. Marius handed her a single piece of dried meat with an apologetic shrug. She ground the tough, salty strip between her teeth, sipping from a water skin the replace the moisture the meat sapped from her mouth.

In the middle of swallowing, she gasped and choked on the water. Her fingers, of their own accord, released the water skin and fell to her lap to curl around the staff. Faint warmth beat through its length like a pulse.

Kelsia raised her head, drawing another breath to cough. Marius glanced at her, his sword already in hand. “Hellspawn?” he asked, his voice on the edge of a whisper.

“Yes,” she croaked and coughed again. She tried to gauge it against the feeling she’d had when they had come upon the ruined mage-slayer enclave. “Not close yet.”

“On your horses, quickly,” Seith ordered. “We’ll travel overland from here.”

Kelsia, still hacking, rose and tucked the meat into her pocket. She climbed wearily up into Cloud’s saddle and tugged the reins to bring the mare around and follow the others. Marius, though, was still afoot and in the midst of handing over his reins to Seith. “Remember, just as we planned,” Marius said, shaking a finger at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in alarm. The staff was growing slowly warmer.

“I’m staying back, to cover our traces,” Marius said quickly. “Follow Seith and keep to the stream until he tells you differently.”

Kelsia sensed that there was more to it than that, but Seith’s horse had already begun to splash into the stream, with Copper trailing. She did her best to bury her anxiety and followed after. As it was, she had to drive Cloud as fast as she could manage through the knee-deep water and shifting silt to keep the distance between them from widening.

After a time, he did slow to a walk, but still kept his silence until Kelsia broke it. “Seith, tell me what Marius is doing back there,” she demanded.

“Just as he said, covering our tracks,” he answered, and then went scanning the banks to either side. After several moments, he cast a glance her way. When he read her expression, the rest seemed to spill out of him. “He’s lying in wait. Goatmen can’t track by scent like Slayers, but they can learn to follow prints as well as any human. If the hellspawn realize the path we’ve taken, he’s intending to flank them, to attack when they aren’t suspecting one. If they don’t, he’s going to follow them, find out what he can. He’ll try to catch up to us, otherwise we’ll meet up with him at Rona.”

“And the two of you agreed on this?” she said incredulously.

“It was Marius’ idea,” Seith responded flatly, as if that were all that mattered. “Are you sensing the hellspawn any closer?”

She shook her head. “They’re still there, but distant. I think we may have put some distance between us and them.”

“Good. This looks like a likely spot.” And he urged his horse to climb the shallow bank. Brown needles rustled under the horses’ hooves as they slipped back beneath the concealing canopy of the trees.

“Seith!” Kelsia cried suddenly. “Marius didn’t take any of the food, did he?”

Seith spoke slowly. “He left everything for us. Assuming he doesn’t catch up to us before we reach Rona, that’s an extra day of rations.”

The color drained from Kelsia’s face. She choked down the lump in her throat. “It sounds like he’s not planning on rejoining us at all.”

“Marius can take care of himself, Kelsy,” he said. “And he’s the best tracker I know.” His tone carried enough confidence to actually lift her spirits a bit. It was also oddly comforting to hear him use the diminutive of her name for the first time.

They traveled northeast for a time before setting a course due east. The warmth in the staff gradually dimmed. She imagined the hellspawn keeping to the road, following a course that bent south-southeast from their easterly heading. It disappeared altogether as they began to settle in to camp at the western edge of a rocky gully.

“Can you take first watch?” Seith asked her.

“Of course.” It was the first time the duty had been asked of her. In fact, when she and Shael had been traveling alone, they hadn’t thought to trade off keeping watch at all. Thinking back now, Kelsia realized it was a wonder they hadn’t been killed in their sleep.

“I want you to wake me if you feel anything at all. Wake me up for my watch when you begin to grow too tired, or when the moon drops below that line of trees.” He pointed east to the line of trees at the other side of the ditch. “And if Marius shows up, of course.”

She brought out the bow and quiver that she had brought with her from the village. The staff let itself be put down long enough for her to string it. Intent seemed to be the important factor there. Trying to give the staff away was impossible, but as long as there was good reason, and if it would only be for a moment, the separation was allowed. She wondered how far that degree of freedom stretched, if she might, for instance, be able to set it down for a simple task and then change her mind and not pick it back up.

No, she’d best not follow such lines of thought to their conclusion or the staff would likely never let her put it down at all.

Time crawled by as she sat, alone but for the company of her own thoughts. Not that they made particularly good companions. She worried for Marius of course, and thoughts of him led naturally to Shael and awakened the now familiar ache in her chest. She struggled to banish those thoughts, thinking over what had happened in the days since. Unfortunately, that brought her up face to face with the terrifying thought that had been vexing her since that battle with the goatmen.

The staff had guided her actions, Loric said. It had guided her when she had decided to take it north to Dalmers Ferry. Looking back, it seemed now an impetuous and foolhardy decision, no matter that it had probably saved her life. No doubt it was guiding her still, but to what end? And was it the staff itself, or some agency acting through it that had affected her?

She had no answers to these questions, but she did know that up in that tree, just for an instant, another consciousness had slipped in and nearly supplanted her own. She had reacted with a supreme effort of will to drive the intruding mind aside.

That brought her to a realization. Since that moment before the ambush, there had been no voices, no dreams. Had she managed to shut out whatever it was completely? The thought was both heartening and daunting. Would that voice come to her aid again if she needed magic?

Kelsia waited, listening, opening her mind and her senses, but the only sound to speak to her was the rush of wind in the treetops. She dropped her head into her hand and sighed in frustration. She had no idea what she was doing.

She sat up until long after the moon’s thick crescent dropped below the treetops, hoping that Marius would appear. Finally, when she could no longer force her eyes to stay open, she woke Seith. He started to chastise her for letting him sleep longer than his fair share, but she gave him a look that brought him to silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of uselessness. “Kelsia, Marius will be fine.” But this time, even he didn’t sound sure of it.

Travel that day was hard and slow as they picked their way across deep wilderness, a forest floor that had likely never seen the tread of human feet. In the afternoon and what should have been the warmest part of the day, Kelsia had begun to shiver, even swathed as she was in a thick fur. Seith paused to peer through a break in the treetops at the low, gray sky. “It looks like we’ll have snow tonight,” he said.

Sure enough, before the flush of sunset had quite faded from the sky, globs of snow as big as her smallest fingertip had begun to fall. At first they melted on contact with the ground, but as the air chilled still further, the flakes became smaller and fell more thickly and the trees and ground soon carried a light dusting that seemed to grow thicker moment by moment.

They took shelter beneath the branches of one of the enormous trees that Seith called “pines”, making their beds on the wide dry patch of needles that encircled the great trunk. Seith meted out a tiny strip of dried meat, as usual, but also a thin slice of cheese, the last of their supply. Kelsia’s mouth watered at the sight of the tiny scrap. She took minuscule bites of it, holding each bit in her mouth to savor the flavor before chewing it. At coming to the last, moldy corner, she paused a moment before biting into it. It had a foul, bitter taste, but she swallowed it anyway, quickly following with a gulp of water before it could gag her.

Kelsia again took first watch that night. Darkness blended with the white of the falling snow, casting the swirling flakes in shades of gray that darkened with distance. The sound, too, was unlike any silence she had heard, at once unbelievably soft and deafening to the ears. She waited, watching for Marius to appear out of that gray murk and break the silence with the crunching of boots. She was gradually losing hope. She knew that a man unburdened should be able to keep pace with horses in a day’s travel, especially over difficult terrain. A horse could sprint for short distances, but quickly had to slow to a walk, and horses needed to spend much of the day grazing when a man on foot could be traveling.

The snow continued to fall through the night and all the next day, building up on the ground into a thick and ever more treacherous blanket. Kelsia felt cold all the time now, as much from lack of food as from the cold. That night, Seith handed her a strip of dried meat that she began to chew on it at once and drink from the water skin she kept close to her at night to keep from freezing.

“That’s the last of it,” he said. “If we want to eat, we’ll have to hunt for it. I spotted some rabbit tracks in the snow earlier today. If we’re lucky….” He shrugged. She wondered if he had eaten anything and considered offering him half. Instead, she began to chew the meat herself, and felt ashamed long after she had finished.

When Seith woke her, she was almost too stiff to move, but it was a relief to see that the snow had stopped falling at last. Kelsia kept her eye out all that day for potential food, but though they saw tracks and even followed some for a bit, she did not see any rabbits.

She woke the next morning to cramps in her stomach. She shivered until the sun crested in the sky and then dozed in the saddle through the afternoon. At one point they stopped and Kelsia waited while Seith took the bow to track a rabbit, but he returned empty-handed some hours later. She was so hungry that when she found it had been for nothing, she tried chewing on a piece of bark, but spat it out when she realized it would not nourish her.

Worse yet were the mushrooms she found the next morning, the third since they had run out of food. She found them on the northern edge of the pine they sheltered beneath and plucked them eagerly from the ground. She barely restrained the urge to bite into one of the delicate morsels, waiting until she had shown them to Seith. His brow creased in thought, he turned one over in his palm, and then asked for her to give him the rest. He cradled them in one hand and walked a few steps away from her. She cried out in protest as he hurled them with all his strength. She could only watch in dismay as they tumbled through the air and disappeared soundlessly into the snow.

On the evening of the sixth day since they had separated, Marius appeared at last. He stumbled out of the darkness, his clothes torn, staring at the ground, at the tracks they had made. Just a few paces away, he looked up at her with eyes rimmed in dark cirles. His face brightened in recognition. “I found you,” he said, falling heavily to his knees in front of her.

[tamrend]

Author's Note: Well, here it is, for better or worse, the conclusion to chapter 12. I surprised myself with a few of the things that happened here. The ending I used I came up with pretty much on the spot after the one I had planned didn't seem to fit. Let me know if it seems a bit slipshod.

Chapter 12: Snare
Part III

She snatched up her own bedroll and blankets and spread them on the ground, making Marius comfortable. He sat up to take a long swallow from a water skin, grimacing from some unseen pain. “Wake him up,” he said, but Seith was already dragging himself groggily over.

“Marius,” Seith said happily, clasping forearms with him. “I must tell you I was beginning to worry.”

“I was worried too,” Kelsia said, blinking at tears of blissful relief. Then she surprised both of them by giving Marius a fierce hug.

Marius coughed into his hand as she drew back, clearly discomfited. “Well, with this snow I had to do a fair bit of back-tracking and brushing over my own tracks. The snowfall also served to conceal your own tracks. I didn’t find any trace of your passage until yesterday morning, as much a fact of luck as anything else. But that’s not what’s important.”

He fixed Seith with his gaze. “I waited until I saw a group of goatmen approaching along the road. They marched right past where I was hiding, so I gave them a good lead and then followed them. They traveled for several leagues and then stopped. I think there must have been a portal stone. I wasn’t able to get close enough to see the stone itself, but what I could see was that there were thousands of hellspawn. Slayers, goatmen, maulers, they were all coming and going in all directions, setting out in patrols of twenty or more at a time. I think your enemy has realized which way we are heading and called in all of its forces here to try to catch us before we break out of the forest.”

Seith retrieved his map from his pack and unrolled it. “As well as I can tell, we’re somewhere in this area,” he said, tracing a circle with his finger. Kelsia was surprised at how little distance it was from Dalmers Ferry. More than a fortnight of travel was represented in a space that was less than the space between her outstretched thumb and littlest finger. She squinted at the pattern of dots representing portal stones and pointed out three unmarked places. “There should be stones here, here and here,” she said. “It’s the left edge of one of the larger triangles, so there’s a bit of a bulge in it.”

“That must be the one you saw, Marius,” he said, pointing to the middle spot. “The one further south is no concern. The one north, though. That one is right in our path, or close to it.”

Kelsia tapped the same spot. “But that one is at the tip of a triangle. See? There are no other stones nearby except to the southeast and southwest and way over here to the west at one of the really huge triangles. There’s nothing to the north or east from there at all.”

Seith studied the map again before answering. “Our enemy seems to know all of the portal stones and this would seem to be the weakest point. Knowing this, they would spread their net as far to the north from there as they could. It would make the most sense to try to skirt the stones entirely don't know that any direction we head at this point would be safe.”

“As it is,” Marius said gravely, “we are already dangerously close to both stones. I fear that any delay in going northward will only give them the time they need to assemble and increase our chances of being caught. I say we push on, try to break through the line before it can be completely formed.”

Seith rocked back on his heels and studied the map once more. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “How far up ahead of us do you think that line is?”

Marius looked down at his hands, pondering the question silently. “I’d say two leagues, no more.”

“And the edge of this accursed forest is not much further beyond that,” Seith said, nodding. “Then it’s clear running over the plain until we reach Rona. I’d say the greatest risk will be what will happen after, if we do manage to slip through. You said they had slayers. Even if we hide our trail from sight, they’ll be able to sniff us out. I fear it will be a close thing.”

They set out early at a brisk pace, with Marius scouting the way ahead on foot and returning at regular intervals to give them directions. They were moving slowly, picking their way along the edge of a ravine when Kelsia felt a tingle of warmth in her hands. When she told Seith, he nodded and asked, “Do you know which direction?”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, then let me know the moment it gets any stronger,” he advised her.

They reached more solid ground and started away at a faster pace, but the heat from the staff still increased slowly. Seith looked at her grimly when she told him. “We’ll catch up to Marius first, then decide what to do about it.” In time, they reached the spot where Marius waited for them, leaning wearily against a tree trunk as though he had had to catch his breath.

“There are hellspawn up ahead,” he said, “not two hundred yards away, strung out in a sentry line. They are spaced closely enough to bring others at a shout, but the terrain makes it impossible for each of them to see one another. I would guess there are also patrols passing up and down the lines.”

“That must be what you sensed,” Seith said, turning to Kelsia.

That made sense, exept that the staff seemed to be getting warmer. Could it just be her imagination, the stress of waiting and plotting? Perhaps it was. After a moment, the warmth subsided to a more muted glow.

“We’ve got to take out a sentry without alerting the others,” Marius continued. “If we hide the body and cover our tracks near the line, a patrol may not notice the gap.”

“That will be difficult,” Seith responded thoughtfully. “My flames won’t kill quickly enough and they create their own noise. I suppose it’s up to you. How’s your sword arm?”

It appeared as though Marius’ blade had simply leapt to his hand. He cut the air in front of him twice, whirled and drove a thrust at an imaginary foe to the side. He straightened and faced them again. The blade gave a dull clack as he shoved it home in the scabbard. “Well enough to do what needs to be done. Stay on your horses and follow me until I signal you to stop. Wait there for me either until I return or shout a warning.”

They picked their way through the undergrowth quietly and carefully until Marius raised his hand for them to stop. He crept ahead more slowly, glancing at the ground with every step to look for twigs and leaves that might make a sound. Within moments, he had disappeared.

Kelsia reached forward to run her hand down Cloud’s mane, knowing the mare must sense her nervousness. Time seemed to stretch on and on, but when Kelsia looked up, the sun still hung at the top of the sky. She kept thinking that the staff was getting warmer, but it was still difficult to be certain. Could a patrol have come by just as Marius made his attack? That would explain why he hadn’t returned yet. She reached over and tugged on Seith’s sleeve, giving him an inquisitive look. He only shrugged and put his hand to his mouth to signal her to remain silent.

Marius rose out of the brush so suddenly that Kelsia had to stifle a cry of alarm. He beckoned them forward silently, pointing out the body of the slain goatman hidden beneath a pine. They came to the spot where the demon had obviously fallen and spilled its blood in the snow. Marius pointed them on ahead and mimicked the motions of covering something. Seith nodded his understanding and waved Kelsia on, stopping at a place well out of hearing range.

The wait this time was longer but less tense. Marius appeared and they started away once more. They traveled more quickly now, though still moving in fits and starts as Marius scouted ahead for them. The further they got from the sentry line, though, the more uneasy Kelsia became.

She pondered the problem as the three of them paused together to share a drink. The warmth would still not fade from the staff, nor would it grow. It remained the same, almost as though… Kelsia’s mouth dropped open in shock. “We’re being followed!” she said, keeping a hold on her rising panic and the urge to shout. “I’m sure of it.”

“Come on, then,” Seith said. “The time for stealth has ended. Let’s make for the plain as fast as we can.”

Marius ran to mount Copper and led the way, plowing ahead into the scrub brush at what amounted to a brisk trot. Whenever the opportunity of a clear stretch appeared, he pushed on to a full gallop and the three of them stretched out into a line, the wind biting at Kelsia’s face and neck as it rushed past. The warmth did seem to grow less for a time, but then it began to increase again. She imagined their hunters realizing the game was up now dashing ahead to catch their prey. The hellspawn would continue to gain ground unless they were able to reach the plain first. In fact, the faster they ran, the more heat poured off the staff.

At last, Marius gave a cry of triumph as the trees suddenly gave way before them and they burst out into the open and the blood-red glow of sunset on the snow. Too late, as they came sliding to a halt, Kelsia realized their mistake. A broad line of skeletons stretched out in front of them, blocking the path east. Kelsia’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to fathom their number. There were hundreds of them, many still showing bits of rotted, desiccated flesh hanging from the bones. All of them carried weapons, including a great many bows.

Marius bent low in the saddle and dug in his heels, drawing his sword as he went. He was making a charge for the center of the line. As she spurred her horse to follow, Kelsia fleetingly wondered why the archers among them didn’t attempt to shoot them down. Movement caught her eye as a slash of blue light had appeared over the snow and as she watched, widened into a shimmering oval. It disappeared suddenly, and a hooded human figure stood in its place, holding a thin white staff.

Marius instantly swerved to intercept the figure, letting loose a wild battle cry as he swept back his sword and brought it down in an arc. Brilliant orange flames ignited along its edge, roaring with the sound and heat of a forge.

The figure made a single move, a subtle shift in its stance, and Marius tumbled backwards off of his horse. Kelsia tugged back hard on the reins to keep from trampling him, bringing her horse to a halt. Seith had swung left, barely slowing. He threw out his arm and an orb of flames shot out from the tip of his wand. It flew unerringly to its target, but an instant before it should have struck, it exploded outward, illuminating a sphere that encased the figure like a shell of impossibly thin glass.

One hand lifted to the hood and drew it back, revealing a head of short-cropped black hair and intense brown eyes. He seemed somehow too young for himself as his gaze centered on her for an instant. His attention snapped back to Seith, who had lowered his wand and now slowly raised it, as if lifting something forth from the ground. Seith had a look of intense concentration on his face, his eyes glazed over as he said words in a foreign tongue.

Heat poured forth, so intense that it made Kelsia’s eyes water and Cloud shrink back in fear. The flames rose up and spread, rolling out to either side. Steam billowed up from the ground, and then smoke as the grass beneath the snow began to burn. Kelsia stared into the cloud, but could make out nothing within its depths. When she looked back to Seith, his shoulders sagged and he swayed. She called his name and he appeared to come back to himself, catching his balance before he toppled from the saddle. The heat and glow of the flames had vanished, but a cloud still hung over the spot where his spell had burned a charred furrow.

With a groan, Marius rolled over and got to his knees. Planting his sword, he rose to his feet and stood poised, waiting for the smoke to clear. Kelsia glanced at the line of skeletons standing stock still, teeth set in permanent grins and eyeless sockets all fixed on her.

Light and heat struck out from the cloud. Seith cried out and his body stiffened as the lightning hit him. The chilling scream of a horse rent the air. The beast’s legs collapsed beneath it and it rolled onto its side, taking Seith with it. Cloud danced and tossed her head, on the verge of losing her head. Kelsia held on and waited with baited breath, watching where Seith had fallen. Moments passed, and finally she saw the movement of an arm. He was alive, but his horse had pinned him, maybe broken his leg.

Marius turned to her. “Go! Run! Get back to the forest!” She stared at him, the fear coursing through her robbing her of even the voice to answer. She thought of the bow hanging over her shoulder, a weapon within arm’s reach. Her hands would not respond to her will.

“Damn you, girl, move!” Marius shouted at her and then whirled to face his foe, striding, unharmed, from the smoke.

“I only want the staff,” the wizard said. The voice had a strangely seductive quality. He looked right at Kelsia and a sense of wellbeing washed over her. She felt the urge to do as he wished. “Leave it, and you can both walk away alive. I’ve no desire to kill you.”

“Don’t listen to him Kelsia.” Marius growled, holding his sword outstretched as he approached him warily. “He’ll kill us both. Get out of here now!”

Kelsia opened her mouth to speak, to tell them both it was alright, that she would hand over the staff. Suddenly, Marius lunged, letting fly with the sword. The weapon tumbled end over end, a blur of motion. She heard rather than saw its impact, a ring of steel as it struck the willowy white staff and clattered away. The wizard calmly lowered the tip of the staff to the ground once more and raised a hand.

Marius stood there, his last ploy turned harmlessly away. He looked over his shoulder at Kelsia and shook his head. “Fool girl.” Standing like that, he never saw the jet of flame roll over him.

The scream built up at the very base of her soul, an outpouring of all of the anger, the anguish she had within her. It burned its way up through her throat and emerged, a sound of fear and hatred carried on a single word and a single thought of denial. The staff burned in her hands, sending tongues of tortuous pleasure searing up her arms. She felt the presence there with her, sharing her body, directing her in ways she could only imagine, but she was beyond fear now.

She sensed the magic like a great weight, an overwhelming force held back by only the thinnest of veils. It was hers, all hers to command, but the slightest misstep could crush her beneath its weight. That force poured into her now, drawn through the staff. It plunged down to her very heart, to embrace the core of fury that burned there and before her eyes took form.

It began as a pinpoint of light, brighter than the sun, a thing of prrimal beauty that hung in the air in front of the wizard. Chaos erupted in the next instant. The force of the detonation swept the snow into the air in a thunderous white storm. Kelsia shielded her face from the hot wind and stinging ice, the magic already receding within her. After a moment, all was calm once more, but now there was a patch of charred earth a dozen paces wide.

The wizard lay on the ground, his sphere of protection broken, his hair and clothing seared by the magic. He stood up slowly, his expression betraying nothing. Kelsia faced him, her heart beating madly, feeling naked without the magic that had been hers only a moment ago. He made a gesture in the air and a ring of blue appeared behind him. Without a word, he stepped into it and vanished. All down the line of undead came the sound of bones crumbling and falling to the ground.

“I told you to run,” Marius rumbled from the place he had fallen to the ground. The flames had burned away his hair and blackened his skin. His face was contorted into a mask of pain. “Damned fool of a girl.”

[Snowglare]

Mmm, mold.

Good stuff, as ever. A couple errors.

"She ground the tough, salty strip between her teeth, sipping from a water skin the replace the moisture the meat sapped from her mouth."

Should be "skin to replace."

"That night, Seith handed her a strip of dried meat that she began to chew on it at once and drink from the water skin she kept close to her at night to keep from freezing."

Needs rewriting. Split it into two sentences or make it so they flow as one.

[Ian4602]

It would make the most sense to try to skirt the stones entirely don't know that any direction we head at this point would be safe.”

Missing word(s)?



It began as a pinpoint of light, brighter than the sun, a thing of prrimal beauty that hung in the air in front of the wizard.

A rolled 'r'? ;)

Mmmm, Key Goodness...
I liked it! Perhaps a mention of Seith in the last paragraph or two, somehow? He feels missing.

-Ian

[tamrend]

Thanks for the feedback and for catching those mistakes. I'm going to make it a point to do revisions immediately because I lost a lot of corrections the last time the forum reset.


A rolled 'r'?

That's funny considering I puzzled over that particular adjective for probably a minute. This is one of those descriptions I feel likely to revisit in a rewrite, so "prrimal" may just get cut completely.


Perhaps a mention of Seith in the last paragraph or two, somehow? He feels missing.

Yeah, I thought of working him in somehow too, but it seemed to detract from the ending. I decided that since he's pinned under his horse and out of the action, but otherwise okay, I better focus on the guy who almost got barbecued. I'll consider it again for the rewrite though.

[kidonfire]

great work! :clap: This is my favorite piece of work yet.

[Snowglare]

Hi. Yeah, no, I really did take this long to read the third part of chapter twelve. Mm. Yep. It's probably gone through a full revision by now. Or not. But I read it, and liked it, and found a few errors, so here we go.

"It would make the most sense to try to skirt the stones entirely don't know that any direction we head at this point would be safe."

Should be "entirely. I don't know".

"You said they had slayers. Even if we hide our trail from sight, they'll be able to sniff us out. I fear it will be a close thing."

I know this is dialogue, but still, Seith could stand to use a better word than "thing".

"That made sense, exept that the staff seemed to be getting warmer."

except

"Marius rose out of the brush so suddenly that Kelsia had to stifle a cry of alarm."

Heh, cool.

"Don't listen to him Kelsia."

Should have a comma after "him".

"Marius growled, holding his sword outstretched as he approached him warily."

Confusing pronoun use. I assume Marius is approaching the strange wizard, but it could be clearer. I'm not sure about this one. I guess it reads fine as it is, unless you meant that the wizard was approaching Marius. Then I'm lost.

"It began as a pinpoint of light, brighter than the sun, a thing of prrimal beauty that hung in the air in front of the wizard."

primal

Hooray for extreme procrastination! People who aren't Tamrend: read from the beginning if you haven't yet. People who are Tamrend, Tamrend for short: new chapter? Hmm? T'would be nice.

[tamrend]

new chapter? Hmm? T'would be nice.

Funny you should ask that, Snow.

Chapter 13: Home
Part 1

Grimacing, she rubbed at an itch on the tip of her nose, then yelped as a warm, moist something slid across her cheek. Shael blinked her eyes open and found herself looking up at a furry white snout. The wolf gave a questioning whine and nudged her cheek with its cold, soggy nose. “Ick,” she said, but remained still, afraid of provoking it. Encouraged by the reaction, the wolf began to lick her face in earnest. She put up her hands in a futile effort to ward off the slobbering tongue. “Aah, go away,” she pleaded, still wary of trying anything more forceful.

A warm, familiar laugh made her turn her head to look. Loric leapt from a seated position to his feet in one swift motion. “Ah, I see you’ve met Makaya,” he said. He whistled through his teeth and the wolf backed away a step, reluctantly. “She’s been worrying over you ever since we found you. She picked out your trail where you had fallen at the rock slide.”

Shael recalled the injuries she had sustained and probed at her chest gingerly. It was definitely sore, but not excruciatingly so. She ventured a deep breath and found that there was no pain. She lifted her head and saw that she was lying on a bedroll with a bundle of heavy blankets pulled up to her chin. They were in a small clearing at the base of a tall, withering oak tree. A humble fire crackled and sparked nearby, melting a circle in the snow..

Loric squatted on the ground at her side. He brushed her hair back from her face, an almost fatherly caress. “Twice now we’ve met, and twice I’ve had to haul you back from the brink of death. You were bleeding on the inside, Shael. Only the exertion of powerful magic kept your spirit bound to your body. We were afraid we would lose you.”

“We?” she asked, glancing at the wolf. Then she remembered her fleeting thoughts, in the last moments before she had lost consciousness. “Edwin really is with you?”

“He came looking for you. He said a man by the name of Graegor wants his horses back. There was also some mention of concern for your safety. He also put in a generous helping of language I’d rather not repeat.”

She laughed at that. She knew that Graegor was the kind of man who would put the safety of any person from the village above property, even his own, but Edwin must still be prickly about what had happened at the stable. “You did tell him why we went? How important it was?”

“I did, and I believe he bears you and Kelsia no ill will. You’ll have the chance to talk to him about it yourself, if you wish. He’s out hunting, but should be back before dark. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she sighed, and pushed back the blankets. She looked down at herself and blushed. Her old tunic had been replaced with a sturdy new grey one. “Did you…?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “There was little left of your old tunic. I had to remove it to bandage your ribs until the healing was finished. Edwin seemed quite distressed by the whole thing, so I sent him to stand guard until you were under blankets.”

Propriety made allowances for special circumstances. Healers in particular enjoyed special immunity from the social taboos. “How did you find me?” she asked, as much to distract her thoughts as out of genuine interest. “And how did you meet Edwin? And the village. If Edwin came looking for us, then the village must have survived!”

“One question at a time, please,” he protested. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Edwin really should be here, to help in the telling.” He whistled again, and Makaya padded over to him. Loric knelt and the wolf nuzzled his hand. He spoke softly and her ears pricked up. Shael strained to listen as well, unable to decide if what she heard was whispered speech or a collection of quiet grunts and whines. When he stood, the wolf turned and dashed away.

Loric squatted on the ground next to her. “Would you like to sit up? You’ll want to take some food soon anyway.” She started to raise herself up on her own, but her arms felt limp and ineffectual. Loric stepped in and lifted her enough to help her get upright. “You’ll have to go easy on yourself,” he said. “We force-fed you broth and fruit juice for the last three days, but the healing took much of your strength.”

“Three days? I’ve been asleep for three days?”

“Your body needed the time to rest.”

“But what about Kelsia? That puts us four, five days behind. We’ll never catch them. We have to get going at once.”

He put out his hand in a placating gesture. “Shael, we can’t go anywhere just yet. You need another day to rest. I have already begun to fashion a litter for you. By the time we reach Dalmers Ferry, you should be well enough to ride a horse, provided we can find one for the right price.”

“Dalmers Ferry? But that’s the wrong direction. We’ll lose days if we go back that way. We should start now. Put me in a litter if you need to, but I’m healed enough to take a few bumps. I’ll ride double with Kelsia once we catch up to them.”

“We’re not going after them,” Loric said slowly.

She stared at him. “Have you lost your wits? Kelsia needs our help. I won’t leave her.”

“You care about your friend. You put her life, her safety, above your own, and that is noble. But what you suggest is nothing short of impossible.”

A white-hot retort rose in her chest, but died before it reached her lips. When she spoke, she barely held her tone in check. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“The hellspawn took you south for a day, while they traveled north. That means that they have a five-day start on us. Even if we could manage to move fast enough to catch them, the land to the north is infested with hellspawn. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of demons out looking for your friends. Slayers can track just as well as I can. If we are able to find Kelsia’s trail, so can they. To try to follow Kelsia would mean putting ourselves right into the thick of them. When we did come upon hellspawn, which we inevitably would, you’re too weak to run and you certainly can’t fight. Your life means too much to throw it away in a useless gesture.”

Shael chewed her lip, weighing the merits of what he had said. Finally, she nodded. “Then you should go.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I won’t abandon you. There is little possibility I could make a difference going after Kelsia, but there is a great chance I can be of some help in getting you home safely. You have fought very bravely and nearly given your life for your friend. Let that be enough.”

She looked away from him, still feeling sullen. It just didn’t feel right, leaving Kelsia to fend for herself. “I suppose you have little enough to worry about,” she said bitterly. “Not while I can’t even muster the strength to stand. If it were my choice, though, if our places were switched, I would respect your wishes.”

He was silent, making her wonder if her words had stung more than she intended. “Have faith, Shael. She has powerful allies. That much I know from the slain at Dalmers Ferry and at foot of the volcano. And like you, your friend is much more than she seems. I believe that she will win through to her destination.”

She turned to look into his eyes, intending to lash him with the renewed rage that boiled at the base of her tongue. But what she saw made her anger break and dissolve. His eyes shone with the quiet strength of wisdom that seemed beyond her reach to even comprehend in her lifetime. “How old are you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I am not certain you will believe me. Your friend Kelsia did not. I know that I have lived for close to three centuries. Perhaps I am beyond that mark already.”

“Three hundred years,” she murmured. He seemed closer to thirty at first glance, but now she was not so sure. It was preposterous, yet it made perfect sense. “I see.”

“Age comes less swiftly for the druids. It is said that the Dubhdroiacht wizards of the east live many times the lifespan of mortal men. And in the legends of the Children of Bul-Kathos, there are stories of ancient heroes who lived for a thousand years. I have often wondered if we all share some common bond, if all the great powers might come from the same source." He shrugged. "Such thinking runs counter to the teachings that we druids have handed down since the time of Fiacla-Géar.”

Shael did not recognize any of the names he mentioned, but she decided that it didn’t really matter. She wondered what it would be like to watch generations come and go while you lived on. How could a person go on caring about people who would die--whose children would die--before them? Or would it make their lives that much more precious? She knew that he was right, knew it but had to truly face it and accept it. There was nothing she could do for Kelsia now. “Promise me this, then? Will you send your hawk to look for her? Just to make sure she’s alright?”

“It is already done. He flew north the same day we turned south to track you. He has not yet returned, but that may be a good sign. It may simply indicate that your friends are keeping themselves well hidden. Hawks can spot a mouse in the grass from two thousand paces, but this land is vast. If luck is with us, we should know something soon.”

Loric abruptly cocked his head, as if listening. “Edwin has returned.”

A few moments later, she heard the sound of brush being trampled and Edwin appeared at the edge of the clearing with a hunting bow in hand. Makaya padded right at his heels. “Loric, your mutt has gone mad,” he called. “If she bites my ankle one more time…” He stopped when he caught sight of Shael. “Well. Seems you’re awake.”

“Hello, Edwin,” she replied. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for what happened.”

He waited to speak until he was standing next to her. “I’m glad to see you are safe, Shael. I’ve had a lot of time to think about that. Has Loric told you what happened at the village after you left?” When she shook her head, he went on. “The demons must have attacked even as you and I faced each other in the stable. I started after you as soon as you were out of sight, but I turned back when I heard the alarm being cried through the village.

“The village was chaos when I arrived. There were dozens of them, just as you told Graegor. He got some of the men together and armed them with whatever they had to hand, but there was little they could do to hold them back. For every one we killed, four or five of our people were slain. Then, when it appeared that we would be overrun for sure, we started to notice something. The demons would attack anyone who got in their way, but they appeared to be more focused on searching every building and house than on fighting. So we changed our tactics and simply tried to get everyone to safety. We went south out of sight of the village, hoping that they would not return to the place they had come from. They began to fire the buildings, but Graegor refused to go back and stop them. It was quiet for a time then, as we crouched there on old Mariel’s field. I got to thinking about how many people were missing.”

“What about my family?” Shael demanded.

“They’re alright,” Edwin assured her. “Your house is out at the edge of town. We had them out before the demons got there. Many others didn’t make it, though. Kelsia’s mother was one. Her brother was hurt, but he will be fine.”

“No,” Shael moaned, feeling Kelsia’s loss as intensely as if it were her own. She had to swallow to keep from choking on the lump in her throat. “How did it happen?”

“She and Matias were on their way home. Some kind of beast attacked them. Probably the same were-creature that you and Kelsia met on Loric’s mountain.”

So it was true, she thought, remembering the creature’s final words.* She didn’t really know what to feel. Satisfaction, at having killed the werewolf and avenged Kelsia’s loss? She thought of the wizard who had sent the creature and clenched her jaw. No, she wasn’t satisfied. Not by half. She took a deep breath and nodded for Edwin to continue.

“It was getting on toward morning when the demons came after us. We braced for the attack, forty armed men against two dozen demons, now with a werewolf at their head. We knew that we could not hold them back. Then, just as it seemed they would charge our line, the wolf raised its hand and turned them all back toward the village. None of us understood what had happened, not even after I told Master Graegor about how the two of you made of with his horses. A week after that night, Graegor sent me to find you and bring you home. I came upon your friend Loric on the road.”

Loric laughed. “You thought I was mad when I told you that you smelled familiar.” He looked at Shael. “He smelled just like the stable that your horses came from. I asked him if he was looking for two young girls, and from that moment, we’ve been companions.”

“The demons were after the staff, weren’t they?” Edwin said. “That’s why they stopped their attack. They knew it wasn’t with the village folk. Just what is it? What does it do?”

Shael described what she remembered from Seith’s description of the Source Key. By the time she was finished, Loric had a thoughtful look. “I have never heard of this weapon, but the Viz-jaq’taar would certainly have the will and resources to conceal such a thing. I think, though, that we’ve kept you awake long enough. You need to rest if you hope to recover your strength. We should have a rabbit stew for you when you wake up next time.”

She slept for much of the afternoon and through the night. As he had promised, Loric built a litter for her that could be pulled behind Edwin’s horse. It made for a bumpy ride, but she was actually able to get some sleep here and there while they traveled. For safety, Loric decided to avoid the road and picked a trail through the wilderness. She noticed that, despite the rugged terrain, they always seemed to find the easiest way through. And there was never a shortage of food. Edwin’s horse was laden with water and dry foods, and every evening they had a rabbit or a pheasant either brought down by Edwin’s bow or dangling from the jaws of one of Loric’s wolves. It was difficult to tell how many there were. They faded and out of the brush and rarely gathered together more than two at a time. All except Makaya, you stayed by her side almost constantly. By the third day, she was up on her feet, though Loric would not let her walk more than a few minutes at a time.

On the sixth day of travel, they emerged from the forest onto the flat, squared-off expanse of a rice field, dry and empty after the autumn harvest. Up ahead the river and road meandered together lazily east toward the distant wall of the city. The last time Shael had been here, the road had been empty. Now, there were dozens of wagons, carts, and coaches moving in both directions. When they arrived at the gates, they were met with plainly uniformed city guards rather than the soldiers that had scrutinized them the first time she had arrived with Kelsia.

Edwin haggled with a horse trader for what must have been close to an hour and finally settled on a price that each bemoaned as being ludicrous. Shael watched guiltily as Loric indifferently counted out a handful of silver pieces from a meager supply, leaving enough to get beds and a meal for all of them, and little more. With the soldiers gone from the city, the people seemed a bit more relaxed and friendly. Shael even visited the marketplace, though it only made her lament the fact that she had no money to buy anything for her mother or her brothers.

They stayed just one night in the city and left early, traveling south over the great plain. Loric and his wolves walked or ran along the road beside them, apparently neither wanting nor needing a horse for travel. Loric's hawk finally returned almost as soon as they were out of sight of the city. "They are traveling westward," he said, smiling, "towards the city of Rona. There are hellspawn on their trail, but they have a good lead. They seemed to be in good health." Hearing the news, it felt as though a fist had unclenched from around Shael's heart. To know that Kelsia was alright, even if she was still in danger, took a heavy burden off of her.

Shael hurried past the place where they had camped the night the werewolf had attacked them, eager to put the memory of that terrible night behind her. When Loric told her that they would not be stopping at his cottage on the mountaintop, she was torn between the wish to see that magical place once more and the desire to return home again as quickly as possible.

They passed through the valley and on up into the cold, barren highlands, the last stretch of wilderness they had to travel through. As the sun sank into the west, the road rose up for one last climb and then began to wind downwards into broad valley below. Shael stretched and strained for a view of the village, but the rugged brush that clung to the hillside stubbornly blocked her sight.

They reached the bottom of the hill and the road straightened, carrying them on towards the village. Patches of blackened trees and scorched ground attested to the recent fire that had spread from the village, but when Shael looked at Edwin, she saw a look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“I don’t remember this,” he said absently. “I don’t think that the fire ever burned this far north.” He spurred his horse for more speed until they were holding at a fast canter, Loric still easily pacing them. The burnings grew worse the further they went, with whole fields now reduced to bare earth while ruined farmhouses reached blackened, skeletal timbers skyward. At Graegor’s estate, they reined in and stared silently. The house was little more than piles of ash and all that remained of the stable was a single, ragged wall jutting up from the ground, like brown, soot-stained teeth.

“You never mentioned that the mayor’s house burned,” Shael said, looking over the devastation sadly.

“It didn’t,” Edwin said, shaking his head slowly. “Eleven buildings burned to the ground, but they were all in town.” He looked for a moment longer and then turned back to the road, plodding along at a walk now, as if unwilling to face what was ahead.

* Reflects a slight change to a scene from chapter 5, after Shael fatally wounded the werewolf:


“Fay-old,” it agreed, nodding slowly. It worked its mouth and its next words were more intelligible. “But others come.” It reached out a clawed hand toward her, grasping, then dropped it. Suddenly, its lips drew back in a ghoulish grin. “At the village, I killed a woman who smelled like you. Your mother? She begged for her life.” Then its eyes stared past her and no breath rose in its chest.

[RevenantsKnight]

Well...this is indeed one epic of a story. All in all, I'd say that this story's excellent in just about every respect; the characters are great, the style is enthralling, and the grammar is almost completely correct. The only general note I'd make is that at times some modern scientific theories come up (light reflects off visible objects, the earth is round, they're on a planet), which is a little startling given the setting. While a medieval universe wouldn't necessarily be ignorant of such things, the way it's worded often seems a little anachronistic. Anyway, congrats on a nicely done story so far!

A few comments on Chapter 13:


She ventured a deep breath and found that there was no pain. She lifted her head and saw that she was lying on a bedroll with a bundle of heavy blankets pulled up to her chin. They were in a small clearing at the base of a tall, withering oak tree.

This bit sounded a little repetitive to me in terms of sentence structure; I'd suggest changing the middle sentence to something like ""Lifting her head, Shael saw that..."


A humble fire crackled and sparked nearby, melting a circle in the snow..

Is this a typo with an extra period? Ellipses usually use three periods, and this place doesn't seem like the best time to use one.


“The hellspawn took you south for a day, while they traveled north. That means that they have a five-day start on us. Even if we could manage to move fast enough to catch them, the land to the north is infested with hellspawn. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of demons out looking for your friends. Slayers can track just as well as I can. If we are able to find Kelsia’s trail, so can they. To try to follow Kelsia would mean putting ourselves right into the thick of them. When we did come upon hellspawn, which we inevitably would, you’re too weak to run and you certainly can’t fight. Your life means too much to throw it away in a useless gesture.”

You use the word "hellspawn" perhaps a bit too much in this passage, and in general. It's not a major problem, but it does get a little repetitive and distracting. Some alternatives that I didn't see: "fiend," "devil," "imp," "fell being," etc.



"None of us understood what had happened, not even after I told Master Graegor about how the two of you made of with his horses."

That should be "off."


All except Makaya, you stayed by her side almost constantly.

The last clause here is confusing; did you mean "who" instead of "you"?


Shael stretched and strained for a view of the village, but the rugged brush that clung to the hillside stubbornly blocked her sight.

They reached the bottom of the hill and the road straightened, carrying them on towards the village. Patches of blackened trees and scorched ground attested to the recent fire that had spread from the village, but when Shael looked at Edwin, she saw a look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

Again, word repetition: "village" comes up a lot, without any synonyms present.

I look forward to reading any of your further works, and thanks for posting!

[tamrend]

Good editing points all around. I'm always amazed at how many mistakes slip through. Every suggestion you made was correct. The double period thing happens to me all the time, when I delete the end of a sentence and rewrite it, then add another period without realizing it. Usually I catch that one.

Thanks for the comments.

[tamrend]

Will you look at that? Two posts in a single week. It's amazing what you can accomplish when you're about to move to another state and you will do anything, anything at all to avoid having to sort through your stuff and put it in boxes.

Actually, that's only half of it. While sorting books, I picked up one of my old writing techniques books and started to read. Motivates me every time.

Chapter 13: Home
Part 2

Shael gasped as they emerged from the trees. Not one building was left standing. Along the street, piles of scorched rubble marked where shops and houses had once stood. Even the trees had been felled, but at one site, an improbable arrangement of vertical timbers and a joining crossbar had survived the collapse of an adjacent brick wall.

“Merciful heaven,” she breathed. Four limp shapes hung from the bar, twisting slowly in the wind. Their eye sockets were empty and the flesh had grown black and bloated, so that their features were nearly unrecognizable as even human. One of them was much taller than the others and wore a thick, dark red cloak. “It’s the mayor,” she said with dawning horror.

“It’s gone. Everything, everyone,” Edwin moaned. He leaned over and spat out bile onto the ground.

“It can’t be,” Shael cried, turning her horse in a circle. “What happened here?”

One of Loric’s wolves had gone to sniff the base of the structure and now began to growl menacingly. “Hellspawn did this,” Loric said. “But not slayers. They would not waste human flesh in this manner. What could they want with this village?”

“The caves,” Edwin said suddenly. “Graegor said they would go there if there was trouble. There might still be hope. Come on.”

He led them out beyond the edge of town and then turned west, following a narrow wagon-track that led into the hills. Now Shael knew where he was going. She and Kelsia had found them and began to explore them two summers ago. There were at least two very large chambers, probably enough to house most of the village, and with openings small enough to defend with only a few men. They came to a place where a cliff side rose from the ground, casting a long shadow over them as they approached. When Edwin paused, apparently confused about where to go, Shael went on ahead and led them to a place that appeared to be nothing more than a deep crevice.

“Careful,” Loric warned when they drew near, moments before the tip of a spear appeared out of the darkness.

“Who goes there?” a voice shouted at them.

“It’s me, Shael,” she answered. “And Edwin. We’ve come home.”

“Shael?” the voice faltered. The spear drew back and an old man emerged from the hole, blinking against the fading light. “You’re alive?”

“Master Gale,” Shael said, recognizing the old shepherd that lived near her house. “What happened to the village?”

But he was looking past her and ignored her question. “You weren’t followed?”

“No,” Loric said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Sorry. Can’t be too careful. Come on inside, then. I’m afraid there’s no room for your horses. Your mother will be thrilled to see you.”

“The horses will be fine,” Loric assured them.

Shael stepped down from her mount and then paused. They followed him into the cave, which branched twice and then opened up into a long, irregular chamber some forty paces at its widest point. Near the top of one wall, a crevice let in just enough light to see by. There were seven, no, eight families here. Shael began to recognize faces as her eyes adjusted to the dark. In one corner, a light-haired woman wearing a blue blouse and an apron was busily stirring a kettle. She was alone. “Mother?” Shael said. The woman looked up and her eyes grew wide. She didn’t speak, but tears began to flow down her cheeks. Shael’s knees felt weak as she stepped forward. “It’s me, mama. It’s Shael. I’ve come home.”

Shael’s knees felt weak as she crossed the distance between them. When she drew close, her mother reached out a trembling hand to touch her cheek. “It’s really you,” she said, drawing her into an embrace. “We thought you were lost to us,” she sobbed. “Thank you, Edwin. Thank you for bringing her back.”

“It’s okay, mama,” Shael said, blinking back her own tears. She chuckled. “You might want to save a hug for that man over there. He saved my life twice.”

“Is it true?” she asked Loric.

He nodded. “Though I must tell you that your daughter fought very hard to live. She would not have made it otherwise.”

She took his hand. “Then you have my gratitude, sir. I’m afraid it’s all I have to give.”

He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.

“What happened here?” Shael asked. “And where’s da?”

Her mother took a deep breath and sat down on a stool, motioning for them to take seats as well. “The demons came back about a month ago. At first we didn’t realize what was happening. Maybe we didn’t want to believe it could happen again. A farmhouse on the outskirts of town was burned down and the family went missing. Most folks thought it was just an accident. The next night, two more houses burned, and then we knew we were dealing with more than just an overturned lantern. Later that week, they came in force. Graegor was ready. He managed to get most of us out, brought us here to this place. Now there’s nothing left of the village. Three weeks ago, Graegor set out with some volunteers to get help from Dunesmar. A hunting party spotted their bodies. They were hung...” She began to sob again.

Edwin lowered his gaze, obviously out-of-sorts and excused himself with a murmured apology. Loric looked on with unabashed sympathy.

Shael patted her mother on the back to calm her. “We saw them. Mama? Father wasn’t one of them. Was he? Tell me he’s alright.”

“He’s fine,” she gulped. “He’s out hunting with your brothers. They should be back any time.”

“How many are left from the village?”

Her mother spread her hands. “What you see here, plus a few more families in another chamber. A few went missing last week, so we keep careful count. There are seventy-two people here.”

She thought about that for a moment. It was hard to wrap her mind around numbers that high, but she knew that it had to be less than half of what was there before. Half of everyone she had known growing up was dead. She had gotten used to the idea that she had a home to return to. It wasn’t right, that they had to suffer. Kelsia, why didn’t you just leave the damned thing there? she thought. She had stumbled into something bigger than any of them. These people weren’t heroes. Most of them couldn’t even hold a weapon properly.

She closed her eyes. No. It’s not her fault. The staff had been brought here, and the demons had come after it. It could have been anywhere, but her village was where it had happened. What was done was done, and it wasn’t right to wish it on someone else. It was their problem to deal with now, one way or another.

A new thought came to her. “Is Matias here? Kelsia’s brother?”

“He is in the other chamber. But, Kelsia? Where is she?”

“She’s gone, far away to the east. I want to tell her brother what has happened, but I’ll be back. I know the way.”

Shael found the passageway at the far end of the cave and ducked inside. Loric followed her without a word, bending low where she had only to stoop a little. The light faded to near pitch-black and she had to feel her way along, but she knew that it wasn’t far. The other chamber was deeper in and lacked the natural lighting that the first one offered. The villagers here used candles for light instead of lamps because there was less ventilation.

She found Matias playing a game on the floor with two other boys his age. A bandage circled his head, covering one eye. He was two years youngers than Shael, still more boy than man. He seemed engrossed in the game, so that he didn’t look up until she said his name aloud. He looked up and recognition showed on his face at once. “Shael.” He looked around expectantly. “Where’s my sister?”

She drew him aside and knelt opposite him on the cold stone floor. She explained what had happened in as much detail as she thought he could grasp. Most of all, she assured him that, as far as they could tell, Kelsia was alright.

“Everyone said she must be dead by now,” he said, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Caelin said that Diablo and Baal have returned and that the gate to Hell has been opened. It’s not true, is it?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “There’s something else at work here, and your sister is a part of it. When she reaches the Horadrim, they’ll put a stop to it.”

“I hope so,” he said glumly. “I just wish she would come home.”

“Me, too,” she said with a wry smile.

She stood up and let him scurry back to his game. With Loric still trailing, she returned to the first cavern. It seemed more crowded than before, and that was the only thought she could form before six men and boys of varying ages swooped in on her. Her father, Tarin, Maron, Dallin, Renn, and Caelin by turns hugged her and clapped her on the back, all of them talking at once. All of her brothers except Caelin were older than her, with Maron and Dallin already having married and moved into houses of their own. They still carried their bows, so must have only just returned from hunting. Having all of them together again was almost enough to make her feel like it should be a celebration.

Amidst all of the confusion, an infant was pushed into her arms. “Your niece, Eilis,” Maron said proudly. “She was born only ten days ago.”

The little girl looked up at her with a newborn’s faintly awestruck expression. She already had a thin cap of black hair. “She’s beautiful,” Shael said, rocking her back and forth. Maron put out his hands and she carefully gave the girl back. “I’ve missed all of you,” she said, tears coming unbidden to her eyes. “I’m just so glad to find you safe.”

“We had a close brush, though,” Caelin said, his voice an excited squeak. “On our way back, we saw a whole bunch of them together out by Graegor’s house. Da had us go back and we took the long way ‘round.”.

“How many did you see?” Loric asked.

“Thirty, forty maybe,” Shael’s father answered.

Loric leaned forward intently. “Did they look like goats, walking on two feet?”

“Yes, did you see them too?”

“They’re goatmen. They are the same creatures that destroyed your village. I’ll bet they spotted our tracks on the road. They might be out looking for us. Have any of the hellspawn ever come here, to this cave?”

“No. We hide our traces well enough when we go out to hunt. They don’t know we’re here.”

“Perhaps,” Loric replied, frowning. “I’m going out to have a look.”

“You shouldn’t go out there, sir,” Dallin said, stepping up to block his path. “It’s too dangerous after dark.

Shael put a hand on his shoulder. “Let him go, brother. He can take care of himself. Believe me, I’ve seen what he can do.”

Dallin shrugged and stepped aside. “Just see that you don’t lead any of those creatures back here.”

“I’ll be back before morning,” Loric promised as he disappeared through opening at the edge of the cave.

Shael turned to her father. “Da, can I speak to you for a moment?”

He nodded and picked up a lamp. “Follow me, then.”

He led her to a low tunnel that branched off from the passage that connected the two large caverns. When the sounds of talking had faded to a faint babble, he lowered himself to the ground, his back propped against the rock wall. “This is as private as we can get without risking getting lost. What did you need to ask me that the others couldn’t hear?”

“Well, it seems that you’ve all managed to survive pretty well, given the circumstances. But I need to know, how bad is it, really?”

He picked at his mustache for a moment before answering. “It’s bad. I don’t want to alarm the others, but I’ve seen demon tracks right outside the cave entrance. They know we’re in here. They could come for us if they wished. I suppose they realize that they needn’t bother. We don’t have enough food to last through the winter. The only reason we’ve lived as well as we have for this long is that I’ve been sneaking out to hunt almost daily. If those demons watched us a bit more closely, your brothers and I would probably be dead by now. It feels almost like they've been toying with us.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. Papa, I’ve seen what these creatures can do. It’s not safe to stay here.”

“Where could we go? You saw what happened to Graegor. Going out there for longer than a few hours is suicide. Here, we have at least the hope of survival.”

“Loric could protect us,” she began, but stopped. No, even the druid must have limits. He and his wolves would not be able to guard them all from harm. If anything, Graegor’s plan was the best. In fact, it was the only way. “We need more men,” she said, “enough to drive these demons out of our land. Someone must go for help.”

“And who would do that? Did you hear what happened to Master Jayce and Mistress Kadalyn last week? There’s a spring just a few hundred paces from the cave entrance. They went out to get water and never returned.”

She watched his face to gauge his reaction. “I’ll go.”

“Of course,” he said, dropping his head into his hands. “I thought we were leading up to that. It’s never been good enough for you, leading the life you’ve been given. You always had to show that you were just as strong, just as quick as your brothers.”

What he said did strike a chord, but Shael would not be distracted. “Father, it’s not about that at all. Just listen to me. I have a horse, which is more than any of the rest of you can say. I’m light, so it’ll be a fast ride. I’ve got an enchanted bow.”

“Enchanted?” he snorted.

“It’s true. Loric gave it to me. I swear to you, father, I can make it through to Dunesmar.”

“And what of your poor mother? You would put her through that all over again?”

That was harder. “I would rather die trying to save her than stay here while we all slowly starve to death.”

“No,” he said. “I’m you’re father, and the decision is mine. You’re right: we must send someone for help, but it won’t be my only daughter.”

Before either of them could say another word, a cry of alarm sounded, followed by answering shouts. The two of them almost bumped heads in their haste to stand. “What’s happening?” Shael asked, as they hurried back to the main cavern.

He stopped, panting. “The demons have come. They must have followed you. I want you to stay with your mother. Protect her.” They arrived at the cavern, where children were already huddling and sobbing behind their mothers.

“I’m going out there,” she said. Stupid, stupid, she berated herself. Her bow was still tied to her saddle, which was still on her horse.

“Cailen,” her father called, picking up his bow and quiver. “Make sure your sister stays put.”

“I will,” he promised, looking at Shael uncertainly.

"Let's see what this is about," he said, leading the four older boys to the cave exit.

Shael waited until her father and brothers were out of sight. “Step aside, brother,” she said, setting her jaw.

“N-no,” he stammered.

“Please, Shael,” her mother begged. “Don’t go out there.”

“I’m going,” she said firmly. She pushed past Cailen, who offered only a token protest, and dashed through the narrow, twisting passage as fast as the darkness would allow.

Pitch-black suddenly changed to the softer hue of night-black, and she was outside. She saw at once what had happened. The hellspawn had come for their horses. The animals had backed themselves up against the cliff wall and now reared and screamed in terror. Three white wolves formed a half-circle to fend off the demons, their lips curled back into vicious snarls. She spotted her bow dangling from the saddle, less than forty paces away, but trapped behind a sea of deadly blades. Thirty, maybe forty, just like her father had seen near Graegor’s estate. The goatmen lunged and feinted at the wolves, working together to try to draw them away and be slaughtered singly.

Shael made a quick check of her surroundings. Master Gale stood near the cave entrance, spear clutched white-knuckled and face a mask of terror. Two more men had just arrived and stood beside him, all of them unsure what to do. The goatmen, for their part, noticed them all but did not move to challenge them. The horses appeared to be their one purpose in coming there.

Movement above her caught Shael’s eye. Her father and her four older brothers had climbed up to a ledge on the cliff side and were busily preparing arrows for a first volley. What would happen when it struck? Would the demons turn and attack them instead?

An idea formed in her mind. Foolish, mad, but it had to work. Without pausing to consider it further, lest she lose her nerve completely, Shael crept to the cliff’s base, less than ten paces from the backs of the demons, and began to climb. Almost as soon as she started, she heard five bowstrings release almost in unison. She paused just long enough to watch them strike their marks, bringing down one of the goatmen and wounding two others. They surged like a tide, first recoiling, then flowing back to face the new threat. A dozen of the creatures separated from the rest and ran swiftly toward where Shael’s family members were crouched and readying another flight of arrows.

When she judged she had gone far enough, three times her own height at least, she glanced back to get her bearings and her heart leapt into her throat. Two of the goatmen had left the others and begun to climb after her, utilizing all of the grace and balance that their earthly cousins enjoyed. Gritting her teeth, Shael began to edge sideways, finding handholds easily on the steeply-sloped surface. One of the demons bleated, close now. A moment more. Just one more.

With a cry, she spun and pushed off from the rock face, put one foot down, another, feeling herself rushing faster and faster towards losing control and tumbling down to her death. She gauged the distance in her mind’s eye and then pushed off with all of her strength, flailing against the balance of her body wanting to bring her head down first. She saw the ground rushing up to meet her, but slowly, as if the moment had been pulled and stretched all out of shape. The goatmen pausing to look up at her. The wolves seizing on the moment and lunging forward. The sound of bowstrings snapping and her father calling her name.

She came down just shy of where she had aimed, her tailbone sending a jolt of pain up her spine as it hit the horse's rump. She grabbed the reins intuitively and pulled, getting herself into the saddle and at the same time halting the horse’s instinct to bolt. She pulled at the slipknot holding her bow and then plunged her other hand beneath the flaps of her saddlebags to pull back an arrow. Only when she had it notched did she spare an instant to look for a target.

The wolves had pushed the goatmen back with the ferocity of their attack. In bare moments, the three had ripped into the soft parts of a like number of demons, who know gurgled and bleated as their blood seeped slowly away. She took sight on one of the goatmen and drew, her heart beating wildly in her chest. The air buzzed with magic, lifting the hairs on her neck.

A cry of horror rent the air. There! She whirled to face where the sound had come from and sighted down the arrow, releasing the moment she felt it brush an invisible point along the path to her target. The arrow sizzled and flared, trailing white sparks as it leaped for the unprotected neck of the goatman. When it struck, the thunderclap hit Shael hard in the chest. The demon had raised its long-handled sickle, about to strike down her father, but now froze in place, lightning coursing along its body. Suddenly, a finger of white lanced out, striking the demon next to it. An instant later, two more struck, then four, the bolts springing from one demon to the next until the entire group was riveted in place by jagged, buzzing spears of light. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the lightning fizzled and died. The smoldering bodies of the hellspawn collapsed, rolling and bouncing to the bottom of the slope.

Shael did not stop to think about what had happened. She reached for another arrow, set the notch smoothly in place and took aim at the demons surrounding her. The wolves ringed her, growling a fierce challenge to the creatures of hell. For a moment, they held, their strength of numbers infusing them with the confidence to win through. But in the next instant their spirit had broken, and the remaining goatmen turned and ran. The wolves took chase at once, leaping, tearing, dashing onwards to the next kill.

Shael slowly let out the tension in the string. It was over. They had won. She took the reins of Edwin’s gelding and led him over to the other men to be soothed.

“Do you think they are beaten?” Gale asked.

Shael shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Her brothers reached the ground one by one, clamoring in amazement over what she had done. Shael looked past them at her father, holding the bow in front of her like a shield. “Now do you see?” she challenged.

He stared at her, long and hard, the wrinkles on his face creased deeper in thought. “You’ve grown, Shael,” he said at last. “You’ve changed. I think that part of me just wants my little girl back.”

“She’s still here,” she said, smiling faintly. “And to tell the truth, right now she’s scared sick. Father, you know I’m only doing what has to be done.”

“I know. That’s all that I could ever ask of you. Come inside, then. Your mother is going to need some convincing.”

Shael got down from her horse, wobbling as her feet touched the ground. She grasped at a stirrup for support and fought back a wave of dizziness. She didn’t feel tired, exactly, but drained, as if she had gone all day without food. “I’m alright,” she protested when her brothers asked her what was wrong. The feeling lingered for a bit longer, but she walked resolutely back toward the cave, and it soon faded.

As it happened, it took half the night to bring Shael’s mother around. In the end, it was her father who persuaded her, spiriting her away to a private corner as he had done earlier with Shael. When they returned, her cheeks her puffy red from crying, but she nodded. “You can go.”

Her father declared that he would go with her, on the other horse, and this began another round of heated discussion. Finally, Edwin appeared and chimed in that, as it was his horse, and getting Shael home safely had been his responsibility, by rights it was his place to go. Shael pointed out that he was needed here, to protect the remaining villagers, and that she would ask Loric to go with her. In the end, he gave in to her reasoning.

She woke to the pale orange light of dawn, a rough circle creeping across the roof of the cave. Loric looked down at her. “I’m sorry. I should never have left you alone here so soon after we arrived. Are you alright?” he asked.

Shael yawned and stretched, and then raised herself up on elbows. “Yes. Then you heard about what happened last night?”

“The wolves told me. They also told me that you cast 'dancing white fire' into the hellspawn.”

“Yes.” Her brow furrowed. “It’s never happened that way before. The lightning jumped from one demon to the next. It even felt different when I drew back the arrow.”

“It is called chain lightning. The spell was enchanted into the weapon just like all the others, but not everyone has the insight to grasp upon it. You’ve had time to work with the bow, and so have begun to understand its magic, though perhaps not consciously. I think that there must have been great need for you to call upon the chain lightning last night. It is a very powerful magic, but one that must draw some of its strength from the one who casts it. The spell drained some of your spirit.”

“My spirit?”

“Your life force. All things have a spirit, even the rock that surrounds us. Druid magic is the ability to touch and manipulate the spirit of a creature or an object and thereby change it. But doing so always draws away a part of your own spirit. This is the balance that magic requires of us.”

“You said before that all magic might be the same,” Shael prompted. “That wizards and druids get their magic from the same place.”

He frowned at that, as if unwilling to pursue that line of thinking. He shrugged. “The wizards of the east teach of magic as a force,” he began. “Magic, to them, is like a vast pool that they can draw upon, an entity they call mana. It is something that exists outside of nature, a force they can tap into and channel to their will. Few people have this ability, and those that do have a limit to how much magic they can channel. At first glance, these two ideas seem to contradict. But what if it is both?”

Shael waited for him to go on, but that seemed to be the end. “I don’t understand.”

“Magic is an outside force that a wizard can draw upon, but it is also a spirit that lives within everything. It exists for both druids and wizards to find and utilize in their own way, but in the end, maybe the two are the same.”

“So how do you know that either one is right? Maybe what you think of as manipulating the spirit is really channeling mana.”

Loric appeared consider the idea. “It might be as you say, but I can tell you from experience there is a feeling to druid magic that just doesn’t fit the way a wizard describes it. In any event, last night you felt the effects of using magic firsthand, and I’d like for you to remember that. Working with magic is like working your body. When you work hard and use your muscles, they become tired and sore, but over time, they become stronger and allow you to work even harder. When you use magic, your spirit is depleted, but when it returns, it comes back stronger than before. Remember that, and use the magic of the bow carefully.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Then there is something I have to tell you. Last night, I traveled to the village that lies south of here. The people there used to call it Sandon, though it might have a different name now.”

“No, it’s still Sandon. There’s a glassmaker that comes from there every spring.”

He fixed her with a solemn look. “Shael, the village is gone. It has been burned and leveled just like this one.”

Shael knew she should feel something, but after what she had seen today, she felt numb to this new calamity. “I’m going to Dunesmar,” she told him. “I’m going to bring back whatever help the duke will offer us. Telling them about Sandon will only make my case the more urgent.”

“Yes, but I fear what this might mean for Sanctuary. Still, I think that what you propose is an excellent idea. In fact, unless you object, I would like to accompany you on your journey.”

Shael forced a smile. “I think I could tolerate your presence for a bit longer."

[RevenantsKnight]

Yet another good chapter. :)

Some comments:


He was two years youngers than Shael, still more boy than man.

That should be "younger."


He looked up and recognition showed on his face at once.

"Showed" works, but I'd suggest using a less general verb in order to work up a better image for the reader.



“Kaelin said that Diablo and Baal have returned and that the gate to Hell has been opened. It’s not true, is it?”

There's a "Caelin" later in the story; is this the same person? If not, I'd recommend changing the name, because it's a little confusing.



It seemed more crowded than before, and that was the only thought she could form before six men and boys of varying ages swooped in on her. Her father, Tarin, Maron, Dallin, Renn, and Caelin by turns hugged her and clapped her on the back, all of them talking at once.

Shael's father isn't named Tarin, is he? It seemed kind of that way when I first read this because of the sentence structure, but then the only way that there's six of them is if his name isn't given and Tarin is one of her brothers.


“You shouldn’t go out there, sir,” Dallin said, stepping up to block his path. “It’s too dangerous after dark.

You're missing a quotation mark at the end here.


“Well, it seems that you’ve all managed to survive pretty well, given the circumstances. But I need to know, how bad is it, really?”

This question was a little surprising to me, since I didn't get any indication that her father was hiding something from the rest of the survivors. Granted, it's necessary to move the plot, but you might want to add Shael noticing something "off" about her father when Loric talks so that it's less sudden.


The sound of bowstrings snapping and her father calling her name.

The fragment before this worked stylistically, but I'd change this one into a sentence by adding "She heard" to the beginning or something.


When they returned, her cheeks her puffy red from crying, but she nodded. “You can go.”

There's a repeated "her" in this sentence that I think you can delete, or replace with "a".


He fixed her with a solemn look. “Shael, the village is gone. It has been burned and leveled just like this one.”

“I’m going to Dunesmar,” she told him. “I’m going to bring back whatever help the duke will offer us. Telling them about Sandon will only make my case the more urgent.”

Shael's reaction to this seems a little too cold and calculating for a fourteen year old, even if she's been hardened by what she's seen.

Anyway, it's a good sign that most of the comments I can make are on small grammatical errors. :lol: Well done, and thanks for posting!

[tamrend]

There's a "Caelin" later in the story; is this the same person? If not, I'd recommend changing the name, because it's a little confusing.

Hmm. Interesting. To tell the truth, "Kaelin" was made up on the spot, just something to throw out there and keep moving. "Caelin" appeared the following day of writing, when I was searching for names of Celtic/Gaelic origin. I suppose it makes sense to make them the same person.


Shael's father isn't named Tarin, is he?

No. I chose not to give her mother and father's names as a stylistic choice. They are referred to in the same way Shael would think of them. How about if I change it to: Tarin, Maron, Dallin, Renn, Caelin and her father by turns hugged her and clapped her on the back, all of them talking at once.


This question was a little surprising to me, since I didn't get any indication that her father was hiding something from the rest of the survivors. Granted, it's necessary to move the plot, but you might want to add Shael noticing something "off" about her father when Loric talks so that it's less sudden.

I'll consider that. Part of my point here is that Shael knows the demons now better than any of the villagers and recognizes the harsh reality of their situation.


The fragment before this worked stylistically, but I'd change this one into a sentence by adding "She heard" to the beginning or something.

I'll look at it.


There's a repeated "her" in this sentence that I think you can delete, or replace with "a".

Actually, it was supposed to read: When they returned, her cheeks were puffy red from crying, but she nodded. “You can go.”


Shael's reaction to this seems a little too cold and calculating for a fourteen year old, even if she's been hardened by what she's seen.

You're right. Honestly, I was up way too late last night and wanted to just get this part posted. I couldn't think of a proper transition to reflect her reaction. I'll get it in the rewrite.


Anyway, it's a good sign that most of the comments I can make are on small grammatical errors. :lol: Well done, and thanks for posting!

Thanks for reading! I find that it takes me forever to do really thorough editing. I then begin to add to and change little bits of the story and end up not just editing but actually committing to a second draft. Then, of course, new errors crop up. Getting feedback is invaluable to me because it helps to pinpoint actual mistakes so that I don't get off track and just rewrite the thing (which is why I'm stalled on my other project).

[Nephilim]

I'd suggest completely changing the name of Caelin or Kaelin just because of the NPC Kaelan in Diablo II. I wasn't sure if you were mispelling that name.

[tamrend]

Kaelan?

Now that's one I don't remember. It's been months since I even logged in. Which act is (s)he in?

[RevenantsKnight]

Kaelan?

Now that's one I don't remember. It's been months since I even logged in. Which act is (s)he in?

Yeah, I had to bop over to the Arreat Summit to figure this one out...it's the Act II guard by Jerhyn who prevents player characters from entering the palace prior to the Arcane Sanctuary quest. Personally, I don't think this is a problem, since he's in a different region (this doesn't seem like Aranoch), and he's such a minor character.


How about if I change it to: Tarin, Maron, Dallin, Renn, Caelin and her father by turns hugged her and clapped her on the back, all of them talking at once.

That works.

[Raith]

nice story. a couple of errors here and there, but overall, nice. good job. :xman:

[tamrend]

Chapter 14: The Hunt
Part 1

The door lay at the end of a long corridor, with empty rooms to the left and right. One of the soldiers rapped his knuckles three times on the smooth oak, took a step back and waited. Maeryn flexed her fingers inside the leather bindings of the suwayyah. Something bothered her, and she took a moment to decipher the feeling. The walls felt too close, with the four of them crowded together there, two by two. If an enemy attacked them from the other side of that door, there would be no room to maneuver. The drone of an active magic spell drowned out her perception what lay beyond the door. That alone was cause for suspicion. She counted the beats of her heart in the silence. When she reached ten, she said, “Open the door, Adept Lorimer.”

The two soldiers stepped back to make room for Lorimer. One of the twelve surviving wizards of Pallas’ trusted circle, he was gifted with unusually strong ability, and was once a favored apprentice of the old master. He was a pale, thin stick of a man, but possessed of a curiously boyish face. Maeryn had probed his mind along with each of the others and found no trace of deception or betrayal. All of them had passed, which only added to the complexity of their situation.

Lorimer traced his fingers along the doorframe. “It is warded for privacy, and there is an enchantment to seal it against force. I could break them both, if you wish, though it will damage the door.”

“Do it,” she commanded.

“Respectfully, Viz-jaq’taar Maeryn,” he said, “perhaps we have simply come at a bad time. We have no reason to suspect Master Ulric of any real wrongdoing. I would remind you of what happened when we burst in upon Master Trenton last week.”

Maeryn inwardly seethed. Pallas clearly respected Lorimer’s talents, but the man seemed willfully blinded to the possibility of an evil presence hiding among the members of his mage clan. He obeyed her, for the most part, but it was plain that he did not believe that such a thing as corruption was possible. The incident he referred to involved a tryst with a girl who tended the garden. Technically there was no law against such dalliances, but it was still a considerable source of embarrassment for both the mage and the girl. In Maeryn’s mind, such sacrifices were a pittance when compared against the danger they sought to uproot.

“Perhaps you would like to explain why Master Ulric refused my summons twice, and why no one has even seen him for the past week?” she said, keeping her tone piously neutral. In three weeks time, she had managed to test all but a handful of the Horadrim in the keep. A few had left shortly before her inquest, but she regarded them to be of low priority. Others, like Trenton and Ulric, had ignored her orders or attempted to stall her. When she pressed them, she had discovered only minor indiscretions and stubborn indignation. She would continue until she had tested them all.

Lorimer stared at her a moment longer but then turned away. He placed his hands once more along the edge of the door. Wisps of smoke curled from the wood and a string of runes appeared in a red glow of embers. The arcane letters blackened and smeared, leaving a strip of charred wood on the door. Lorimer stepped back. “That should nullify the—“

Maeryn’s senses roared to life, screaming danger. Her reaction was pure, desperate reflex. Her mind reached into the astral plane and pulled her body along like a tether pulling a boat. Flames leapt out from the door, racing down the corridor along the floor. Viewing the scene from a place that was only halfway within the material world, the colors appeared flat and dim, casting the blaze as a pale, dingy orange. Lorimer and the two guards were consumed in moments, their dying screams cut short as armor, clothes, hair and flesh charred and melted away in the space of an eye blink. Even protected as she was, Maeryn felt the shadow of intense heat reaching right down into her bones, burning through her whole insubstantial body all at once rather than from the outside in. The carpets that covered the floor had disappeared, but the fire continued to burn over the bare stone of the floor.

Just as suddenly as they had come, the flames shrank and died, leaving a trail of glowing red stone dusted with the ash of the dead men’s bodies. Smoke billowed out upon the blast of superheated air and the timbers overhead smoldered. Maeryn remained in her astral form, knowing that the residual heat in the air and stones was enough to bake her flesh. Shouts of alarm came from further down the corridor. She directed her thoughts into a mental shout. Stay back.

Maeryn fought back a wave of nausea as her body reacted to the heat. She could see nothing the smoke, so she reached out instead with the energy of her thoughts, at the same time dimming her other senses. Edges and corners stood out as lines of faint resistance, giving her a reasonably detailed image of her surroundings. She was alone in the corridor, for the moment. She could hear the buzzing of thoughts further away, tinged with hues of concern and alarm. Nothing remained of Ulric’s door.

Maeryn moved her feet slowly and carefully, touching the ground with each step before shifting her weight onto it. She held her claws curled back, ready to strike. The smoke was dissipating quickly. She would have only a few more moments to act while surprise still favored her. A few steps into the room, though, she let her focus lapse, her body materializing once more fully into the physical world. She felt faint, but clung tenaciously to consciousness, fortifying the limits of her body with the solidity of her will.

The room was empty, devoid of both magic and life. She began to cough and knelt to get below the level of the smoke. As she did, her hand touched a spot of sticky wetness on the carpet. She crawled forward on hands and knees and put her hand down on a slightly luminescent cloud that had escaped her notice before. She did not flinch as her fingers touched bloated flesh. The faint light that her psychic sense had detected was the life force of tiny creatures feeding off of the decaying corpse. She touched the clothing and jewelry that adorned the body, confirming that it was a mage.
Maeryn rose to a crouch, steeling herself once more. A stiff wind had began to blow from out of the corridor, warm at first, but quickly turning chill. The smoke gradually thinned. “Maeryn, Lorimus!” Pallas called. “What’s happened? Are you alright?”

Maeryn found his mind amidst a group of at least a dozen others. It was a trap. I am unharmed, mostly, but Lorimus is dead.

She sensed the terrible pang of shock go through him, then the weight of helpless guilt. I’m sorry, she added, there was nothing I could do.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, stepping forward to help her to her feet. The other mages crowded in behind him. He spotted the body lying on the floor, at the same moment wrinkling his nose against the stench that was taking hold now that the smoke was gone. “Ulric,” he sighed. He turned to the others. “It’s Master Ulric.”

Someone killed him just to lure me here. I should have been prepared for such a ploy.

Pallas nodded grimly. “We can’t afford any more carelessness,” he agreed, but he wasn’t talking to her. He watched the faces of the other mages as he spoke. “Many of you do not believe that the Horadrim could ever be corrupted. We are Heaven’s chosen, the followers of Tyrael himself. But one of our own has fallen. The proof lies before you. If the attempt on the life of an assassin was not enough to convince you, perhaps the murder of two of our own will. The Viz-jaq’taar are not our enemy. They are our salvation.”

Maeryn felt outright shame emanating from a few of them, but in others, stubborn denial only worked itself deeper. “We know that you support her, Pallas,” one man said, jostling to the front. “But has there been anyone alive to confirm her claims? And does anyone else find it peculiar that our problems began only after she arrived?”

“Your concerns are unfounded, Master Makel,” Pallas began, raising his hands in supplication.

“You would be wise to still your tongue,” Maeryn hissed, stepping around him. She held her anger in check, but only just. “There was a time when men such as you would have paid great penance for suggesting such blasphemy.” She came to stand toe to toe with Makel, drawing herself up to her full height, though it still only brought her up to his shoulder.

The mage remained where he was, refusing to be intimidated. “Perhaps men such as I have come to realize that the Viz-jaq’taar’s vaunted power is an illusion. I say that are neither wanted nor needed here, Slayer.”

He made to turn from her, but Maeryn struck the moment he began to move. She delved deep into his mind, brushing aside his feeble attempts to stop her. She seized control of his body, paralyzing his voice and body to prevent him from summoning his power. His eyes watched her with dawning horror as she rifled through his memories with cruel thoroughness, exposing every secret thought and desire. When she had seen enough, she released him.

Makel shrank back. “She is the one who is tainted,” he spat, visibly shaking as he retreated from the room.

Pallas took Maeryn’s arm and guided her out, the other mages giving them a wide berth. Anger and distrust boiled off of them like the stench of spoiled meat. She swayed slightly and Pallas gripped her arm more tightly to support her. Her reserves of strength were nearly at an end, she realized. He helped her down the stairs and along the passageway to his quarters. She clung to him as he lowered her into a chair near the window. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted. “That was strong magic. It would not be immodest to say that most of my younger Sisters would not have survived.”

Pallas took a seat next to her. “Whatever you did back there, it was reckless,” he chided. “Makel has already been tested. We knew that he was not a threat.”

“I thought…” she began, then frowned. “I don’t know quite what I thought, except that it is incredible that this enemy has remained hidden from me for this long. Corruption is like a sickness that takes root in the soul. It infects not only a mage, but his clothing, even his living spaces. My senses are more attuned than most, because of my age and experience. I should have been able to pick him out from across a crowded room the moment I set foot inside. I only began testing people individually when it became clear that this was not the case, and then not as deeply and thoroughly as I did with Makel just now. I’m wondering if this mage has found a way to contain the venom in such a way that I cannot sense it. That is why I searched Makel’s memories. Maybe it was rash, but I feel we are running out of time.”

Pallas shook his head. “Makel can be bull-headed at times, but I would not suspect him the more for it. And there are those who share his sentiment, who fear, or even hate you. You may have just added to our difficulties.”

“Perhaps it is better if they fear me,” she said bitterly. “It might be the only way they will respect my authority.”

“It is a pity we forget our forbears’ mistakes so quickly. The Horadrim’s pride may well be our downfall one day,” Pallas muttered. He leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with one hand. “Poor Lorimar. He was too young to risk on such a dangerous venture. I should never have chosen him.”

Maeryn waited a few moments, giving him time to grieve for his dead student. When she felt his pain begin to lessen, she asked, “Has there been any word from the enclave?”

Pallas straightened in his chair and reached for a goblet sitting on the low table next to him. “Nothing since the report on Garron’s death. The messenger that we sent through the portal stone last week also has yet to return, though he might have been delayed by the weather.” He tilted the cup to take a sip and then paused, looking down at the liquid suspiciously.

Maeryn reached to take the cup from him. “Best to be safe,” she murmured, setting it down. “No more carelessness.” She stood up and crossed the floor the rest of the way to the window, which looked to the west out over the lake. The shifting water glowed ruddy in the light of the setting sun. Five more Sisters, she had requested, hardly an unreasonable number. Why would they delay?

As if in answer, the image of ruined buildings and burning fields flashed before her mind’s eye. Maeryn swallowed and fought back the wave of hopelessness that clamped her stomach and weakened her knees. Blood soaked the ground in her vision, but the bodies of the dead were missing. It was difficult to tell if what she saw was real. Deep emotional attachment sometimes made it impossible to sort out the distinction between fear and true premonition. Even if it was true, she could not give in to despair. “It has been three weeks. They would have sent word well before now if they could. I think it is likely, then, that we can expect no help from my Sisters, and that I must unravel this mystery on my own.”

[tamrend]

Ha ha! Thought I was gone forever did you? How wrong you were! Now, someone threaten my life to keep me motivated.

Or comment, your choice.

[RevenantsKnight]

Ha ha! Thought I was gone forever did you? How wrong you were! Now, someone threaten my life to keep me motivated.

Or comment, your choice.

Threaten your life? Okay...threaten, threaten, threaten...and something about your little doggie, too. Wow, I stink at this job. :p

Anyway, on to the story: looks good, just as before. Overall, I found this a smooth and enjoyable read, though there was the occasional bump here and there. Some thoughts on those and more:


One of the soldiers rapped his knuckles three times on the smooth oak, took a step back and waited. Maeryn flexed her fingers inside the leather bindings of the suwayyah. Something bothered her, and she took a moment to decipher the feeling.

This passage, and the rest of the paragraph as well, felt a little like a list to me. Part of that is because the sentences are almost all subject-verb-etc. in structure, but a perhaps more pressing reason is the impression that some of this got glossed over or just needs extra detail. For instance, you could build on the sentence “Something bothered her, and she took a moment to decipher the feeling” in a number of ways; one option would be to describe the feeling, the something, in greater detail. Maybe it’s a sort of nervous, gnawing sensation, or a cold, pit-of-the-stomach force; regardless of what you do, a detailed look should bring the atmosphere Maeryn’s feeling closer to the reader. My opinion would be that one or two such images, plus some sentence structure variation, would make this pull the reader in better. But then maybe it’s just me.


The drone of an active magic spell drowned out her perception what lay beyond the door.

Should that be “her perception of what lay...”?


One of the twelve surviving wizards of Pallas’ trusted circle, he was gifted with unusually strong ability, and was once a favored apprentice of the old master.

Technically, “Pallas’” should be “Pallas’s,” since the noun’s singular, though this can be a stylistic call.


He was a pale, thin stick of a man, but possessed of a curiously boyish face.

”Possessed of” sounded odd to me, though it might be correct; I can’t be sure. Personally, I’d word this as “though he possessed...”


“Respectfully, Viz-jaq’taar Maeryn,” he said, “perhaps we have simply come at a bad time. We have no reason to suspect Master Ulric of any real wrongdoing. I would remind you of what happened when we burst in upon Master Trenton last week.”

It seems to me that Lorimer’s words don’t quite show a complete picture here. I could imagine him saying this in a placating tone, a neutral statement of fact, or in a manner that puts the lie to his “Respectfully.” Given Lorimer’s fate and Pallas’s later grieving, it couldn’t hurt to add a few extra details to Lorimer. Also, it would hint at why he does not believe the Order is corrupted; both blind devotion and arrogance could be at the root of such a belief.


In three weeks time, she had managed to test all but a handful of the Horadrim in the keep.

I think that should be “three weeks’ time.”


A few had left shortly before her inquest, but she regarded them to be of low priority.

I’d change “to be of” to “as a,” though I’m not sure if what you have is correct or not.


When she pressed them, she had discovered only minor indiscretions and stubborn indignation. She would continue until she had tested them all.

The transition between these two sentences felt a little abrupt; maybe another sentence to link the ideas, like “Gritting her teeth at those frustrating memories, Maeryn filled her mind with a burst of strengthened resolve,” would help.


Lorimer stared at her a moment longer but then turned away. He placed his hands once more along the edge of the door. Wisps of smoke curled from the wood and a string of runes appeared in a red glow of embers. The arcane letters blackened and smeared, leaving a strip of charred wood on the door. Lorimer stepped back.

Again, that’s a lot of sentences with the structure subject-verb-modifiers. One possible rewording that would address this would be “Placing his hands once more along the edge of the door, he muttered a few syllables...Eyeing his handiwork, Lorimer stepped back.” In general, it’s not a really big problem if a lot of your sentences use this structure, so long as there’s something to vary the flow, such as dialogue. For larger blocks of narration like this one, though, it’s probably a good idea to switch a sentence or two around.


Her mind reached into the astral plane and pulled her body along like a tether pulling a boat...Viewing the scene from a place that was only halfway within the material world, the colors appeared flat and dim, casting the blaze as a pale, dingy orange.

Nice description of this game skill...if you want, you could elaborate more on the “reached into the astral plane” bit, but it’s hardly necessary. :)


Smoke billowed out upon the blast of superheated air and the timbers overhead smoldered.

Wait...what “blast of superheated air”?


Maeryn fought back a wave of nausea as her body reacted to the heat. She could see nothing the smoke, so she reached out instead with the energy of her thoughts, at the same time dimming her other senses.

I’d consider combining these two sentences into one, so that the end result is something like “Fighting back a wave of nausea brought on by the sudden heat, Maeryn squinted, trying to see through the smoke, then reached out with the energy of her thoughts...” because the first sentence somehow sound a little weak on its own to me.


A few steps into the room, though, she let her focus lapse, her body materializing once more fully into the physical world.

I think the “fully” in this sentence is unnecessary.


As she did, her hand touched a spot of sticky wetness on the carpet.

That should be “As she did so.” Also, would it really be wet still, considering how long he’s been dead?


A stiff wind had began to blow from out of the corridor, warm at first, but quickly turning chill. The smoke gradually thinned.

That should be “began to blow.” Additionally, I’d try to combine the second sentence with another, since it seems a little weak on its own.


“Maeryn, Lorimus!” Pallas called.

“Poor Lorimar.”

Erm...do you mean “Lorimer”?


“I say that are neither wanted nor needed here, Slayer.”

“...that you are neither wanted...,” perhaps?


Anger and distrust boiled off of them like the stench of spoiled meat.

Nice image.


She swayed slightly and Pallas gripped her arm more tightly to support her. Her reserves of strength were nearly at an end, she realized. He helped her down the stairs and along the passageway to his quarters. She clung to him as he lowered her into a chair near the window.

Maybe my anal-retentivity setting is stuck on maximum today, but this also felt like another instance where the sentence structure’s monotony made this feel like a list. My suggestions are more or less the same as for the previous such occurrences; something like “Helping her down the stairs, he led Maeryn along the passageway to his quarters” might suffice in this case.


I should have been able to pick him out from across a crowded room the moment I set foot inside.

I think you need something like “inside this citadel” at the end, instead of simply “inside.”


It was difficult to tell if what she saw was real. Deep emotional attachment sometimes made it impossible to sort out the distinction between fear and true premonition.

This rather objective statement of fact was a bit of a jolt, considering as it comes right after you’re painting a close portrayal of Maeryn’s emotions and mental state. While reading this paragraph, I started to get drawn into the scene Maeryn sees, and then, I hit this. For me, that undid the world you were creating in her mind.


Even if it was true, she could not give in to despair. “It has been three weeks. They would have sent word well before now if they could. I think it is likely, then, that we can expect no help from my Sisters, and that I must unravel this mystery on my own.”

This transition between the narration and Maeryn’s speech felt like too much of a jump to me; it would probably help if you inserted a sentence or two drawing the reader away from these thoughts and back into the world, e.g. “In response to Pallas’s questioning gaze, Maeryn slowly raised her head to meet his eyes.”

Overall, this was a fun read, though there were a few things that could use some editing. Anyway, I hope this helps, and I look forward to any further chapters. Thanks for posting!

[tamrend]

Originally Posted by tamrend
One of the soldiers rapped his knuckles three times on the smooth oak, took a step back and waited. Maeryn flexed her fingers inside the leather bindings of the suwayyah. Something bothered her, and she took a moment to decipher the feeling.

This passage, and the rest of the paragraph as well, felt a little like a list to me. Part of that is because the sentences are almost all subject-verb-etc. in structure, but a perhaps more pressing reason is the impression that some of this got glossed over or just needs extra detail.

Good call.




Originally Posted by tamrend
The drone of an active magic spell drowned out her perception what lay beyond the door.

Should that be “her perception of what lay...”?

Yes. You are seeing the results of writing 75% of this all at once in about two hours. MS Word for some silly reason allows mistakes like this to get by while bugging me about stupid reflexive pronouns. As always, you have a very attentive eye. I'll leave out any reference to grammar mistakes from here out but I am taking note of them for correction.




Originally Posted by tamrend
He was a pale, thin stick of a man, but possessed of a curiously boyish face.

”Possessed of” sounded odd to me, though it might be correct; I can’t be sure. Personally, I’d word this as “though he possessed...”

I tried that one a few different ways. I believe my usage is correct, if a bit esoteric.




Originally Posted by tamrend
“Respectfully, Viz-jaq’taar Maeryn,” he said, “perhaps we have simply come at a bad time. We have no reason to suspect Master Ulric of any real wrongdoing. I would remind you of what happened when we burst in upon Master Trenton last week.”

It seems to me that Lorimer’s words don’t quite show a complete picture here. I could imagine him saying this in a placating tone, a neutral statement of fact, or in a manner that puts the lie to his “Respectfully.” Given Lorimer’s fate and Pallas’s later grieving, it couldn’t hurt to add a few extra details to Lorimer. Also, it would hint at why he does not believe the Order is corrupted; both blind devotion and arrogance could be at the root of such a belief.

I tried describing the voice, using the word placating, as I recall, but I felt it was redundant. Lorimer is respectful, just as his words suggest, but I see now that there is a lot of room for interpretation.




Originally Posted by tamrend
When she pressed them, she had discovered only minor indiscretions and stubborn indignation. She would continue until she had tested them all.

The transition between these two sentences felt a little abrupt; maybe another sentence to link the ideas, like “Gritting her teeth at those frustrating memories, Maeryn filled her mind with a burst of strengthened resolve,” would help.

I was going for a bit of a hard transfer here as emphasis. Something to look at in the rewrite, though.




Originally Posted by tamrend
Lorimer stared at her a moment longer but then turned away. He placed his hands once more along the edge of the door. Wisps of smoke curled from the wood and a string of runes appeared in a red glow of embers. The arcane letters blackened and smeared, leaving a strip of charred wood on the door. Lorimer stepped back.

Again, that’s a lot of sentences with the structure subject-verb-modifiers. One possible rewording that would address this would be “Placing his hands once more along the edge of the door, he muttered a few syllables...Eyeing his handiwork, Lorimer stepped back.” In general, it’s not a really big problem if a lot of your sentences use this structure, so long as there’s something to vary the flow, such as dialogue. For larger blocks of narration like this one, though, it’s probably a good idea to switch a sentence or two around.

That's what happens when I go back and edit a paragraph two or three times. I need to remember to read them through again a few times. I liked every sentence there as it stands, but together they have no rhythm. Bad me.




Originally Posted by tamrend
Her mind reached into the astral plane and pulled her body along like a tether pulling a boat...Viewing the scene from a place that was only halfway within the material world, the colors appeared flat and dim, casting the blaze as a pale, dingy orange.

Nice description of this game skill...if you want, you could elaborate more on the “reached into the astral plane” bit, but it’s hardly necessary.

I checked the Arreat Summit to remind myself how this skill ties into the Assassin's abilities. I liked it and decided to use it.




Originally Posted by tamrend
Smoke billowed out upon the blast of superheated air and the timbers overhead smoldered.

Wait...what “blast of superheated air”?

Hmm. That does seem a little weird.




Originally Posted by tamrend
Maeryn fought back a wave of nausea as her body reacted to the heat. She could see nothing the smoke, so she reached out instead with the energy of her thoughts, at the same time dimming her other senses.

I’d consider combining these two sentences into one, so that the end result is something like “Fighting back a wave of nausea brought on by the sudden heat, Maeryn squinted, trying to see through the smoke, then reached out with the energy of her thoughts...” because the first sentence somehow sound a little weak on its own to me.

I'll look at changing the first sentence.




Originally Posted by tamrend
A few steps into the room, though, she let her focus lapse, her body materializing once more fully into the physical world.

I think the “fully” in this sentence is unnecessary.

Yes.




Originally Posted by tamrend
As she did, her hand touched a spot of sticky wetness on the carpet.

That should be “As she did so.” Also, would it really be wet still, considering how long he’s been dead?

Ah, temporal incongruity. At first I had assumed he was only dead for a day or so, then I thought about the imagery of her seeing the lifeforce of the microorganisms and changed it to a week. Thanks, copy editor.




Originally Posted by tamrend
A stiff wind had began to blow from out of the corridor, warm at first, but quickly turning chill. The smoke gradually thinned.

That should be “began to blow.” Additionally, I’d try to combine the second sentence with another, since it seems a little weak on its own.

My intention was that she reacted and then we get the description of what she reacted to. Probably unnecessary.




Originally Posted by tamrend
“Maeryn, Lorimus!” Pallas called.

“Poor Lorimar.”

Erm...do you mean “Lorimer”?

Lori-who?




Originally Posted by tamrend
“I say that are neither wanted nor needed here, Slayer.”


“...that you are neither wanted...,” perhaps?

I blame Word. Can't rely on that POS for the small stuff.




Originally Posted by tamrend
Anger and distrust boiled off of them like the stench of spoiled meat.

Nice image.

Thanks. That was one of my "Ah, ha! I've got it" moments of description.




Originally Posted by tamrend
She swayed slightly and Pallas gripped her arm more tightly to support her. Her reserves of strength were nearly at an end, she realized. He helped her down the stairs and along the passageway to his quarters. She clung to him as he lowered her into a chair near the window.

Maybe my anal-retentivity setting is stuck on maximum today, but this also felt like another instance where the sentence structure’s monotony made this feel like a list. My suggestions are more or less the same as for the previous such occurrences; something like “Helping her down the stairs, he led Maeryn along the passageway to his quarters” might suffice in this case.

Either that or I'm being lazy. One of us has to break.




Originally Posted by tamrend
I should have been able to pick him out from across a crowded room the moment I set foot inside.

I think you need something like “inside this citadel” at the end, instead of simply “inside.”

This one's harder. For total clarity: "I should have been able to pick him out from across a crowded room the moment I set foot inside the room."

Room x 2. Not very artful. This sentence suggests that this is exactly what she tried at first, observing whole rooms of people at once. I don't want her ability to spot a corrupted mage to be too powerful, or it wouldn't make sense that she wouldn't realize it the moment she arrived, which is the conclusion you came to about what I meant. I could probably rewrite the sentence to make it more clear.




Originally Posted by tamrend
It was difficult to tell if what she saw was real. Deep emotional attachment sometimes made it impossible to sort out the distinction between fear and true premonition.

This rather objective statement of fact was a bit of a jolt, considering as it comes right after you’re painting a close portrayal of Maeryn’s emotions and mental state. While reading this paragraph, I started to get drawn into the scene Maeryn sees, and then, I hit this. For me, that undid the world you were creating in her mind.


Interesting. The effect that I was going for is that Maeryn is rationalizing. She's trying to reassure herself by asserting reasoning based upon past experience. I think that I could achieve the desired effect by altering the passage to read, "But she knew that it was difficult to tell if what she saw was real. Deep emotional attachment sometimes made it impossible to sort out the distinction between fear and true premonition."




Originally Posted by tamrend
Even if it was true, she could not give in to despair. “It has been three weeks. They would have sent word well before now if they could. I think it is likely, then, that we can expect no help from my Sisters, and that I must unravel this mystery on my own.”

This transition between the narration and Maeryn’s speech felt like too much of a jump to me; it would probably help if you inserted a sentence or two drawing the reader away from these thoughts and back into the world, e.g. “In response to Pallas’s questioning gaze, Maeryn slowly raised her head to meet his eyes.”

Re-reading this, the imagery you suggest does seem appropriate.


Overall, this was a fun read, though there were a few things that could use some editing. Anyway, I hope this helps, and I look forward to any further chapters. Thanks for posting!

Thanks for reading. I was hoping for death threats, but I'll try to motivate myself as well as I can. I actually threw out three different drafts of this chapter after completing anywhere from two paragraphs to three pages. This one finally seems to resonate with the tone and plot elements that I want to convey.

[Snowglare]

WE Have kelsie . gather one million

chaptERS N unmarked consecutive

words! Await insTRUCtion s . No

Funny STuff.

[Snowglare]

Good to see a new chapter from you. It's been far too long.


Technically, Pallas' should be Pallas's, since the noun's singular, though this can be a stylistic call.

Emphasis added for my own benefit. This is a tricky matter. The rule as written here (http://www.grammarmudge.cityslide.com/articles/article/426348/4944.htm) allows for an "it sounds awkward" exception, which pretty much makes everything fair game. Jesus's and James's both sound equally awkward to me, as does Pallas's. To be fair, Jesus', James', and Pallas' don't sound quite right either. It's a huge, pustulent blister on the *** of the English language.


He was a pale, thin stick of a man, but possessed of a curiously boyish face.


"Possessed of" sounded odd to me, though it might be correct; I can't be sure. Personally, I'd word this as "though he possessed..."

"Possessed of" is correct. Might want to rewrite the sentence anyways; the whole pale&thin/boyish face contrast feels a bit off. Like, I kinda see where a boyish face would be odd. If he's an experienced mage who doesn't dabble in youthenizing spells- or maybe that's it, that he could be glamouring up his appearance. Eh, your guess is better'n mine. But yeah, I don't see why it's so curious.


It is warded for privacy, and there is an enchantment to seal it against force. I could break them both, if you wish, though it will damage the door.

I like how he cares about the door. Maeryn wouldn't bat a lash if they had to burn through ancient, sacred tapestries to get into the room, and Lorimer's worried about scuffing a door. I tend to agree with Maeryn (since no such tapestries are involved), but Lorimer isn't being unreasonable. It's a nice clash of viewpoints.


"Respectfully, Viz-jaq'taar Maeryn," he said, "perhaps we have simply come at a bad time. We have no reason to suspect Master Ulric of any real wrongdoing. I would remind you of what happened when we burst in upon Master Trenton last week."


It seems to me that Lorimer's words don't quite show a complete picture here. I could imagine him saying this in a placating tone, a neutral statement of fact, or in a manner that puts the lie to his "Respectfully." Given Lorimer's fate and Pallas's later grieving, it couldn't hurt to add a few extra details to Lorimer. Also, it would hint at why he does not believe the Order is corrupted; both blind devotion and arrogance could be at the root of such a belief.

After thinking about it, I agree with Rev. More detail on Lorimer would be nice in and of itself, and the context strongly suggests that Lorimer is annoyed, if only slightly. That or he has no personality, and I should imagine him with a flat, monotone voice. "Your suwayyah, Master Bruce".


Pallas clearly respected Lorimer's talents, but the man seemed willfully blinded to the possibility of an evil presence hiding among the members of his mage clan. He obeyed her, for the most part, but it was plain that he did not believe that such a thing as corruption was possible.

The first time I read through the chapter, I thought this whole paragraph was about Pallas. Maybe I'm dense, or maybe it's as clear as it ought to be.


In Maeryn's mind, such sacrifices were a pittance when compared against the danger they sought to uproot.

You compare to or with, not against. You can weigh against, but you can't compare.


Perhaps you would like to explain why Master Ulric refused my summons twice, and why no one has even seen him for the past week?

I probably don't need to tell you, but just in case: make sure not to forget this later. That Ulric responded to being summoned before contact broke off is at the very least a red herring. In a mystery, the reader and author both need to remember such details.


In three weeks time, she had managed to test all but a handful of the Horadrim in the keep.


I think that should be "three weeks' time".

I wasn't sure, so I sought a second opinion. Grammar himself (http://webster.commnet.edu/grammar/grammarlogs4/grammarlogs543.htm) says you're right.


"Your concerns are unfounded, Master Makel," Pallas began, raising his hands in supplication.

That's an odd visual. I take it Pallas is ubercomposed. Amazing that he can remain calm in the midst of grief (his) and impudence (Makel's). Stands in sharp contrast to Maeryn's reaction.


The mage remained where he was, refusing to be intimidated.

Impressive. It's hard not to side with Maeryn when the story focuses on her - what she knows, how she deals with the mystery, etc. - but, ah, she's none too likeable. I tend to side with those who don't appreciate her presence. I may like the result, but I doubt I'll like the way it's reached. Me and Makel both.


"Perhaps it is better if they fear me," she said bitterly. "It might be the only way they will respect my authority."

Try whacking them in the shin with a club. It works wonders.


Lori-who?

Lorimyrrh. Lorimeister. Lorimylar. Lorimitochondria. Lori Loughlin. Pale Moon Face, Last of the Hee-Haw.

[tamrend]

More good commentary. I'll touch on a few points.


"Possessed of" is correct. Might want to rewrite the sentence anyways; the whole pale&thin/boyish face contrast feels a bit off. Like, I kinda see where a boyish face would be odd. If he's an experienced mage who doesn't dabble in youthenizing spells- or maybe that's it, that he could be glamouring up his appearance. Eh, your guess is better'n mine. But yeah, I don't see why it's so curious.

I'll have to elaborate on that one a bit. I admit that the image is incomplete.


That's an odd visual. I take it Pallas is ubercomposed. Amazing that he can remain calm in the midst of grief (his) and impudence (Makel's). Stands in sharp contrast to Maeryn's reaction.

Yes, he is ubercomposed. When it comes down to it, he's the besty ally that Maeryn could have in this situation.


Impressive. It's hard not to side with Maeryn when the story focuses on her - what she knows, how she deals with the mystery, etc. - but, ah, she's none too likeable. I tend to side with those who don't appreciate her presence. I may like the result, but I doubt I'll like the way it's reached. Me and Makel both.

I find that comment very encouraging. I was worried that Makel would come off as unlikable, so I tried to make sure that his concerns were legitimate, that he wasn't simply "making trouble".

[tamrend]

Another chapter completed, and a very difficult one, at that. Between both sections, I've probably deleted more text than the total word count posted here. I'm not at all sure that I've achieved the effect and the quality of writing I was going for here, being unfamiliar writing territory for me overall, but of course I'll shut up and let you be the judge of that.

Chapter 14: The Hunt
Part 2

“You are not alone,” Pallas reminded her gently.

Maeryn regarded him with mixed feelings, her longing for companionship at war with the practical need to maintain objectivity. No, this was hardly the time for sentiment. “Master Pallas, for your own sake I would urge you to maintain a bit more distance from me. I am afraid that, however this turns out, your fellow mages will not remember me kindly. You may suffer the consequences of my presence here long after I am gone.”

“And what will it matter, if the Source Key is indeed already in the hands of our unknown enemy? It may be that nothing we can do here will change what is happening out there, but we have to try. Even if it means undermining something as insignificant as my own reputation.”

Maeryn knew that it had already cost him much more than that. “Very well,” she said briskly. “I must admit that I have benefited greatly from your aid thus far, but I won’t have any more lives lost because of my actions. I would appreciate your advice and your aid in addressing the council, but for all else, I must be allowed to work alone.”

Pallas nodded. “Fair enough.” Whatever undercurrent of feeling she had detected before had faded from his thoughts. Now she sensed only acute concern. “For now, though, you must rest. I will sort out the details and alert you with any news in the morning.”

Maeryn suffered herself to be led by the arm to her chambers and lowered onto her bed. She curled up and began to shiver, her body and mind too depleted to warm herself by the force of will alone. Pallas draped a blanket over her, to which she clung gratefully. Never before today had she come so close to death. It must have unnerved her more than she realized, because she found herself grateful for the old mage’s presence nearby, watching over her until sleep finally came.

In the morning, Maeryn found two messages that had been slipped beneath her door, both from Pallas. One was a note that urged her to visit Master Orelan, a Scholar who could give her some insight into Ulric’s death. The second was a list of Urlic’s friends and associates.

Orelan’s study was lit by the light of hundreds of candles lining the walls and perched upon tables. A few random artifacts: scrolls, jewelry, a notched short sword, littered one table in the corner, but a stern warning was posted nearby which marked them as possessing unknown magical properties.

Maeryn picked up a rather plain-looking knife, careful not to touch the rust-brown stains that marked the blade and the base of the handle. The only marking upon it was a thin crescent etched into the base of the blade. It meant nothing to Maeryn. “You’re certain that this is what killed Ulric?” she asked, glancing at the mage across the table from her. Black skin was stretched thin over bony arms and hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin, just as his brown robes draped in great folds from his gaunt frame. Two tiny patches of white hair clung to his skull just above the ears. Yet, for all that it appeared that a stiff gust might scatter him, she felt at once the iron in his will, the ferocity of his spirit. He had been alive anyone else in the keep, of that he was certain.

He returned her gaze dispassionately and spoke in a gravelly tenor. “If you mean, ‘was it the cause of his death?’ then the answer is yes. The blade pierced his heart, and there were no other wounds found on his body. If you are wondering whether some other enchantment may have been involved…” He spread his hands. “I found no traces of magic used on Ulric.”

Maeryn frowned. “You are saying that there was no magic involved in the attack, whatsoever?”

“It would appear so. A pity, too, since there would have been a good chance that we could have discovered the identity of the killer. I am a diviner of unusual talent, at least among the Horadrim. I have learned to read the traces well enough to recognize the subtle but intricate patterns imprinted on a spell by a mage’s own soul.”

Excitement began to swell in Maeryn’s chest. “Then the firewall spell—“

“Was cast by Master Ulric, himself,” Orelan finished in a slow, deliberate tone.

Maeryn stared, aghast. “But how can that be?”

“I cannot even guess to the why, but it was him, I assure you. Ulric placed the spell on the door, along with the sealing enchantment which must have triggered the firewall once it was broken. There was also a powerful ward against teleportation, again cast by Ulric. Although,” he mused, tilting his head to one side, “I did also note some odd traces on Ulric’s body, but they seem to be aftereffects of his own magic. Once we are finished here, I intend to have another look.”

Possibilities began to form in her mind. A mind-altering enchantment? No, any magic so strong would have left a trace. A very weak spell, illusion perhaps? Unlikely, given that it would take a very elaborate charade to convince Ulric to place such a specific set of spells. He had deliberately created a trap for anyone trying to enter his chamber and made certain that no one could enter by means of magic. He must have believed that he had good reason to do it. Maeryn needed to discover that reason.

She placed the knife back on the table. “Have you determined anything at all about this?”

“No one has laid claim to it, of course. It is a fine grade of steel and balanced for throwing. The crescent could be a guild or craftsman’s mark, but it is none that I am familiar with.”

“Nondescript,” Maeryn observed, “untraceable.” But I’ll find you yet, she added inwardly. Pallas had called for witnesses and begun to make inquiries with the guards and servant staff, but Maeryn doubted that there would be much to find. Their killer was too careful to cover his own tracks, probably the only reason that he had not succeeded in killing her yet. She intended to make that failure his greatest mistake.

“Thank you, Master Orelan,” she said, bowing slightly to show the depth of her appreciation and respect. “I trust you will send for me if you find something more.”

“Of course, Viz-jaq’taar,” he replied blandly.

Maeryn nearly toppled a boy in gray apprentice robes waiting outside. He took one look at her and scurried off with a yelp. His reaction was a sign of her steadily worsening situation. Pallas had been right that her treatment of Makel would not be ignored by the other Horadrim. It was even being whispered about, the idea sparking and catching among the minds of the mages, that it was she who had killed Ulric and the cook, that her purpose was to destroy the Horadrim and restore the former preeminence of the Viz-jaq’taar. It was preposterous, the evidence weighing heavily in her favor in Ulric’s case, even if her authority meant nothing to them.

She felt an uncomfortable foreboding as she approached the hall where she had nearly lost her life earlier that day. The flames had stripped all decoration from the walls, leaving only a thick layer of soot, which servants were already laboring to clear away. Maeryn ignored the curious and fearful looks they cast her way. At nearly the exact center of the corridor, the floor was now glazed flawlessly smooth where the granite had melted and flowed in the heat. She had learned that no trace of Lorimer or the two soldiers had been found.

Ulric’s chambers looked much as she remembered it. The body had been removed, but a large, irregular stain marked where it had lain. At the center of one wall of the room, a window stood open, admitting a brisk breeze. Maeryn approached to examine it more closely. The opening was square and only two hand spans across. She leaned forward and put her head and an arm through, but could not get both shoulders past the narrow aperture. Looking down, she saw the courtyard five floors below. Cobblestones lined the ground, and the nearest tree was well out of reach of a jump.

A person could not have gone that way, but a demon, perhaps? Something small enough or limber enough to squeeze through the window and to leap to the ground without injury. She would keep the possibility open in her thoughts, though such a brazen act was out of the range of behavior her quarry had shown thus far.

Maeryn inspected the smaller adjoining room, which housed a cot and basic living necessities. There were no windows and only the door she had entered. She picked up a few of the items but just as quickly put them down again, finding nothing of interest. An amulet hung in a display case on one wall, thrumming with quiescent power, but she spared it only a cautious glance. These were all Ulric’s possessions. Nothing here could give her a link to the killer.

Maeryn pulled the door closed behind her, but the latch didn’t catch and it swung slowly inward once more. She knelt to examine it, finding that the bolt had been broken off completely, as though someone had forced the door. Could Ulric have taken refuge here, and then been dragged back into the main room to be killed? Maybe he knew he was being hunted, and the trap on the door had been for his own protection.

Returning to the main room, Maeryn took one last, long gaze around herself, committing as many details as possible to memory. So far, she had little to go on, just bits and pieces, really. She needed to know more about Ulric himself to begin to understand what had happened to him and why. She fished Pallas’ list from her pocket and reviewed it as she passed through the ravaged hallway. It was a short list: just three friends that he had known for many years, and an apprentice.

Maeryn’s eyes narrowed. One of those names she knew quite well. Like Ulric and Trenton, Master Kedron had ignored her summons to be tested. His quarters had been found empty, and no one she had asked up until now could recall having seen him in several days. Could Ulric have been killed by someone he trusted? The thought did have merit. Maybe Kedron had somehow convinced Ulric that he was in immediate danger to get him to cast those spells of protection, then stabbed him when his guard was down. The only piece that didn’t fit was that she couldn’t see how he had gotten out of the room once the murder was done.

Well, it would all become clear in time. Now that he was a suspect, she would ensure that the effort to find him was redoubled. There was probably nothing she could do if Kedron had gotten clear of the keep. Indeed, if the killer were gone, it would solve much of their problems, but she wanted to be certain that this was not yet another misdirection.

She sensed Brin’s presence before she reached his rooms. Their meeting earlier in the week was still fresh in her mind, and this one was not likely to be any more agreeable. She knocked and stepped back, sharpening her senses against whatever might happen.

The door opened and a handsome youth stood in the doorway regarding her. He had the fair skin and light hair of a westerner and a broad, bulky build that suggested lineage with the barbarian tribes to the north. He wore a simple tunic and breeches, but from a chain around his neck hung a tiny silver broadsword with a hilt made of jade, marking him as a Warlock. They were the largest and most powerful sect of the Horadrim. The other two sects, the Scholars and Enchanters, hard formed largely in support of it, providing the clan with the knowledge and weapons to wage battle against the minions of Hell. Brin was ranked as an adept. It took most mages a decade or more to rise from that level to the rank of master.

“Come to test me again, Slayer?” he asked, with a smile that dribbled acid.

“I have questions for you, Adept Brin,” she said, fixing her gaze on him. “Should I conduct my interview here, or would you like to come with me to a private chamber?”

“Please come in, Slayer,” he replied, giving her a bow that could only be considered mocking in its extravagance. “I have wine, if you would like. Perhaps you would like some mutton as well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, batting aside his attempt to unbalance her with practiced ease. She had known that eventually the details of Dagan’s death would get out. She found Brin’s comment extremely distasteful, but she would not let him bait her.

He fetched the wine and poured it in front of her, making no mention of the meat, as she had expected. Maeryn took a seat in one of the chairs in the main room, but Brin turned away from her, gazing out a window, holding his cup without drinking. “You had questions, you said?”

Maeryn looked down at the wine in her own hand. Her mind tapped at the ineffectual resistance that blocked her from seeing his thoughts clearly. “You have no doubt heard of the death of your friend, Ulric?”

Brin nodded without turning. “I was there in the corridor when you emerged from his chambers. I must admit that it is a painful subject you broach. I am not certain I have quite come to grips with it. Perhaps you should return at a later time when I have had—“

“I am not finished.”

He let the silence stretch before speaking. “Please, continue.”

“You do not deny that Ulric was your friend. Is there anything of importance you might be able to tell me concerning his death?”

Brin finally turned to face her, his smile still fixed improbably on his face. “You mean, did I kill him?”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“I don’t, though I’m very interested in finding out myself.” Both of his answers were true, and that was as much as she could tell without a more invasive probe. She considered ripping away the veil that hid his deeper thoughts from her, but quickly rejected the idea. She had resolved to be more cautious, especially in light of the fact that she was truly alone, without the support of her enclave to enforce her decisions.

“It’s a good vintage, by the way,” he remarked, gesturing towards her cup. He drained his own goblet in a single gulp.

“Another time, perhaps,” she said, and set the drink down. “Did you notice anything unusual about Ulric’s behavior in the last few weeks? Did he tell you anything?”

Brin shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind. He didn’t like you, but that is hardly unusual, now is it, Slayer?”

Maeryn quelled the flash of ire at his impudence, realizing his game. His hatred and his fear of her was every bit as strong as Makel’s, but she caught beneath it a flash of a fervent, almost giddy sense of self-righteousness. He was trying to provoke her. He wanted her to attack him as he had seen her attack Makel, to prove to him that she was the monster he imagined her to be.

She let just a hint of her anger show. “This is helping neither of us, Brin.” If he would not observe pleasantries, neither would she. “I am only trying to bring Ulric’s killer to justice.”

“Oh, I’m certain you are,” he said flippantly. “Just as you are trying to discover the source of corruption which most surely runs to the very core of the Horadrim.”

“Do you know what has happened to Master Kedron?” she asked, making one last effort.

“I’m sorry, Slayer,” he said plaintively. “I haven’t the faintest clue.”

“Very well.” She stood. “I can see that you do not wish to cooperate. Maybe after you’ve had time to think about it, you’ll change your mind.”

Brin opened the door for her and gave her another bow. “Good bye, Slayer. I shall pray that our paths do not cross again. Perhaps you would be wise to do the same.”

Maeryn would not give him the pleasure of a retort.

[tamrend]

Chapter 14: The Hunt
Part 3

Master Durell was not in his chambers, but she passed a note beneath his door. He answered her summons in due course, stopping a distance away to peer through the doorway to her room as if hoping she had forgotten about him. His black hair and beard were fastidiously trimmed. Like Ulric, he looked to be well into his third decade, her impression coming as much from the subtleties of life experience that influenced his surface thoughts as from his physical appearance, which was often deceptive in those who worked with magic. He had dressed formally in the brown robes of a Scholar and carried the staff that marked him as a master of his station.

“Ah, please come in,” Maeryn welcomed him, gesturing to the chair across the table from her. The mage blinked at her, drew a deep breath, and crossed to the other side of the table. Once seated, he folded his arms across his chest.

“Thank you for coming to speak with me today,” Maeryn began in a pleasant tone. “I first want to extend my condolences for the death of your friend, Master Ulric. As you may have guessed, that is why you are here. I had hoped you might be able to help me in capturing his killer.”

“There is no need for sympathy,” Durell said, his deep voice at odds with his slim build. “Ulric was never a close friend. We came here as apprentices at nearly the same time, and so shared some commonality of experience in our youth. As the years passed, that bond did not last. Ulric chose the path of the Warlock, as you probably know. After that we had little in common. We still associate from time to time, but it is more out of familiarity than fondness.”

Maeryn sensed no anger toward Ulric from him, but he was keeping his thoughts closely guarded. She leaned back in her chair, taking a more casual posture. “Childhood friendships rarely last through adulthood. Pallas must have known both of you when you were younger.”

As she had hoped, Durell mirrored her, relaxing his guard a bit, allowing her to peer unobtrusively around the edge of his thoughts. “So that’s who directed you to me. It’s not so surprising, then. Ulric was Pallas’ apprentice.”

Pallas had never mentioned that fact, but it seemed a trivial detail. She continued with her casual tone. “So tell me, then, have you noticed anything strange about Ulric’s behavior recently?”

Durell’s mind instantly erected walls around itself once more. Maeryn waited, exerting a subtle, almost imperceptible pressure on him to speak. She sensed fear from him, and tried to dull that as well, projecting calm while suggesting a sense of duty to reveal the truth.

“Ulric…” Durell’s expression was pained. “He organized a meeting in secret. It was over a week ago, just before he disappeared. He approached me in private, asked me to attend. I didn’t know what it was all about until I got there, or I—“

“What was the meeting about?” Maeryn pressed.

“You. It was about you.” Durell’s face and neck flushed, the color growing brighter as he spoke. “Ulric said that you were a danger to us all, that you were here to bring down the Horadrim. He said that in doing so, in finding corruption running through the most revered of all the mage clans, it would bring glory and fame back to the assa—I mean, the Viz-jaq’taar. It was all a lie, he said, ‘There is no corruption except in the petty greed and spite of an order that has outlived its usefulness.’”

“But you did not believe him?”

Maeryn felt the man’s confidence surge back as he realized that she was not going to attack him for his admission. The barriers around his thoughts began to loosen as he spoke. “Many forget how it was that Horazon and Bartuc fell under the influence of the powers they wished to control. The capacity for cruelty, for evil, lies within all of us. Those gifted with magic seem more susceptible to its influence, while at the same time giving that evil greater capacity for destruction. One only has to search the histories to see the sad consequences that come from dabbling in those evil arts. I too have felt the pull of that power from time to time, masking itself as the simple curiosity to know more, if only to be able to better protect myself from their evil influence. I think that Horazon must have felt much the same way when he began his forbidden research. No, Viz-jaq’taar, I did not believe him, not while evil still lies within the human soul.”

Maeryn regarded the historian with newfound respect. Most mages she had met were too proud to admit their own weakness, to admit their own potential for evil. Self-deceit was the first step toward corruption. “Who else attended this meeting? Was Makel there?”

Durell sighed. “He was, Viz-jaq’taar, and dozens more. I’m afraid that most of those Ulric chose already shared his views on the matter. In my case, he may have simply overestimated the strength of our old friendship, as Pallas did. In any event, I remained quiet, knowing that there was little I could do to sway the others. I had the impression that another meeting was planned, but I was not invited back.”

This was beginning to look bad for her. What she had assumed was the effect of rumors and widespread disgruntlement was actually a conspiracy of sorts. Furthermore, in the absence of any good explanation, she would be the most likely suspect in Ulric’s death, at least in the minds of those who believed his lies about her. No wonder Makel had challenged her yesterday. She regretted what she had done to him, but at the same time wished she had been more thorough in sifting his memories. She had released him the moment she saw that he was free from corruption. Now she wished she had traced back the thread of his hatred for her.

Maeryn fixed Durell with a solemn look. “I need to know the names of everyone who was at that meeting.” She jotted down the names Durell rattled off. Any one of them might be the killer. He paused, and something in his mannerism told her that he had not reached the end. “Is there a problem?”

Durell scowled. “There were more, I am certain, but I cannot remember them all.”

“I can help.”

“No! Please, Viz-jaq’taar. I mean no disrespect, but I am not comfortable with another person inside my head. Just give me a moment to sort things out.”

The sudden balking made her wary, but she acquiesced, deciding that it was best, for now, to restrain the use of her powers. She looked over the list once more. “Was Adept Brin there?”

“Yes. I remember seeing him now. And Master Holden arrived at about the same time.”

“Master Kedron?”

“No. I know he was not there. Ulric asked if anyone had seen him, and seemed disappointed that he had not come.”

Kedron’s absence was surprising, and it was apparent that she needed to look at Brin a bit more closely. With his involvement in the conspiracy, she had more than adequate reason to sift his memory. “Thank you, Durell. You have given me much to work from.”

He looked less than enthusiastic at her words, and Maeryn could hardly blame him. His part in this would surely come up. In truth, Maeryn was not terribly concerned about the conspiracy against her. Once she found and dealt with the attacker, she would be free to leave. Then she could find out what had happened to her enclave.

There was much to do, but first Maeryn wanted to consult with Orelan, to see if her list of suspects might help him in his research. Ulric’s body lay in a chamber underground, awaiting embalming and preparations for burial. It was there that she expected to find the diviner. She sensed no pulse of life as she approached, and ordinarily would have turned back to look for him elsewhere, but a vague sense of wrongness drew her onwards. Orelan lay facedown on the ground next to the slab where Ulric’s body rested, his throat a ragged mess of flesh. A wide, red pool spread beneath him, its edges tracing out thin, dark lines between the bricks.

[Snowglare]

Wuhahahahahaha! Brilliant as ever. Though I want badly to get back to Shael and Kelsia, I am now thoroughly invested in finishing Maeryn's story. She's such a compelling character, and far from the only one of interest in this plot. I want to root for her and others, but I don't know that I can. Is she the hero, or does she only mean well? Someone has to be lying. Someone has to be shielding their thoughts for a reason other than simple privacy. But who?


Maeryn regarded him with mixed feelings, her longing for companionship at war with the practical need to maintain objectivity.

:love: This is a great sequence, with Maeryn wanting to reach out but wanting more not to hurt Pallas, and Pallas steadfastly unconcerned with the social repercussions of his actions. That is to say, he'll do what's right no matter how much it hurts. Oh man, what if he's the killer? That'd suck. He's the only one I feel sure I can root for. That would be the trick, though...


The second was a list of Urlic's friends and associates.

Ulric's.


Maeryn picked up a rather plain-looking knife, careful not to touch the rust-brown stains that marked the blade and the base of the handle. The only marking upon it was a thin crescent etched into the base of the blade.

Might want to change "marked" to something else. Having two "mark"s is repetitive, and "marking" seems to fit the symbol better than the blood stains.


Black skin was stretched thin over bony arms and hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin, just as his brown robes draped in great folds from his gaunt frame. Two tiny patches of white hair clung to his skull just above the ears.

Orelan sounds kinda creepy, but really he's just old. Darn old people.


He had been alive anyone else in the keep, of that he was certain.

Should be "alive longer than anyone else". And did you mean "she was certain"?


I did also note some odd traces on Ulric's body, but they seem to be aftereffects of his own magic. Once we are finished here, I intend to have another look.

Something tells me this is why he wound up dead a short while later. He found something. Maybe he went to confront the killer (unlikely), or maybe he told the wrong person about his discovery (easy enough to do, especially if Pallas is the killer).


"Thank you, Master Orelan," she said, bowing slightly to show the depth of her appreciation and respect.

Does that mean her respect for him is something less than great? If so, very nice. It's not insulting, but it's barely complimentary. Culturific!


It was even being whispered about, the idea sparking and catching among the minds of the mages, that it was she who had killed Ulric and the cook

You suppose they suspect her of killing Lorimer as well? Would make about as much sense. Mages and their conspiracy theories. Next they'll be saying the Viz-jaq'taar are aliens from another planet who came here via UFOs to kill their cows and steal their women.


Ulric's chambers looked much as she remembered it.

Shouldn't "it" be "them"?


The opening was square and only two hand spans across.

Seems like that ought to be handspans.


She leaned forward and put her head and an arm through, but could not get both shoulders past the narrow aperture. Looking down, she saw the courtyard five floors below. Cobblestones lined the ground, and the nearest tree was well out of reach of a jump.

No way to climb down, then? And I take it there are no mages capable of shapeshifting into, say, a raven? By the way, nice visual in the first sentence.


An amulet hung in a display case on one wall, thrumming with quiescent power, but she spared it only a cautious glance. These were all Ulric's possessions. Nothing here could give her a link to the killer.

Strange that she would think that. Isn't theft one of the top reasons for someone to break into another's room?


So far, she had little to go on, just bits and pieces, really.

You and me both, sister. We'll figure this out eventually.


It was a short list: just three friends that he had known for many years, and an apprentice.

I think you could drop "just" from this sentence.


Like Ulric and Trenton, Master Kedron had ignored her summons to be tested. His quarters had been found empty, and no one she had asked up until now could recall having seen him in several days. Could Ulric have been killed by someone he trusted? The thought did have merit. Maybe Kedron had somehow convinced Ulric that he was in immediate danger to get him to cast those spells of protection, then stabbed him when his guard was down.

*sniff sniff* I smell herring.


Please come in, Slayer," he replied, giving her a bow that could only be considered mocking in its extravagance.

Hehe. Brin, you cad.


She found Brin's comment extremely distasteful, but she would not let him bait her.

Sounds like she's more concerned with the impropriety of his words than offended by them. I get the impression that she's subconsciously put up a front. Lines like this one and her thoughts on Master Trenton's embarassment lead me to believe that she's either something less than human or, as her "longing for companionship" suggests, a human acting like a robot because it's easier that way.

Part 3


Master Durell was not in his chambers, but she passed a note beneath his door.

Shouldn't that be "so she passed a note beneath his door"? The second clause seems to result because of the first, rather than despite it.


"There is no need for sympathy," Durell said, his deep voice at odds with his slim build.

Nice detail.


Pallas had never mentioned that fact, but it seemed a trivial detail.

Again with the quick dismissal. Curious.


Maeryn felt the man's confidence surge back as he realized that she was not going to attack him for his admission. The barriers around his thoughts began to loosen as he spoke.

Well, it can't be Durell. We're practically inside his brain, and it's screaming innocence.


Maeryn regarded the historian with newfound respect.

Yeah, Durell is keen.


He looked less than enthusiastic at her words, and Maeryn could hardly blame him.

Once again, I sympathize. When she said "Thank you, Durell. You have given me much to work from," it was as if a villain had said it. Or more precisely, an overbearing authority figure what never lets you forget that they're in charge, they're in the right, and if you're not with them, you're against them.


His part in this would surely come up.

Yeah, Durell's a snitch.


She sensed no pulse of life as she approached, and ordinarily would have turned back to look for him elsewhere, but a vague sense of wrongness drew her onwards. Orelan lay facedown on the ground next to the slab where Ulric's body rested, his throat a ragged mess of flesh. A wide, red pool spread beneath him, its edges tracing out thin, dark lines between the bricks.

I like how you jump straight from her walking towards the chamber to finding Orelan's body. The reader expects more buildup, like Maeryn opening a door or noticing something strange and BAM! dead body. Sense of wrongness, Orelan's corpse. Quite jarring.

[Humphrey]

I've only read the first two posts so far, but I just had to post to say that it's so well written. I might stop by this forum more often in the future if the fiction here is as good as this is.

[RevenantsKnight]

On your latest posts: well, I’m enjoying this, for my part. Personally, I rather like the “murderer among us” plot/subplot as a whole, since it often lends itself to very well-developed characters and good, page-turning suspense. This rendition of that worked pretty well for me, though at times some of the shifts between scenes or sentences felt a bit abrupt. Other than that, this read especially cleanly. Some specific comments, excluding the ones Snowglare already mentioned:


Maeryn regarded him with mixed feelings, her longing for companionship at war with the practical need to maintain objectivity.

Like Snowglare, I enjoyed this sequence. This sentence in particular, though, seemed a bit removed from Maeryn’s feelings, in that you’re summarizing them from the narrator’s third-party perspective. It does get the idea across just fine, and maybe you don’t want to narrow the distance between Maeryn and the reader due to her character, but I think this might have a bit more of an emotional punch if you focused in closer and described the feelings themselves, and let the reader draw this general conclusion from that.


Maeryn knew that it had already cost him much more than that.

I thought this one was particularly good, though. :)


The second was a list of Urlic’s friends and associates.

Orelan’s study was lit by the light of hundreds of candles lining the walls and perched upon tables.

Hrm...felt like a bit of a jump to me, especially since the second letter isn’t the one pertaining to Orelan. While I can understand that you might want to skip some relatively mundane stuff in between, the lack of a transition here seems like taking that a little too far.


A few random artifacts: scrolls, jewelry, a notched short sword, littered one table in the corner, but a stern warning was posted nearby which marked them as possessing unknown magical properties.

The colon after “artifacts” should be a comma, I think. As far as I know, if there’s a list after a colon, everything from the colon to the end of the sentence is part of that list, and that doesn’t match here.


Black skin was stretched thin over bony arms and hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin, just as his brown robes draped in great folds from his gaunt frame.

I’d start this with “His black skin...” just so there’s no confusion, and “draped...from” sounds odd to me; perhaps “...his brown robes were draped in great folds over his gaunt frame”?


Yet, for all that it appeared that a stiff gust might scatter him, she felt at once the iron in his will, the ferocity of his spirit.

I’d reword the first part to “Yet, although it appeared...”; as it is, it seems to suggest the contrary of that.


“You are saying that there was no magic involved in the attack, whatsoever?”

The comma after “attack” is unnecessary.


“I am a diviner of unusual talent, at least among the Horadrim.”

Hrm...this sounds a bit like a boast, in that it’s unnecessary; given the following sentence, this doesn’t really tell Maeryn much more. If it is, it sounds out of character with Orelan, though given the ending of this chapter, that probably won’t come back to be a big problem later.


“Was cast by Master Ulric, himself,” Orelan finished in a slow, deliberate tone.

The comma after “Ulric” is unnecessary.


“I cannot even guess to the why, but it was him, I assure you.”

I think that should be “...guess as to the why...”


Unlikely, given that it would take a very elaborate charade to convince Ulric to place such a specific set of spells.

That should be “would have taken,” since that’s all in the past relative to this moment.


Their killer was too careful to cover his own tracks, probably the only reason that he had not succeeded in killing her yet.

Technically, that should be “...tracks, which was probably...,” though I could see an argument for keeping it this way.


“Thank you, Master Orelan,” she said, bowing slightly to show the depth of her appreciation and respect.

Hrm...I read this as genuine respect, considering as the Viz-jaq’taar were supposed to be above the mages in that they had to police them (note: it’s apparently punctuated Viz-Jaq’taar in the manual, but personally, I think it looks better with the “J” in lowercase). Given that, any minor sign of appreciation would probably have been discouraged for professional reasons.


Maeryn nearly toppled a boy in gray apprentice robes waiting outside.

Again, the shift in the scene is a touch abrupt. While I got what was happening, something like “As she left” at the start of the sentence might make this feel a bit more connected to the previous paragraph.


He took one look at her and scurried off with a yelp. His reaction was a sign of her steadily worsening situation. Pallas had been right that her treatment of Makel would not be ignored by the other Horadrim.

This felt a little bit too factual to me, in that it quickly moves away from the story’s world itself to a narrator’s summary. I’d suggest conveying the second sentence’s idea in something focusing more on Maeryn and her reaction to this, so it keeps the reader more in the events that come to pass. Of course, if you’re deliberately keeping her a bit distant, then this might not be a good idea.


She felt an uncomfortable foreboding as she approached the hall where she had nearly lost her life earlier that day.

Erm...my memory places the firewall incident as happening yesterday in the story, not earlier in the day, since she woke up in the morning.


She fished Pallas’ list from her pocket and reviewed it as she passed through the ravaged hallway.

That should be “Pallas’s.”


His quarters had been found empty, and no one she had asked up until now could recall having seen him in several days.

Why the “up until now”? Nobody’s said that he’s been seen, right?


Well, it would all become clear in time.

Seems like an odd attitude for someone who’s basically racing against the clock.


Indeed, if the killer were gone, it would solve much of their problems, but she wanted to be certain that this was not yet another misdirection.

I’d drop the “yet” from this sentence; at first, I read it as if it wasn’t a misdirection yet, but might develop into one in time, which seems wrong.


She sensed Brin’s presence before she reached his rooms.

Again, this was a bit jolting. I don’t even recall hearing about Brin before (though maybe my memory’s just bad), so this felt especially odd.


The door opened and a handsome youth stood in the doorway regarding her.

I think there should be a comma after “doorway,” with an adverb or similar phrase at the end of the sentence; for instance, “...regarding her frostily” would work.


Brin was ranked as an adept. It took most mages a decade or more to rise from that level to the rank of master.

I’d suggest dropping this entirely, because the adept part comes up in the dialogue and the second bit could also be weaved into some speech, if it’s important. As it is, it feels like the narrator’s deviating from the story itself a bit too much.


She had known that eventually the details of Dagan’s death would get out. She found Brin’s comment extremely distasteful, but she would not let him bait her.

This felt a little repetitive, given the sentence structure. I’d suggest seeing if you can’t cut down on the uses of “she,” perhaps with something like “Brin’s comment was extremely distasteful to her ears, but she resolved not to take his bait.”


He wanted her to attack him as he had seen her attack Makel, to prove to him that she was the monster he imagined her to be.

She let just a hint of her anger show.

Hrm...seems to me that the best way for Maeryn to prove him wrong would be to suppress it, instead of showing an edge.


“I’m sorry, Slayer,” he said plaintively.

“Plaintively” seems wrong to me, since he’s not really “sad” or “lamenting.” Not sure exactly what you were trying to say here...


“Good bye, Slayer.”

That should be “Goodbye.”


Master Durell was not in his chambers, but she passed a note beneath his door.

In addition to Snowglare’s suggestion, you could word this as “...passed a note beneath his door anyway,” if you want to suggest that she’d do the same if he were in out of courtesy or something.


“After that we had little in common.”

There should be a comma after “that.”


“We still associate from time to time, but it is more out of familiarity than fondness.”

Hrm...I’d imagine that he’d say this in the past tense, since Ulric’s dead.


“Ulric was Pallas’ apprentice.”

That should be “Pallas’s.”


“So tell me, then, have you noticed anything strange about Ulric’s behavior recently?”

That should be “...did you notice...”


“It was all a lie, he said, ‘There is no corruption except in the petty greed and spite of an order that has outlived its usefulness.’”

I’d think there should be something like “and that” after “he said.”


“I had the impression that another meeting was planned, but I was not invited back.”

Minor nitpick: that should be “...but that I was not...”


This was beginning to look bad for her. What she had assumed was the effect of rumors and widespread disgruntlement was actually a conspiracy of sorts.... She regretted what she had done to him, but at the same time wished she had been more thorough in sifting his memories. She had released him the moment she saw that he was free from corruption. Now she wished she had traced back the thread of his hatred for her.

If you do choose to take a closer overall look at Maeryn’s thoughts where the narrator appears to be summarizing what’s going through her head, then this is another good place to do so.


He paused, and something in his mannerism told her that he had not reached the end.

“Mannerism” felt overly vague to me. There’re a lot of things that count as mannerisms, and I’d suggest focusing this down to something like in his face, or posture, or eyes, whatever.


She sensed no pulse of life as she approached, and ordinarily would have turned back to look for him elsewhere, but a vague sense of wrongness drew her onwards. Orelan lay facedown on the ground next to the slab where Ulric’s body rested, his throat a ragged mess of flesh.

For what it’s worth, I didn’t like this jump, mainly because the cut from image to image doesn’t quite seem smooth enough. While I think Snowglare has a point, adding a short something like “...drew her onwards. Stepping into the room, she found Orelan facedown...” would connect the two a little better, since there’s no mention of Maeryn in the current version.

Overall, this looks good to me, and you’ve definitely got my attention. Other than a few abrupt changes and the distance between Maeryn and the reader, I didn’t see much that I’d question. Oh, and I’ve been told to tell you to write more, so write more! *shakes fist grumpily* Anyway, thanks for posting!

[Snowglare]

You have good insights, Rev, but I must respectfully disagree on a few points. Some of your corrections are style choices and would, I believe, hurt the piece.



Maeryn regarded him with mixed feelings, her longing for companionship at war with the practical need to maintain objectivity.This sentence in particular, though, seemed a bit removed from Maeryn's feelings, in that you're summarizing them from the narrator's third-party perspective. It does get the idea across just fine, and maybe you don't want to narrow the distance between Maeryn and the reader due to her character, but I think this might have a bit more of an emotional punch if you focused in closer and described the feelings themselves, and let the reader draw this general conclusion from that.

I'm not seeing it. We have a third-person perspective, with the caveat that we can see inside Maeryn's head. How can we get any closer without switching to first-person? and where is the need? This and the other instances you point out where the narrator describes Maeryn's feelings didn't strike me as impersonal at all.



The second was a list of Urlic's friends and associates.

Orelan's study was lit by the light of hundreds of candles lining the walls and perched upon tables.Hrm...felt like a bit of a jump to me, especially since the second letter isn't the one pertaining to Orelan. While I can understand that you might want to skip some relatively mundane stuff in between, the lack of a transition here seems like taking that a little too far.

Predictably enough, I thought this was a good transition, but you have a point. If the Orelan-related message were switched to the second slot, following up the list of friends, it would make for a smoother transition. I think the idea was that Maeryn would follow the recommendations in order, as that's what she proceeds to do. Sort of an essay layout; summarize your points, then delineate them, in order, in the body of the paper. Could add something about Maeryn deciding to check the list later, but it's not necessary; the fact that the next scene takes place at Orelan's forces the reader to infer that she made her choice and followed through. An extra press of the enter key between paragraphs would make it clearer that a scene change is occuring, if Tam wants to do that.



Black skin was stretched thin over bony arms and hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin, just as his brown robes draped in great folds from his gaunt frame.I'd start this with "His black skin..." just so there's no confusion, and "draped...from" sounds odd to me; perhaps "...his brown robes were draped in great folds over his gaunt frame"?

"His black skin" doesn't work. You'd have to change the sentence completely for it to fit. "Draped...from" is meant to mirror "hung...from". Might work better if "his" were dropped from "just as his brown".



Yet, for all that it appeared that a stiff gust might scatter him, she felt at once the iron in his will, the ferocity of his spirit.I'd reword the first part to "Yet, although it appeared..."; as it is, it seems to suggest the contrary of that.

Again, I'm not seeing it. It's the same meaning with different words. Plus, "yet, although" is kinda redundant.



"Was cast by Master Ulric, himself," Orelan finished in a slow, deliberate tone.The comma after "Ulric" is unnecessary.

Except that he's speaking "in a slow, deliberate tone". I thought the same thing when I read it, though, and I'm not sure you aren't right.



Their killer was too careful to cover his own tracks, probably the only reason that he had not succeeded in killing her yet.Technically, that should be "...tracks, which was probably...," though I could see an argument for keeping it this way.

And here it is: It's less wordy. Ta-da! It might need a semi-colon, but it doesn't need lengthening.



Maeryn nearly toppled a boy in gray apprentice robes waiting outside.Again, the shift in the scene is a touch abrupt. While I got what was happening, something like "As she left" at the start of the sentence might make this feel a bit more connected to the previous paragraph.

I see no problem with this transition, as it's clear that the conversation was over and that she would be leaving. Any additions would only detract.


Seems like an odd attitude for someone who's basically racing against the clock.

True. Maeryn doesn't seem at all in a rush, and she really should be, shouldn't she? I forget exactly how pressing the business at her enclave was.



She had known that eventually the details of Dagan's death would get out. She found Brin's comment extremely distasteful, but she would not let him bait her.This felt a little repetitive, given the sentence structure. I'd suggest seeing if you can't cut down on the uses of "she," perhaps with something like "Brin's comment was extremely distasteful to her ears, but she resolved not to take his bait."

Or cut the third "she" out entirely. I don't want to think about ears tasting things...



Master Durell was not in his chambers, but she passed a note beneath his door.In addition to Snowglare's suggestion, you could word this as "...passed a note beneath his door anyway," if you want to suggest that she'd do the same if he were in out of courtesy or something.

HAHAHA! *wipes tears from his eyes* No, dude, if he were there, she'd go right in. Knocking before barging is as courteous as Maeryn gets ;).



"After that we had little in common."There should be a comma after "that."

Not necessarily. Commas are optional in that type of sentence, depending on whether or not you want to show a pause. At least, from what I've observed.



"It was all a lie, he said, 'There is no corruption except in the petty greed and spite of an order that has outlived its usefulness.'"I'd think there should be something like "and that" after "he said."

Maybe put a period after "he said", but if you add "and that", you'd have to change it so he's no longer quoting Ulric.



"I had the impression that another meeting was planned, but I was not invited back."Minor nitpick: that should be "...but that I was not..."

Durell didn't have the impression that he wasn't invited back. He really wasn't. Conversely, he was invited to the first meeting:


He approached me in private, asked me to attend.

[abrupt ending]

[0xDEADCAFE]

I wonder if I could jump in here... :uhhuh:




Black skin was stretched thin over bony arms and hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin, just as his brown robes draped in great folds from his gaunt frame.I'd start this with "His black skin..." just so there's no confusion, and "draped...from" sounds odd to me; perhaps "...his brown robes were draped in great folds over his gaunt frame"?"His black skin" doesn't work. You'd have to change the sentence completely for it to fit. "Draped...from" is meant to mirror "hung...from". Might work better if "his" were dropped from "just as his brown".

I see two main problems with this sentence:
1) There is too strong a sense of time and action in what is essentially a static image.
2) It seems contradictory for skin to be both "stretched" and "sagging."

Of the two #1 is more important so I'll start there. "was stretched... and hung..." makes me thinking of a tannery. Sweaty employees bustling about stretching and hanging. Sound silly? Well, it did. Furthermore, "just as his" sounds like the author is trying to fix the time of some event very precisely. To me, it can be improved by reduction: "Stretched" works as a verb of being so let's take out "was" and, secondly, sharpen the simile by replacing the ambiguous "just as his" with the simple connector, "like."

Black skin stretched thin over bony arms and hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin, like the brown robes that draped in great folds from his gaunt frame.


But that is only a start. Notice the comma after chin? It breaks the sentence into these parts:

A - "Black skin stretched... and hung..."

LIKE

B - "Robes that drape.

Here's where the confusion really sets in. In the first place, skin should not be stretched and sagging simultaneously. Granted, the sentence refers to different parts of the body, but putting the contrasting skin so close together in the sentence begs for misunderstanding. Secondly, the simile with the robes only applies to the sagging skin, not the stretched skin. So the structure shouold be more like this:

A - "Black skin stretched"

AND

B - "Hung like robes that drape.


Now it works. These could be separate sentences:

- "Black skin stretched thin over bony arms."

- "It hung in sagging wrinkles from his chin like the brown robes draped in great folds from his gaunt frame."


And putting it all together:

"Black skin stretched thin over bony arms, and hung from his chin in sagging wrinkles like the great folds of the brown robes draping his gaunt frame."


There are some style choices here, too. I...
- moved "sagging wrinkles" and "great folds" closer together to really sharpen the simile
- replaced "draped" with "draping" to eliminate some wordiness
- moved the comma.

The comma might be unnecessary, but I think it helps define the break between describing his arms and describing his chin-with-simile.

My last comment is that this might be an instance where less, a lot less, is more:

"Black skin hung from his chin like the brown robes draping his gaunt frame."


To me this is a very clear and very rich simile. I think you could argue that the image is sharp enough that "sagging wrinkles" and "great folds" are unnecessary. As for "stretched thin over bony arms" - I like it a lot, but maybe it could be used in another sentence, or just saved for another time.

[tamrend]

Some meta-comments:

Thanks for spotting the grammar mistakes, and as usual, I have a lot to consider. To highlight a few points:

Continuity jumps. Yes, I know they are there. Some I tentatively agree with, some I don't want to change at all. I actually wrote things very much out-of-sequence, which might explain things a bit. First there was the scene with Orelan, then I wrote Durell's questioning. Thinking that the conversation with Pallas was unfinished, I went back and wrote the opening. Next came the meeting with Brin, and finally the ending where Orelan is found dead. There was one more scene I had originally thought to include, but kept it for a later chapter.

In the meantime, I had to go through and change little pieces to make certain everything was consistent and eliminate a few potential "Ah-ha!" moments where the reader finds something that doesn't mesh. I tried to smooth things over between the parts, but finally gave in exhaustion. I was also worried about boring the reader with too many dull descriptions of moving from place to place. The chapter was really a series of episodes that could have happened in a different order had I chosen it. Once I've had time away, I can read it all through and see if some (though probably not all) of the sequences can be melted together.

RevenantsKnight suggested some wording changes that Snowglare disagrees with. I have to concede that in most cases, RV's changes are technically flawless. However, I do on occasion play fast and loose with grammar in the interest of reducing wordiness, which Snow pointed out in a few places. Still, it never hurts to be shown alternatives.


Like Snowglare, I enjoyed this sequence. This sentence in particular, though, seemed a bit removed from Maeryn’s feelings, in that you’re summarizing them from the narrator’s third-party perspective.


I'm not seeing it. We have a third-person perspective, with the caveat that we can see inside Maeryn's head. How can we get any closer without switching to first-person? and where is the need? This and the other instances you point out where the narrator describes Maeryn's feelings didn't strike me as impersonal at all.

I can see what RK is saying here, but I have to go with Snow on this one. A big part of it is the way the character is constructed. She examines and evaluates her emotions as much as she actually feels them. A bit of tweaking might be in order, but the detachment you feel is quite intentional.


This felt a little bit too factual to me, in that it quickly moves away from the story’s world itself to a narrator’s summary.

Hmm. This is actually supposed to be Maeryn's thoughts, her analysis of the situation. Not sure where to go with this comment.


It would all become clear in time.

This is supposed to be saying, "I won't dwell on the missing pieces too heavily. There has to be an explanation, so I'll be patient and it will become obvious once I know more."


“Thank you, Master Orelan,” she said, bowing slightly to show the depth of her appreciation and respect.


Does that mean her respect for him is something less than great? If so, very nice. It's not insulting, but it's barely complimentary. Culturific!


Hrm...I read this as genuine respect, considering as the Viz-jaq’taar were supposed to be above the mages in that they had to police them (note: it’s apparently punctuated Viz-Jaq’taar in the manual, but personally, I think it looks better with the “J” in lowercase). Given that, any minor sign of appreciation would probably have been discouraged for professional reasons.

The truth lies somewhere between. Maeryn wouldn't normally bow to any mage at all. It is not her place. The fact that she gives Orelan one, even a small one, is significant for her. It was meant to show that she respected his talents and appreciated his cooperation, but not that much.


It seems contradictory for skin to be both "stretched" and "sagging."

I think that this chapter is richer in physical descriptions than I usually get on a first draft, so I don't expect every one of them to work perfectly. I'll play with the wording a bit, but I think that the description isn't far off from what I want. For stretched and sagging, I'm referring to the way the skin of elderly folk becomes very smooth in some places but wrinkles in others. To be absolutely clinical, what I'm describing is the way skin loses its elasticity.

[Snowglare]

The truth lies somewhere between. Maeryn wouldn't normally bow to any mage at all. It is not her place. The fact that she gives Orelan one, even a small one, is significant for her. It was meant to show that she respected his talents and appreciated his cooperation, but not that much.

That's what I figured. "I respect you this much. Take it or leave it." Thumbs up.

[tamrend]

Chapter 15: Rona
Part 1

“And that’s the last of it.” Seith sighed, shaking a few droplets of red liquid loose from its bottle to drip onto a cloth. Marius took it and dabbed at his face and the top of his head. Kelsia watched him surreptitiously as she sipped from a bowl of soup. Marius’ skin had improved drastically, going from blistered and blackened to livid pink. He was still totally bald, even his eyebrows singed away by the flames.

“It will be enough,” Marius said, grimacing. “The pain is nearly gone. There should be only a little scarring.” Even so, he continued to dab the cloth around the back of his neck. His clothing had protected him from somewhat from the brief but intense blast, but without the aid of Seith’s healing potion, the burns would have certainly killed him within a day or so. Seith had told her that he would have died of thirst, which made a kind of dubious sense, or from disease, which made no sense at all.

It had been three days since that encounter. They spent the first day resting and recovering from their injuries. Seith had butchered his slain horse, supplying them with as much meat as they could carry, enough for several days if the weather stayed cold. Their course since then had led them south and east across a barren, trackless plain.

Seith turned to Kelsia. “How is the soup?”

“Good,” she lied, taking a gulp this time. They had found a patch of leafy plants shriveling in the snow and dug up several fleshy roots. The bulbs had a loamy, sharply bitter flavor, but Marius recognized them and proclaimed them edible. Boiling the plants got rid of some of the bitterness, but left them with little else to characterize their taste. Two days ago, the vegetables had seemed like a delightful find. Now she was starting to wish they had never come across them.

“I’m going to scout our trail.” Marius announced, hefting his saddle and heading for Cloud. Seith and Kelsia now doubled up on Copper, the stronger of the two remaining horses.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Seith said, getting a glare from Marius. “You could use one more day for that healing potion to do its work,” he added. “You shouldn’t go exerting yourself just yet.” When Marius didn’t answer, he tried again, “Shouldn’t you eat first?” but got only a vague grunt in response as the swordsman threw the saddle over Cloud’s back.

Seith shook his head ruefully and stooped to ladle himself some of the murky liquid from the pot. He sipped loudly from the utensil’s edge before filling his bowl. Making the roots and meat into a soup had been his idea, hoping the latter would curb the taste of the former. “You’re right,” he said to Kelsia. “I have improved the taste. I believe it’s gone from abysmally foul to nearly tolerable.”

Kelsia shared a grin with him. Like Marius, it was a wonder he was alive. The bolt of lightning that had struck him had killed his horse, but he had survived the attack with only a few deep burns, plus some bruises, a twisted ankle and a bump on his head from the fall. His horse had lain sprawled next to him, eyes staring, legs smoldering, filling the air with the stench of burnt hair and flesh.

Seith limped over and sat next to Kelsia on the ground. She knew that he had taken none of the healing potion for himself, saving it all for Marius’ more severe injuries. He leaned in close, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she said, giving what she hoped was a brave smile. Fear and fatigue had done much to numb her emotions, but she could still sense the weight of her grief, pushed down just below the surface and kept at bay by the daily struggle to survive.

“That is good to hear,” he said. Kelsia could hear the careful measuring in his tone. “In Rona, we’ll all be treated to a hot bath, a hot meal, and a warm bed. Just hang on for a few more days.” He continued to gaze at her searchingly for a moment and looked quickly away.

“Something is troubling you, isn’t it?” she said, with sudden insight.

Seith bowed his head over his bowl, sipped from it, and said quietly. “I didn’t want to concern you, since it might not mean anything, but ever since you fought that mage, the staff’s glow of power is much dimmer. I can barely sense it now, even sitting right here next to you.”

Kelsia reflected on that. “Could I have done something to damage it?” she asked. “Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe I can be rid of it.”

“We can’t know that,” he said firmly. “As I said, I didn’t want to concern you, or to give you false hope. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

Kelsia looked at the staff, propped across her legs. She stood and let it fall to the ground. She turned resolutely and thought, I’m leaving it behind.

Her stomach clenched and her legs grew painfully rigid, but she began to take slow, careful steps away from it. She may have imagined it, but it seemed that the pain lessened the further she went. She stopped a dozen paces away. “Pick it up,” she said.

Seith bent and picked up the staff from the ground. Kelsia felt his hands closing around her. Her palms itched and tingled with the urge to run over to him and snatch it away, but she forced her body to remain still. “I could do it,” she breathed, wonderingly. “I really could leave it behind.”

Seith looked from her to the staff and back. Worry creased his brow. “I’m not so sure of that. I can still feel the link as strongly as before.”

“But don’t you see?” she said, nearly laughing aloud. “I’m free of it.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But we can’t know for certain. Here.” He closed the distance between them and held out the staff. “You’d better take it.”

She was irritated by the deep sense of relief she felt when it was back in her hands again. “Well, we’ve learned something, then,” she said, shrugging. She spotted Marius making speed to the east, just before he dropped out of sight down a slope. “I don’t think that Marius took your suggestion very seriously,” she remarked.

He smiled at that, following her gaze. “No, I suppose not. Sometimes it’s all I can do to convince him to follow my orders. I’d rather not lead at all, if truth be told, but it’s my duty. When Garron died…” He stumbled over the words. “When we realized he was gone, his post fell to me.”

He gave her hand a tug and they started back for the spot where they had left their breakfast, already rapidly cooling in the brisk morning air. Seith grimaced anew as he tipped up his bowl and sipped. It was Kelsia who broke the tepid silence. “I’d like to hear more about your master.”

“Garron." Seith smiled at a memory. "When I first saw him, I was too terrified to speak. As you probably realize, most people can’t perform even the most paltry magic. A few can be trained to recognize and use the ability they have within them. Fewer still seem born to it, learning to influence their world through magic almost from the time they learn to speak. I am of this last type.”

Kelsia chuckled. “It must have given your parents quite a shock.”

Seith smiled wanly. “I have almost no memory from that time, but I can recall once feeling hungry and wishing I had some of the soup that was boiling in a cauldron over the fire. The next moment, I was running away, screaming as the great black thing came flying after me, spilling scalding hot broth all over the floor.” Seith shared her laugh this time, but sobered quickly. “Strange how I can remember that one image of terror with near-perfect clarity, but I wouldn’t know the faces of my mother or father if I ever saw them again.”

“Were you very young when you left?”

He nodded. “I was four years old when my father brought me to Tristram. As Garron tells it, a man showed up there on the front steps of the monastery one day, hauling along a scared and bewildered little boy. The poor wizards within didn’t know what to make of us. The monastery at Tristram was built as a place to house and protect the magic that contains Diablo himself. Many Horadrim choose to serve out their early years of mastery standing watch over that most terrible of demons, guarding against a breach in the magic that holds him captive. It is hardly the sort of place where you would want to bring a child, magic or no.

“My father sat idly by as the mages debated among themselves what to do with me. A few of them were in favor of housing me there until a ship could be arranged to take me east, but most believed it best to keep me in my family's care at least until I was of age. Garron at last stepped up and asked to have a look at me. By this time, I was all but forgotten in the heated battle of wills taking place. I remember quite clearly the image of him squatting down next to me, though his words had to be recounted to me later. He said, ‘You have the potential to be the greatest Horadric Mage in a century. What do you think of that, boy?’”

“What did you answer?” Kelsia asked eagerly.

“Well, according to Garron, I began to wail and clutch at my father’s legs.” He laughed. “It was hardly an auspicious beginning. But Garron was determined to take me on, and my father was just as determined to see me off. Garron cut short his pilgrimage and returned to Horadrim Keep to train me as an apprentice. He was a strict but patient teacher, and he knew the ways of the westerners, having grown up there himself. In only a short time I grew to admire him, to care about him as a second father. In fact, he's the only father I know.”

Kelsia settled her chin atop her fists. “Did you turn out to be as great as Garron thought?”

Seith shrugged. “I was very young for an apprentice. The usual rule is that we do not begin to train youths before the age of six, but as I said, cases like mine are rare. By the time I turned ten, I could best any of my peers, including those awaiting their adept trials. Well, perhaps not Lorimer, but he is five years my senior.”

“Adept trials?” Kelsia prompted.

“All apprentices are required to undergo a test upon reaching eighteen years, to pass on to their next phase of training as a Horadrim. Those who fail are dismissed from the clan.”

Kelsia had guessed that Seith was young upon first meeting him, but had revised her thinking over time. Now she realized that her first impression had been the correct one. “When will you take the trial?”

“It is set to take place in a few months time. Tradition allows one month from the actual date of birth for additional study and preparation, but I shouldn’t need it. Garron has trained me for it for half my life. He often said that I would one day become an initiate, the first to appear among the Horadrim in over a generation.”

“That sounds like it would be quite an honor.”

“Oh, it would be,” he replied noncommittally. “The truth is that I’ve never quite lived up to the high expectations that were set for me. I progressed quickly, it’s true, but I always sensed my master’s disappointment at my failures. What he saw in me that day in Tristram has somehow never truly been realized, at least in his eyes. And in mine, too, I suppose.”

“And just how many apprentices,” Kelsia said indignantly, “could have led us safely this far, with a horde of demons and skeletons and wizards and who knows what else chasing after us?”

He shrugged. “Who can say? We’re alive for now, but I would credit fortune at least as much as any action on my part.” He gazed at her pointedly. “Not that I can take any of the credit for what happened at the edge of the forest." He paused. "Are you ready to talk about it yet?”

Somehow, Kelsia could never quite bring herself to tell him about the presence that whispered words into her mind. It seemed like utter madness even to her except when it was actually happening. In the days since that last time, it had been oddly silent. “I didn’t even know what I was doing,” she said quietly. “It just sort of happened.”

Seith waited, obviously wanting more from her. Kelsia wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, but she couldn’t see how the truth would help. Finally, he spoke. “Magic is difficult and dangerous without the proper focus. That’s the reason for the arcane words and the gestures that mages make. They give structure and reason to a power that is otherwise chaotic and unpredictable. I’m not certain what happened back there, but I must assume you were somehow able to draw magic through the Key, and that magnifies the danger a thousand fold.”

“Are you trying to get me to promise that I won’t do it again?” She asked him. A part of her was terrified of the power of destruction she had unleashed and wanted nothing more to do with it. Another part longed to taste that power again. That terrified her perhaps even more.

Seith breathed a beleaguered sigh. “It is difficult for me to counsel you in this. Yes, I think it would be best if you try to refrain from doing whatever it was you did, but I also cannot forget that if not for your magic, we would not be here now speaking. It seems to me a very fickle thing, to manifest only when we need it most.”

“It might even be gone,” she mused, “given how the staff’s power has faded.”

“Don’t be so quick to draw such conclusions,” he warned. “Magic requires a certain amount of belief to work. If you believe that the power is gone, it might become so.”

She nodded thoughtfully and then drank the last of her soup. Magic was a strange thing. If belief was required, how had she been able to use magic at Dalmers Ferry? She certainly hadn’t believed she could back then. Even now, acceptance was slow in coming.

[tamrend]

Chapter 15: Rona
Part 2

Seith stood up and gathered their bowls to clean them. Kelsia caught his sleeve. “There is something I want to ask of you.”

He looked at her. “Go on.”

“I was wondering if you might teach me to read. Also to write, if there is time.”

Seith smiled warmly. “I think I’d like that. I should have thought of it sooner. Wait right there.” He rummaged through his saddlebags and came back with parchment, a quill and an ink bottle. “We’ll start with your letters,” he said, setting the implements down in front of her.

The sun had climbed halfway up the sky, melting away all traces of the snow, when Marius came trotting in from the west. “Nothing to report,” he said dourly. He gave Cloud an almost affectionate rub on the neck. “I got a good view from one of the taller hills. There is no sign of pursuit. I don’t like it.”

“I think that will be all for today, Kelsy,” Seith said, nodding approvingly at her work. She had learned the names for every letter of the alphabet and written them all out twice. Seeing the letters form beneath her fingers was a kind of magic in itself, and she was sorry not to have the chance for a third rendering.

Marius dropped the ladle into the cold soup and picked out a pieces of meat with his fingers, shoving them into his mouth and chewing at the same time. Kelsia grimaced at him. “Aren’t you going to eat any of the roots?”

“No,” he said around a mouthful, “those things taste terrible.” He looked at Seith. “Why aren’t they coming after us?”

“It does remind me too closely of our escape from Dalmers Ferry,” Seith admitted. “But what kind of trap could anyone set in such open terrain? We could see it and avoid it from miles off. It makes no sense.”

“That’s what I am saying,” Marius growled. “Have you felt anything from the staff?” he asked Kelsia.

“No. Not since the battle.”

Seith explained to him about the staff’s sudden changes, and ended by suggesting that they could no longer rely upon it to guide them.

“That does put us at a crucial disadvantage,” Marius observed. “We’ve seen our enemy’s face, but we’re no closer to understanding what he intends next.”

“Maybe he’s scared of us now,” Kelsia ventured, half-jokingly.

Seith regarded her intently. “There may be some truth to that. We may have given our enemy pause, at least, but I doubt he will be deterred for long. Perhaps it is time to re-think our course.”

Marius scowled in thought for a moment. “I still say that Rona is our best hope. The city is well-fortified and only a few days’ ride, if the weather holds. The king will be compelled to offer us aid and protection. We could stay there until help is summoned.”

Seith nodded. “I agree. Even if we’ve gone unobserved all this time, our enemy has likely already guessed at our destination, but it would be foolhardy to try a different path. Forage will only get worse the farther east we travel, and it’s at least another month going overland. We would be easy prey. What interests me most is that there is a portal stone in Rona. It is rarely used, but should be functional.”

“Well, it sounds like the best choice to me,” Kelsia put in, feeling wholly unnecessary.

“Right, then” Seith nodded, glancing at each of them in turn. “We should stay alert to trouble, though. Kelsia, I want to know the moment you feel anything from that staff.”

They broke camp and resumed the journey east. When they stopped for the evening, Seith continued his lessons with Kelsia, instructing her in the concepts that letters represented, how they could be used singly or combined to form other words. Kelsia’s head was soon spinning with the complexity of it, but Seith assured her that she was doing very well. “Think it through as you prepare for sleep,” he told her. “I’m sure you will have much of it sorted out by the morning.”

Kelsia woke from a dreamless sleep. Soundless twilight blanketed the land. She twisted beneath her blankets, but sleep would not come. Her mind was oddly clear and she mumbled quietly to herself, recounting her lessons from the previous day. She sat up upon seeing Seith at watch. “I have something to show you,” she said, barely keeping her excitement in check. “May I go get your ink and parchment?” He gave her a bemused nod.

She returned with the items and spread them out carefully on the ground, then sat across from him. Dipping the pen, she began to write slowly and carefully, etching tiny black strokes into the parchment in the wan light. She earnestly hoped that she had made the correct choice of letters. When it was done, she sat back to let him see four shaky figures.

“Hmm,” he said, frowning.

Kelsia’s shoulders sagged, the joy seeping out of her. “I just thought—“

“Oh,” he said, and turned the page over to face his direction, “that’s better. This says…hm, ‘Kelsia’.” He looked up. “Excellent work, Kelsia. You’ve made your first word.”

She took a moment to cork the ink bottle before she threw herself at him with a cry. “Jackass!” she screamed. “Lying weasel.” She broke into a fit of giggles as she beat his chest and shoulders ineffectually with her fists. Suddenly, she let out a screech as he darted in first one hand and then the other and began to expertly tickle her sides. Now, with the tables turned, she was desperate to get away. She finally managed to roll away from him and lay on her back, panting and giggling by turns.

“You could wake the dead with your racket,” Marius grumbled and rolled to face the other direction.

Seith stood up to brush the dirt off and offered her his hand. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, grinning in spite of his words. “It was a terrible joke to play on you. Can you ever forgive me?”

She was tempted to take it and pull him down and resume their mock battle, but that would mean further delaying the morning’s lesson. “I suppose we have a truce,” she said haughtily, accepting his hand, “for now.”

The resumed their places once more, Seith beginning now to teach her simple words, praising her near-perfect recall of letters. Presently, Marius brought them a pair of sticks with roasted horse meat speared along their length. Absorbed in the task of constructing her first sentence, Kelsia didn’t realize that he was off on another scouting run until after he was gone. She learned to write each of the men’s names and was soon using them in sentences, though it took a bit of coaching from Seith.

Cloud was blowing heavily when Marius rode back into camp, leaping from the saddle before the mare had come to a stop. “Hellspawn,” he gasped out, sending Kelsia’s heart racing at once. She dropped the quill and reached for the staff reflexively, but no warmth stirred in its depths.

“Just beyond that hill there,” Marius continued, pointing to a high crest a few leagues to the west. “Goatmen. Ten, maybe more. They saw me, too, I’m certain, though it doesn’t appear that they gave chase.”

“A scouting party, perhaps?” Seith ventured.

“They had a camp, at least what passes as one for those creatures. That hill would give a lookout climbing it an easy view of us down here, though they’d hardly need it with all the smoke going up from the fire. They must be following us. Perhaps they have been all along.” He smacked a fist into the palm of his other hand. “Had I gone a bit farther yesterday, I would have found them. I should have been more vigilant.”

“Peace, Marius,” Seith said, rising. “What matters is that you did find them today, that we know about them now.” He touched Kelsia’s shoulder. “Do you sense anything?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Perhaps they are beyond your range,” Marius suggested. “Or maybe they simply aren’t a threat to us. Burn it, we don’t really know if it’s working or not. Better not leave it to chance, though. I say we break camp at once.”

“Agreed,” Seith said. “I think we are nearing Rona. Perhaps we can reach it today if we ride hard.”

With the low-lying morning clouds burning away, Kelsia saw that there was a mountain range drawing down from the north. The mountains were squat and round, and spotted with skeletal trees, nothing like the towering heights where Loric made his home or the steep crags to the west of her home.

Before midday, they came upon a farmstead with a lonely mud-brick house standing in the distance. The crops were irrigated by a clever system of dams and canals that diverted water from a nearby stream. Though she could only see it from afar, Kelsia tried to commit to memory as much of the details as she could, thinking of how useful such a system could be back home. [i]If there is even a home to return to, that is,[i] she thought glumly.

“That’s odd,” remarked Marius, seemingly to himself.

“What is it?” Seith asked him.

Marius pointed. “They should have already finished their harvest, but you can see that most of the crops have been left in the fields to rot. This farm was abandoned, and quite recently.” The two men exchanged a glance and Marius nodded. “Perhaps I had better circle around for a look.”

“There is a path up ahead,” Seith told him. Kelsia peered onward to a narrow cart track that led away from the farm’s edge. “We’ll follow it in towards the city. Meet us there.”

That track meandered next to the stream that bordered the farm, but bore predominantly south. Soon after the farm had vanished in the distance behind them, Marius returned. “Our tail is still following us, all right, staying right on our tracks, but I saw no others. Shall we stand and fight?”

“They are not gaining ground?” Seith asked.

“No. They seem content to keep their distance.”

“Then we will let them be. We might be able to outmatch them, especially if we catch them by surprise, but goatmen can be crafty. We are at most a few hours’ ride from safety. I’d rather not take a needless risk.” Marius grumbled under his breath, but did not say more.

As the day wore on toward afternoon, the track grew into a road, weaving between long stretches of farmland dotted with low buildings. Most were obviously abandoned, but one was only a smoldering ruin. Marius paused to examine the ruins, but quickly rejoined them without comment.

To the southeast, a city slowly grew up from the plain, its glittering spires swelling like stems sprouting from the earth. Staring at the spectacle, Kelsia was startled by the sudden appearance of a cluster of riders coming up the road toward them. They drew slowly nearer, moving at a brisk walk, and Kelsia counted them under her breath. “Twenty-two,” she said, loud enough for Seith to hear.

“Twenty-five,” he corrected her. “They wear the colors of Rona. But best to be on your guard. Don’t speak if you can help it.”

Their armor was fashioned from overlapping plates polished to a dazzling gleam. The horses, too, were fitted with plating that covered them from head to chest, giving them an oddly reptilian appearance. Their helmets sported colorful plumes and broad nose guards that left little of their faces visible. As they drew closer, the horses fanned out into a tight formation and two dozen lances lowered to point at the three of them in a manner that was calmly menacing.

The lead horseman called out something that Kelsia could not understand. She thought she must have misheard, but then Marius responded with something equally unintelligible. In the next moment, she realized that it was a different language they were speaking. The one soldier came to a halt a few paces from them.

“Aye, I speak that tongue, traveler,” the horseman said, evidently in answer to a question Marius had asked. The tone and inflection of his words were garbled slightly, but she had only a little difficulty understanding them. He tipped his head forward and pulled off the helmet, revealing the face of a middle-aged man with flecks of grey in his beard and streaks in his long black hair. His hair, dark and close-cropped, glistened with a sheen of sweat. His gaze settled on her for a moment, his wide-set brown eyes flicking between her face and the staff she carried tightly in one hand.

He settled the helmet onto the pommel of his saddle and addressed Marius. “Name’s Moor, Captain Bransen Moor, to be precise. I’m sorry if my words offended you. I thought you were from one of the outlying farms. They’ve had demons raiding, if you can believe it. That’s why we’re out here. There were several deaths before the king ordered the country folk to take shelter in the city. There are still some folks missing, but I have little hope we’ll find anyone alive.”

“You say that hellspawn raided these lands?” Seith asked.

“Aye, I did, though only a very few have seen them. Can’t say where they might be coming from, and we don’t yet know how far the demons range, or if other cities in the kingdom are under attack. It was nigh a month gone that folks started disappearing and farms began to burn. They have been getting bolder ever since.” He looked at Marius once more with a frown. “Are you feeling alright, sir?”

Marius showed his teeth. “I had an unfortunate encounter involving a fire.”

“I see,” Bransen said, though it was obvious that he did not. “May I ask who you are and where you are bound?”

“I am Seith. This girl is named Kelsia and that is Marius. We must speak to your king. We come here on an important errand.”

Bransen arched his brows. “Begging your pardon, but that’s not likely. The king is very busy these days.”

Seith fixed him with a steady gaze. “I am a wizard, captain. I come on behalf of the Horadrim.”

Bransen returned the stare unflinchingly, his jaw clenching with doubt. His eyes lowered to the wand at Seith’s belt before flicking over to Marius. His gaze lingered longest on Kelsia, who obviously puzzled him most of all. Finally, he looked over his shoulder to the horseman on his left and nodded, and then gave an awkward bow from the saddle. “Then I am at your service, sir. We would do you the honor of escorting you to the gates.”

“We would appreciate the gesture. And you must announce my presence to the king and arrange for an audience.”

The captain bowed again. “As I said, sir, the king is very busy. It is not in my power to promise such a thing.” He settled his helmet carefully back over his head, and barked an order in his own language. The lances all tilted up in unison and the riders took places in formation on all sides of Kelsia and her companions. Bransen wheeled his horse and issued another order, at which they all moved, following his lead back toward the city.

[tamrend]

Chapter 15: Rona
Part 3

The track they were on joined with a much wider road that angled northeast, following a gradual downward slope towards the city. To Kelsia, Rona was simply incomprehensible. The scale of the city standing alone on the plain confused her at first, making her wonder what purpose such a tiny wall could possibly serve. Drawing closer, though, she spotted the wreck of an overturned carriage near the gates. She realized that what appeared to be a stream cutting across the plain from the mountains to the north was actually a wide river. The towers that she had first seen stood on a hill that rose up more or less in the middle of the city, but from there they climbed higher still, casting long, black shadows to the north. She tried to imagine how something so tall could hold itself up, but finally had to conclude that there must be magic at work.

They came to stand within the shadow of the wall that encircled the city. The gates, which stood closed before them, were striped with thick iron plates and fully open could have passed six wagons abreast. Words were shouted down from the top of the wall to Bransen’s company. He called back in the same language and shot a look over his shoulder back the way they had come. “We’ve been followed,” he explained. “A small party of lesser demons. If they’re foolish enough to attack, the archers will fell them before they ever come in reach of us.”

Kelsia looked too, wondering if it were the same goatmen who had been trailing them, but could see nothing standing on the gently rolling landscape. A few tense moments passed and then a series of clanks and metal scrapings signaled the unbarring of the massive doors. They swung ponderously inward, creaking on their hinges as chains clattered away rhythmically. Bransen raised his hand and dropped it swiftly, prompting the company to move forward. They passed through a tunnel some twenty paces long before emerging into daylight and the utter bewilderment of the senses that described a city.

The smell assaulted her before they had even quite cleared the tunnel, a foul mingling of odors that made the scent of Dalmers Ferry seem a happy memory. The dank reek of human sweat and standing water and the stomach-turning stench of rotting vegetables and animal waste combined with the sweetly beckoning scent of food, making it all seem somehow even more repulsive. Blinking in the sunlight and the din of people shouting and running to and fro, Kelsia clutched at Seith’s waist with her free hand for support against a sudden bout of dizziness.

They stood at the intersection of two streets, one which ran along the bottom of the wall, curving out of sight to either side, and another which ran straight ahead, into the city’s heart. It was this path they took, forging into a yawning canyon bounded by walls of stone and brick. Nearer to the shops and houses at the edges, people walked by singly and in groups, weaving deftly past the occasional beggar. Carts and carriages took the center of the street, traveling swiftly past each other, almost close enough to touch. A few townsfolk scurried out of the way of the horses, and Bransen led them past to fall in step behind a coach.

Kelsia began to watch the for signs, to try to read them. Most had letters or symbols she had never seen before, but some were written in the familiar shapes Seith had taught her. She was pleased to be able to read “inn” and “shop”, though the pace at which they rode often made it frustrating when she worked to decipher a word but then failed to finish before the sign passed out of sight. She felt a shift as they began to ascend a gradual slope, and further along it became a noticeably steeper climb. She looked back and gasped in astonishment, as between the buildings she could see the far edge of the city, but everything shrunken until she could no longer make out individuals among the moving masses of people. It had never occurred to her that there might be so many people in the entire world, let alone gathered together in one place.

The street brought them to another set of gates and another wall as tall and imposing as the first. There was very little traffic here, and none of it led onward. The gates stood open, but a dozen soldiers stood in the path, blocking the way. “We’ve come to the old city,” Bransen explained. “You’ll need permission to go any further.” He raised his hand for the horsemen to halt and approached the men at the gates. Words were exchanged between them.

“He’s telling them who we are,” Marius translated. “And he passed on our request to see the king.”

Bransen waved farewell to the gate guard and returned. “I’ve done all I can for you, sir. You’ll need to wait here, I’m afraid. A runner will be dispatched to carry your message. If you are given an audience, you will be informed of the day and time and must return here.”

Seith stared at the gateway, his irritation evident in the stiffness of his body and the set of his jaw. He relaxed by degrees, as if forcing it upon himself. “Then I thank you, Captain Moor, for all that you have done. Farewell.”

“To you as well, wizard.” He moved off, back down the street, his men wheeling and falling in behind in precise formation.

“It sounds as though we might be waiting a while,” Marius said with a grimace.

“Well, then I suppose we should make ourselves comfortable,” Seith suggested. They dismounted, drew their horses to the edge of the street and tied them to a post. “Marius, would you fetch us some food? I saw a vegetable cart and a bakery on the way.”

Marius nodded. “With pleasure.”

Kelsia grimaced at the thought of eating in the midst of the city stench, but her stomach grumbled all the same. “Could I go too? I could help you carry it back.”

Seith thought about it for a moment. “You may, but please be careful. Stay close to Marius at all times.”

Kelsia gave her promise and they started back down the hill together on foot. They turned right at a corner and spotted a pair of carts sitting in the shadow of canvas stretched over poles. There were far fewer people roaming this street, giving Kelsia the realization of how uncomfortable the crowding had felt. Her mouth watered as they browsed and selected a generous head of cabbage and several ripe bulbs and fruits.

“Prices are running a bit high,” Marius observed as they moved on. “It’ll get worse if they can’t harvest the crops soon.”

“Will the people starve?” Kelsia asked, daunted by the thought of how much food it would take to feed the entire city.

“Probably some will,” Marius said. “Those too poor to afford the higher prices. The king will have grain stored away to get through the winter, but some will go hungry.”

“That’s sad,” she said. Her village had known lean years, but Graegor had always ensured that none went hungry, often trading money or grain in exchange for a few days of work at his estate, so that none would feel indebted to him. “Couldn’t the king just give the grain to those who can’t buy it? If he doled it out carefully, then no one would go hungry.”

Marius smiled wryly. “If only it were that simple. Still, it is good that you think about such things. Most people never ponder an injustice beyond how it affects them personally.”

The bakery was the most incredible place Kelsia had ever seen. The bread alone came in more shapes and colors than she thought could exist, but there was much more than that to see. Near the entrance was a row of tiny figures baked from dough and dotted with bits of color that gave them the semblance of faces, so that they looked like flat dolls.

Marius plucked one of them from their shelf. “It’s a cookie,” he explained. “Would you like one?”

Kelsia nodded her assent.

“Better make it two, then,” he said, grinning. “Go on, look around for something else if you like. I’m going to buy us a few loaves of bread.”

Kelsia moved toward the counter at the back, drawn by the sweet smell and the colors of pies and cakes and all manner of other foods she had no name for. Marius soon drew next to her and asked which she would like to try. She tried to refuse, so he chose one for her, a fluffy round pastry with white cream showing at the top.

“These are one of my favorites,” he told her. “You’ll want to eat it right away, before it goes stale.”

Marius paid for their food and handed her the pastry to eat. Once they were back on the street, she bit into it and got a mouthful of cream that was shockingly sweet. The outside was as light and fluffy as it looked, and broke into flakes as she chewed.

“It’s fantastic,” she said, looking up at Marius, but he seemed not to have heard. She followed his gaze to a small group of soldiers hurrying along the street in front of them, calling out to clear the way ahead. They were clad all in mail, and over that wore green tunics with the symbol of a hawk in flight. Kelsia gasped, remembering the last time she had seen it, worn by the men who had occupied Dalmers Ferry.

“They’re from Ganting,” Marius said grimly. He watched the soldiers reach the main street and turn in the direction of the city gates. Waving her to follow, he approached the cart of a textile merchant and began to converse in the local language, pointing after the soldiers.

“It’s a hunting party,” Marius said, translating the man’s response for Kelsia. “He says that they arrived several days ago to help with the demon attacks. Apparently the king of Rona has made some kind of arrangement with the king of Ganting. He says that there are rumors of demon outbreaks in other places as well.” He shook his head. “I can tell you that such a thing is decidedly odd. What king would allow foreign soldiers into his own city like this?”

He let the question hang in silence for a moment, gazing down the street with a frown. “Come,” he said. “We must tell Seith of what we have learned.”

[Snowglare]

How charmingly evil. Just when I'm getting to like hearing about Maeryn and mages and murder, you jump back to the main characters, whom I'd forgetten I missed. I've come to love that device after seeing it in Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, and it's executed to similar effect here. I'm interested in every story at once, and can't wait to get back to them all. Of course, the key is the quality of the writing; it has to be consistently high to keep me from resenting the shift away from favored characters. Much as I like Maeryn, I like Kelsia more, and eventually I'll remember how cool Shael is. Really need to sit down sometime and read this over from the beginning. The wait between installments allows me to forget so much.

The way Kelsia views everything from reading and writing to baked goods with a sense of wonder is terrific. I adore it. Reading and pastry-loving are natural to me, but I haven't lost my appreciation for how "fantastic" they are. It's nice to see that appreciation shared.


His clothing had protected him from somewhat from the brief but intense blast

One too many froms. There was one more error like this, but I forget where it was.

[tamrend]

Kelsia began to watch the for signs, to try to read them.

I just caught that one myself. I'm not sure whether I meant "watch for signs" or "watch the buildings for signs". Whatever I meant, MS Word's grammar-checker was all nods and smiles for what went on the page. I'm glad that at least the thing quit giving me hell for passive voice.


The way Kelsia views everything from reading and writing to baked goods with a sense of wonder is terrific.

Those kinds of passages are some of the most fun to write, like way back in chapter eight when she sees snow for the first time. I like making the mundane seem fantastic.

[RevenantsKnight]

On the latest chapter: I thought that this was a pretty good read with the emphasis on character details, which are always welcome as far as I’m concerned. In particular, I think you did a very nice job with Kelsia’s perception of new things, as Snowglare mentioned. Some specific comments:


Seith sighed, shaking a few droplets of red liquid loose from its bottle to drip onto a cloth.

Minor nitpick: “its” should be “their,” or perhaps just “a,” since “a few droplets” is plural.


Marius’ skin had improved drastically, going from blistered and blackened to livid pink.

Technically, “Marius’,” and all other instances of this in the story, should be “Marius’s,” but at least one person has argued that off as a stylistic call before. Not sure if you vehemently hate “Marius’s” or not, but anyway... Also, “drastically” has a bit of a violent or harsh and severe connotation (at least to me,) so it seemed a bit of an odd description to use for healing that doesn’t require amputation or something in that vein.


He was still totally bald, even his eyebrows singed away by the flames.

This seems grammatically weird to me...I’d think it should be “...bald; even his eyebrows had been singed...” or something like that, since the singing happened in the past relative to the narration, which is already in the past tense, and there seems to be two subjects here (“He” and “his eyebrows.”)


It had been three days since that encounter. They spent the first day resting and recovering from their injuries. Seith had butchered his slain horse, supplying them with as much meat as they could carry, enough for several days if the weather stayed cold. Their course since then had led them south and east across a barren, trackless plain.

This passage felt a little monotonous to me because of its repeated use of the same sentence structure; while this was quite clear, I think you could vary this up a touch without losing any of that clarity. For instance, the last sentence could be reworded to something like “Since then, they had traveled south and east, crossing over a barren, trackless plain.”


Two days ago, the vegetables had seemed like a delightful find. Now she was starting to wish they had never come across them.

Heh, nice touch. One thing, though: if this was just “several” bulbs, how did they last for two days among three people? Seems like a bit of a stretch...


Seith and Kelsia now doubled up on Copper, the stronger of the two remaining horses.

I don’t know if it’s necessary to introduce this fact yet, and the way it was presented made it seem as if they were doing something with Copper as a reaction to Marius heading for Cloud, at first. I might suggest just dropping this altogether, for the moment.


Making the roots and meat into a soup had been his idea, hoping the latter would curb the taste of the former.

“Curb” sounded odd to me in this usage; perhaps “soften” or “dull” might work better, though maybe that’s just me.


He leaned in close, “How are you feeling?”

Technically, that should be two sentences, breaking after “close.”


Kelsia could hear the careful measuring in his tone.

This is a good detail, but the way it’s presented read awkwardly to me. “ Measuring” by itself seems to ask the question “Measuring of what?”


“Something is troubling you, isn’t it?” she said, with sudden insight.

The comma after “said” seems odd; it’d work if you removed it, I think, though depending on what you meant, a rewording such as “...said, a sudden insight flashing through her mind” might be more accurate. “With sudden insight” just doesn’t feel like it should be hanging on the end of the sentence by itself like that.


Seith bowed his head over his bowl, sipped from it, and said quietly. “I didn’t want to concern you, since it might not mean anything, but ever since you fought that mage, the staff’s glow of power is much dimmer.”

The period after “quietly” should be a comma.


She stood and let it fall to the ground. She turned resolutely and thought, I’m leaving it behind.

This part, and the following paragraph where Kelsia walks away, felt very repetitive, as well as a bit sparse on detail. I don’t know if that was intentional, but it seems to me that this might not be a good time to leave things vague, since this is apparently a major part of the plot and will likely come up again. I’d suggest a general revision of this section, but that’s just me.


Her stomach clenched and her legs grew painfully rigid, but she began to take slow, careful steps away from it.

The contrast implied by “but” seems like it would be more, well, substantial, if you changed “began” to “managed” or “forced herself,” or something like that. As it is, it feels a bit like “but” isn’t quite appropriate.


“Pick it up,” she said.

This confused me at first; I wasn’t really sure to whom Kelsia was addressing this.


Kelsia felt his hands closing around her.

Hrm...that wasn’t too clear on a first read. This may take a little more elaboration to get the idea across smoothly; I’m guessing that she feels some sort of phantom sensation around her when he picks up the staff, but that definitely wasn’t clear at first.


“When I first saw him, I was too terrified to speak. As you probably realize, most people can’t perform even the most paltry magic.”

The shift from Garron to Seith’s personal history here seems a bit awkward, as he starts with the time he met his master and then ends up not talking about Garron at all for a bit, which was the original question. While it could just be that he wanders a bit in his thoughts, Kelsia seems a bit too willing to sort of follow him through all of this before he finally gets to when he met Garron. This lead-in also suggested that Garron wielded some sort of magic when they met as the explanation for Seith’s initial terror; that impression is something probably worth revising.


“I have almost no memory from that time, but I can recall once feeling hungry and wishing I had some of the soup that was boiling in a cauldron over the fire. The next moment, I was running away, screaming as the great black thing came flying after me, spilling scalding hot broth all over the floor.”

Another nice touch, I’d say.


“The usual rule is that we do not begin to train youths before the age of six, but as I said, cases like mine are rare.”

The ending here seems a little redundant, since the first part already implies that Seith is a special case.


“It is set to take place in a few months time.”

That should be “months’”


“Tradition allows one month from the actual date of birth for additional study and preparation, but I shouldn’t need it.

Just a thought: would most people know their actual date of birth in this sort of age? Even if there is a standard calendar, that sort of knowledge seems like it would be uncharacteristic of most ordinary peasants and merchants, which Seith’s parents presumably were.


“He often said that I would one day become an initiate, the first to appear among the Horadrim in over a generation.”

Hrm...did I miss something somewhere? It seems like the Horadrim has taken new members before Seith, if Lorimer is only five years older than he is. Anyway, this could use some clarification.


“The truth is that I’ve never quite lived up to the high expectations that were set for me.”

Seith seems perhaps unusually open about himself, especially with his assessment of himself as a partial failure. Maybe I’m used to quieter people, but his willingness to talk about all this, even after all that has happened, seems like a bit much all at once to be realistic. Don’t get me wrong; this kind of detail is quite good, but it seems sudden and perhaps pushes believability a bit.


Somehow, Kelsia could never quite bring herself to tell him about the presence that whispered words into her mind.

This implies a bit more of a global truth than seems appropriate here, given what the reader knows so far. I’d drop the “never” for something else.


Seith waited, obviously wanting more from her. Kelsia wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, but she couldn’t see how the truth would help.

I’d see if you can’t find a way to replace one instance of “wanted/wanting from her” here.


“Are you trying to get me to promise that I won’t do it again?” She asked him.

The “She” here shouldn’t be capitalized.


Another part longed to taste that power again. That terrified her perhaps even more.

This could use some expansion, I think; while it seems pretty logical for Kelsia to want nothing to do with this given her background and general attitude towards the matter, there isn’t much to indicate she might also want to use it more other than this. Therefore, including a little bit more on why would probably help.


“Yes, I think it would be best if you try to refrain from doing whatever it was you did, but I also cannot forget that if not for your magic, we would not be here now speaking.”

The ending of this sentence feels weird to me, particularly “here now speaking”; I’d just drop “speaking” from the sentence, personally.


“Magic requires a certain amount of belief to work. If you believe that the power is gone, it might become so.”

Interesting take on magic.


Marius dropped the ladle into the cold soup and picked out a pieces of meat with his fingers, shoving them into his mouth and chewing at the same time.

That should be either “pieces of meat” or “a piece of meat,” though the latter would require some rewriting elsewhere.


Seith explained to him about the staff’s sudden changes, and ended by suggesting that they could no longer rely upon it to guide them.

Hrm...having the narrator pop in like this felt a bit disruptive, in my opinion. If you can, I’d try to make as much of this Seith explaining the situation to Marius, so that there isn’t this bump in the otherwise smooth flow through the conversation. Also, if you assume that Seith already mentioned part of his observations about the staff to Marius, then you could probably cut this down to a sentence or two with a quick allusion to something Seith and Marius spoke of earlier.


“We should stay alert to trouble, though.”

Methinks that should be “...alert for trouble...”


Kelsia woke from a dreamless sleep. Soundless twilight blanketed the land. She twisted beneath her blankets, but sleep would not come. Her mind was oddly clear and she mumbled quietly to herself, recounting her lessons from the previous day.

This part felt a bit monotonous to me, with the repeated structures and short, almost bitten-off feel of the sentences. I guess this may be a style thing, though, since it appears to come up with some frequency in this and other chapters.


“Lying weasel.”

Minor nitpick: after hearing that she screamed this part, the period doesn’t quite do it for me. I’d make it an exclamation mark.


Now, with the tables turned, she was desperate to get away.

“With the tables turned” feels perhaps a little too colloquial for the detached, semi-omniscient narrator you’ve been using so far. I’d suggest revising this part.


She finally managed to roll away from him and lay on her back, panting and giggling by turns.

I think that should be “laid.”


She was tempted to take it and pull him down and resume their mock battle, but that would mean further delaying the morning’s lesson.

Hrm...from “Soundless twilight blanketed the land. She twisted beneath her blankets, but sleep would not come,” as well as other details, I got the impression that this was at night, not right before dawn. Bit confusing, that...


The resumed their places once more, Seith beginning now to teach her simple words, praising her near-perfect recall of letters.

The first word there should be “they.”


Cloud was blowing heavily when Marius rode back into camp, leaping from the saddle before the mare had come to a stop.

I think “blowing” should be “breathing.”


“Burn it, we don’t really know if it’s working or not.”

I read this literally at first. It might just be me, but if it isn’t, I’m not sure what to suggest, other than changing the curse.


The mountains were squat and round, and spotted with skeletal trees, nothing like the towering heights where Loric made his home or the steep crags to the west of her home.

I’d see if you can’t replace one instance of “home” here; it comes up a lot in this paragraph and the next.


Though she could only see it from afar, Kelsia tried to commit to memory as much of the details as she could, thinking of how useful such a system could be back home.

That should be “...as many of the details...”


[i]If there is even a home to return to, that is,[i] she thought glumly.

Just a heads-up: the tags didn’t quite work here. I don’t know if capitalization matters, but I usually capitalize them and that seems to do it.


Their armor was fashioned from overlapping plates polished to a dazzling gleam.

Bit of an abrupt jump from Seith talking to a description of the riders’ armor, I think. I’d try to work in a more transitory sentence, perhaps one that has the three halting and then looking out toward these soldiers.


“That’s why we’re out here. There were several deaths before the king ordered the country folk to take shelter in the city. There are still some folks missing, but I have little hope we’ll find anyone alive.”

Seems like a bit much for a military officer to say to people he just met on the road. Even if it isn’t exactly secret information, soldiers on duty would be by training disinclined to chat with travelers on the road, I’d think.


“Aye, I did, though only a very few have seen them. Can’t say where they might be coming from, and we don’t yet know how far the demons range, or if other cities in the kingdom are under attack.”

This, on the other hand, might well be considered secret, or at least militarily relevant, and therefore not something to tell random people on the road. Honestly, it feels a bit more like the narrator’s the one saying this for plot reasons.


Bransen arched his brows.

Should that be “eyebrows,” perhaps? As it reads, the image I’m getting doesn’t seem to match the story...


The towers that she had first seen stood on a hill that rose up more or less in the middle of the city, but from there they climbed higher still, casting long, black shadows to the north.

I’d reword “...rose up more or less in the middle...” to “...rose up from the middle of the city...” or some other phrasing that doesn’t use “more or less”; it seems like an unnecessary hedge and also too informal for the narration.


The gates, which stood closed before them, were striped with thick iron plates and fully open could have passed six wagons abreast.

“...could have passed six wagons abreast” sounded a bit odd to me; “admitted” seems to fit a little better, but even that doesn’t sound quite right...not sure what to suggest here. Also, I’m not sure if there should be a comma after “open” or not...seems like there’s a natural pause there, but omitting “fully open” does seem to change the sentence a little. Your call, as always.


The smell assaulted her before they had even quite cleared the tunnel, a foul mingling of odors that made the scent of Dalmers Ferry seem a happy memory.

The “quite” in this sentence seems unnecessary.


It was this path they took, forging into a yawning canyon bounded by walls of stone and brick.

Nice image.


She was pleased to be able to read “inn” and “shop”, though the pace at which they rode often made it frustrating when she worked to decipher a word but then failed to finish before the sign passed out of sight.

Minor nitpick: the comma after “shop” should be inside the quotes.


She looked back and gasped in astonishment, as between the buildings she could see the far edge of the city, but everything shrunken until she could no longer make out individuals among the moving masses of people.

“...but everything shrunken until...” seems like it should be perhaps “...but everything had shrunk to where she could...”


Kelsia gasped, remembering the last time she had seen it, worn by the men who had occupied Dalmers Ferry.

The wording of this felt as if it understated Kelsia’s realization a bit; I don’t have a good suggestion as to how you could give this more weight, unfortunately, but it did seem to sort of pass by without as much of an impact, in contrast to what it likely meant to Kelsia and Marius.

Well, that was a long addition, but a very good one overall, I’d say. The character work on Kelsia in particular was a lot of fun to read, and I’m looking forward to whatever comes next. Thanks for posting!

[tamrend]

Thanks for giving this your predictably brilliant once-over. As usual, you found an embarrassing number of errors, raised a few good questions, and came up with a few points upon which I humbly disagree. A few highlights, and an unnecessarily large number of quotes:


Technically, “Marius’,” and all other instances of this in the story, should be “Marius’s,” but at least one person has argued that off as a stylistic call before.
I've seen it both ways. I think that it is traditionally proper to add the "s" at the end, but I much prefer the other way.


This is a good detail, but the way it’s presented read awkwardly to me. “ Measuring” by itself seems to ask the question “Measuring of what?”

7. To consider or choose with care; weigh: He measures his words with caution.
I couldn't find an adjective that quite fit as well as that one, though it is a less common usage.


This part, and the following paragraph where Kelsia walks away, felt very repetitive, as well as a bit sparse on detail.
It is a bit repetitive, which is intentional. She's consciously testing the staff. The detail I could improve upon.


Hrm...did I miss something somewhere? It seems like the Horadrim has taken new members before Seith, if Lorimer is only five years older than he is. Anyway, this could use some clarification.
This will be clarified. This is my interpretation of a certain passage from the official Diablo storyline:

After a great battle which claimed the lives of many brave souls, the Lord of Terror was captured and imprisoned within the last of the Soulstones by a group of Horadrim monks led by the Initiate Jered Cain.
All I'm going to say is that in this case "initiate" does not mean quite what it would normally mean. It seems to be implied in the Diablo history that an "initiate" is actually a higher order of mage, something beyond what is ordinarily achievable. I'll confess that I never would have gotten the idea if not for Shadowrun.


Hrm...that wasn’t too clear on a first read. This may take a little more elaboration to get the idea across smoothly; I’m guessing that she feels some sort of phantom sensation around her when he picks up the staff, but that definitely wasn’t clear at first.
This was first described way back at the end of lowly chapter one and in a few of the following chapters--admittedly a long time ago, even for newer-comers like yourself (did I just say newer-comers?). Since then, she hasn't been able to let anyone else touch the staff until now.


Just a thought: would most people know their actual date of birth in this sort of age? Even if there is a standard calendar, that sort of knowledge seems like it would be uncharacteristic of most ordinary peasants and merchants, which Seith’s parents presumably were.
You pose an interesting problem. I could just say, "Yes, but magic would easily reveal his age," but that always feels like a cop-out. I think that the concept of counting summers is quaint and overused, and I already made it a point in an earlier chapter to mention that Kelsia just had her sixteenth birthday, so I think I'm stuck with date-keeping peasants.



“When I first saw him, I was too terrified to speak. As you probably realize, most people can’t perform even the most paltry magic.”

The shift from Garron to Seith’s personal history here seems a bit awkward, as he starts with the time he met his master and then ends up not talking about Garron at all for a bit, which was the original question.
Yes, gotta fix that. I'm thinking that I need a transitional sentence to indicate, "wait, there's some setup to this story."



“That’s why we’re out here. There were several deaths before the king ordered the country folk to take shelter in the city. There are still some folks missing, but I have little hope we’ll find anyone alive.”
Seems like a bit much for a military officer to say to people he just met on the road. Even if it isn’t exactly secret information, soldiers on duty would be by training disinclined to chat with travelers on the road, I’d think.

“Aye, I did, though only a very few have seen them. Can’t say where they might be coming from, and we don’t yet know how far the demons range, or if other cities in the kingdom are under attack.”
This, on the other hand, might well be considered secret, or at least militarily relevant, and therefore not something to tell random people on the road. Honestly, it feels a bit more like the narrator’s the one saying this for plot reasons.
You're right about the second passage. I think I should take out all but the first sentence and let the narrative reveal this bit later on. The first passage works fine for me, given that the officer would guess that the travelers already knew that something odd was happening.

[Tracul]

One of the best 'book' i've ever read! (albeit some grammar errors)
Sorry I can't help in proof-reading your chapters, ain't got the writing talent in me.
But I'm anxiously waiting for your next chapter. Great work!:clap:

[Sib]

Long time no post- hope the story's going to be finished...
looking forward to another good chapter soon- Keep it up dude

[tamrend]

Long time no post- hope the story's going to be finished...
looking forward to another good chapter soon- Keep it up dude

I'm currently working on Chapter 16 from Shael's POV. With all the stuff going on in my life, it's hard sometimes to have both the time and the motivation (simultaneously) to work on this. A little encouragement always helps, though. Thanks.

[Laetitia]

Hi tamrend,

Wow I can't believe I joined the forum just to read and comment on this story.

I'd just like to say that this is brilliant. And it's not just the writing, although you do provide us with many a pleasing turn of phrase, but more than that I love the fact that you've created such a compelling story, relevant themes and pretty realistic characters from the relatively skimpy Diablo II storyline. And yes, skipping between Kelsia, Shael and Maeryn does drive me crazy, but in a good way. :)

There are a few errors here and there, but hey when considered in the context of the many voluminous chapters you've so graciously provided us with, they're almost scientifically negligible so in my opinion they really don't detract from the wonderful work that is this fanfiction. Probably my only gripe is that they named their horses "Cloud" and "Copper", but then they *are* 14/15-year-olds so I guess that's understandable. ;) Anyway, you're not writing this for money, you have a life, and even then this is better than a lot of the mass-produced dross lining our bookstore shelves. Actually you should consider creating your own fantasyverse and writing novels because you've proven you can do wonders with that artistic license, and I for one would pay $$ to read more of your stuff if you turn professional. Yes, it's that good people. tamrend, if you haven't gotten the gist of it by now, I humbly plead with you to write more. :)

I'm not sure if this helps with the motivation, because some authors already have a pretty concrete idea of the plot in their heads, but here's my two cents' worth: I love how the story moves along pretty fast in general and it's jam-packed with action, but characters like Marius and even Seith could do with a little more fleshing out, or more interaction with Kelsia and each other. The Maeryn chapters are the most gripping at this point, and I'm dying to find out who the traitor is and how Ulric was killed! But because you're such a gifted author, I know you're going to keep me waiting as the plot languidly unfolds... It would also be pretty cool to have Loric teach Shael some new magicky things. Also, Edwin may have the potential to develop into a rather endearing character... Alright enough of my blather. I hope this helps stimulate the creative juice glands instead of putting pressure on you!

Cheers,
An adoring fan.

[Snowglare]

Actually you should consider creating your own fantasyverse and writing novels because you've proven you can do wonders with that artistic license, and I for one would pay $$ to read more of your stuff if you turn professional. Yes, it's that good people.

Couldn't agree more. I can't afford all the stuff I want as it is, but if I found out Tamrend had a novel coming, especially a fantasy novel or anything similar to The Key in tone, pacing, and characterization, I'd have to buy it. Fanficiness notwithstanding, I'm glad Tam lets us read this for free.

[Chewtoy]

i just finished reading though the whole thing so far, and i absolutly love it. if i found out about a novel you wrote that was published, id go out and buy it in an instant. cant wait to read more of this one, its a real "page-turner". keep on writin' it! :thumbsup:

[wadisweweredead]

Hey man... you simply MUST continue with this fanfic... i joined this forum solely to read and comment on this... its one of the best stories i've ever read and i've read a lot. its already been a year since this was updated and its already been a year for me re-reading this... it just never gets boring... from when Shael and Kelsia met the mysterious wizard... to the warm home of Loric... to when they had their meeting with Seith... to the heart-wrenching "percieved" death of Kelsia... to the unknown traitor of the horradrim that Maeryn is tasked to sniff out... to the amazing developments of Shael's ability with the staff... all these always have been in my heart... and indeed, my mind. when i least expect it to, i would always think of what would happen next. how would things end or unveil itself? all these questions can only be answered by the author of this amazing story. You.

[tamrend]

Hello wadisweweredead, and thanks for the kind words.

I can't believe it's been more than two years since I wrote the last chapter. I was pretty sure it had only been a year and some change, though it seemed like far too long, regardless. I started on chapter 16 right away, picking up with Shael and Loric, only to delete it and start over, feeling I was re-treading plot elements that I had already established. I started again, then stopped. A few months went by. I tried again and still didn't like the results. I toyed with the idea of re-writing the earlier chapters but never really committed to it. So I let it go for a while, got into playing World of Warcraft, got a new job and continued to not write.

It weighs on me, almost every day. Someone once asked Ted Sturgeon why he writes. He answered, "Because it's easier than not writing." I doubt that most people would understand the truth of that statement as viscerally as a writer. I feel the plot tugging at my consciousness, all of those beloved characters perched at the edge of disaster, and wanting to find out how they'll get through it. Because I, too, want to know how the story ends. I know what challenges Shael and Kelsia have yet to face, but I'm not completely sure how they will get through it.

Perhaps more than that, I feel that I've let many of you down. I have brought you on this journey with me, only to leave you stranded without a guide. I never intended to leave the story in the middle. I still don't. I haven't visited this site in months--I'm not sure how many--but I dropped in just now, to see if the thread was still here...hell, to see if the forum, or any of the old guard, still existed. I've lately been missing what I had back then, and wondered if I might recapture that. I was more than a little gratified to see my orphaned story sitting on the front page with a fresh comment at the bottom.

Still, I worry. Is it too little, too late? Will anyone even notice if I make the effort, or have they given up long ago on ever seeing an end to the story? I guess I'd better write that next chapter and find out.

There, I've committed myself. I'll be back with chapter 16, or at least the first part. My sincere apologies to everyone who waited and held out hope that I would get off my *** and finish what I started. I only hope I can do justice to your good faith and patience. I might be a little rusty.

Scott

[Snowglare]

We missed you, too, Tamrend. The Key is still my favorite Diablo-type story, and I'm sure as Hell still eager to see it finished. I know I'm not alone in that, not by a longshot. You leave the self-doubt to others. It doesn't suit you. ;)

[Raging_Zealot]

We missed you, too, Tamrend. The Key is still my favorite Diablo-type story, and I'm sure as Hell still eager to see it finished. I know I'm not alone in that, not by a longshot. You leave the self-doubt to others. It doesn't suit you. ;)

+1, I definitely want to see it continued/finished too. I literally jumped out of my chair to point the mouse at this thread faster when I saw it back at the top when wadisweweredead posted the other day...

[wadisweweredead]

hahas i joined diabloii.net for the sole purpose of commenting on this thread^^ glad to see the man back^^

[Madrik Rimesorrow]

This deserves to be read with popcorn and lots of time. The detail you go into is breath-taking. From the lay of the land to the stature of a man. Everything is simply put ... Epic. It's more engaging as you've used the Diablo Mythos as a backdrop and not the main focus. Great work! Salute to you.

P.S. Where's the next chapter?

[AluminumKnight]

Wow. Just spent a long time reading through all chapters, and let me just say, wow. This is definitely at the top of all fanfics I've read for anything, not just Diablo. I would love to read not only the rest of this story, but any other stories you've written.

[Explopyro]

I just read this and I must say, I'm very impressed; this is very well done.

While I understand if you never get around to finishing it, as it seems like it would be a lot of work, I must admit I'd be eager to read the rest of the story if you do.

[Raging_Zealot]

Well I saw that someone had posted in this thread, so I went through and read the whole thing again. Sadly disappointed when I got to the end of what had been posted, and saw that there was no more. Hope you can find the time to finish the story, as I really need to know what happens now! :smiley:

[infinitehelix]

It would not be too little, or too late to start this story up again. I am sure I speak for everyone here when I say that we would notice, and appreciate a continuation.
I began reading this story when you first started posting (I have, since then, lost my old account info), and have reread the entirety of what you have posted, and would love to see more. You simply can't leave a cliffhanger like that, its terribly cruel.
So post, dammit. =)

[cursedfrankie]

I enjoyed the story... but one thing that I just couldn't get out of mind when reading the first chapter was The Fellowship of the Ring. The similarities are fine in principle (a young person picked up out of normalcy and dropped into something with which they have no experience)...I just thought some of the things the characters say were pure reflections of LoTR, especially the movie.

The sorcerer says "Run, you fool"....this immediately reminded me of Gandalf on the bridge saying to the rest of the fellowship "Fly, you fools" or whatever he said...
Again, this in itself is not so bad...but just a few paragraphs later Shael says, "I will take it." Is this a purposeful mirroring of Frodo at the Council of Elrond?

I enjoyed the story overall, just those little things prevented me from, in the beginning, becoming engrossed in the world you are trying to create for the reader. my 2 cents.

[tamrend]

"I enjoyed the story... but one thing that I just couldn't get out of mind when reading the first chapter was The Fellowship of the Ring."

That similarity is something I have struggled with. I must admit the fact that there was some unconscious mirroring going on there. If I ever get around to doing a re-write, there are some plot elements that I would like to emphasize and elaborate on that would alter that character. In my own defense, I wrote the opening chapters of the story at a breakneck pace about five years ago, with only a small amount of content addition and little editing when I had to repost in '04. For the present, I will take the opportunity to explain a few things.

"Run, you fool" was not enclosed in quotes in the text, but I think it was supposed to be in italics and the formatting was lost. Those words are not spoken by the sorcerer, but by the entity that inhabits the staff (whose presence has been revealed, but whose nature and origins have yet to be explained). In context, Kelsia does not really distinguish them from her own thoughts. As the story progressed (helped by Loric's warnings), Kelsia began to recognize the staff's influence.

The "I'll take it" conversation is one that I would love to revisit because I don't think that the implications really come across here. Kelsia's decision is completely out of character, and that point wasn't really made in this draft. Again, it is the entity within the staff that pushes her to make this decision. Some inner struggle on this point would have been appropriate, and I would like to add it in a future revision. For the fiercely loyal and impulsive Shael, the decision to go with her fits the character.

This developed into a continuing theme throughout the story so far, that Kelsia is pushed by circumstance and by those around her to act. The staff itself is bound to her, enslaving her in a sense. The one time she defies the pressures put upon her, when Shael is knocked from her horse and falls into the hands of the demons, she is, in the end, unable to overcome the influence of the staff and of her companions. More broadly, the story is built upon the idea of free will. It is noted early on that both demons and angels have no free will, but our driven entirely by their natures.

"It would not be too little, or too late to start this story up again. I am sure I speak for everyone here when I say that we would notice, and appreciate a continuation."

I am working on it, but it is difficult. I essentially stopped writing (altogether, not just here) for about two years, but I never forgot this story. I recently started writing the next chapter, told from Shael's viewpoint. At present, I'm up over 1000 words (about 1/6th to 1/4th a chapter), but I'm struggling a bit, both with the subplot and with my own confidence. I keep feeling like at any moment, it will snap into place and I'll just write it all out in a three-hour marathon, but that hasn't happened yet. Instead, I find myself writing for 10-15 minutes at a time, adding a sentence here, a paragraph there, trying to make sense of my own intentions.

I will try harder.

[Raging_Zealot]

Just hearing that you are working on a new chapter is good news. Hopefully talking about it some in the post above will help get your writing juices flowing.

[DarkAce]

I just finished reading this piece. I have little more to add than the comments already made. But I'll reiterate them: Tamrend, you have a great deal of talent. Please write more!(!!!!!!!!)

In any case, regardless, thank you for the story (so far!)

-a fan

[MegaLing]

I remember reading this years ago....the names are familiar, the stories are too, I'll get on actually reading it soon

[Ron_Lugge]

Always one of my favorite stories... I hope you can finish it. If you can't, I understand -- I have several stories that circumstances forced to me to quit working on, and just can't get back on the bandwagon with. In fact, last time I tried I decided to just start from the beginning, and still can't get anywhere. Who, and what, I am has changed far to much since then.

[prion]

Tamrend, I started reading this when you first posted it, I am glad to see that you haven't given up on it.

I was offline for a couple of years and by the time i came back, the old thread was gone.

I'm glad to see that it has been reposted, I picked up the story right where i left off.

In this kind of story you always know from the beginning that its a fundamental battle of good versus evil. But when the whole Maeryn storyline is introduced halfway thru I think it illustrates in a tangible way that that what's going on is bigger than Shael and Kelsia.

Is the old scholar guy supposed to be an ancestor of Deckard Cain? ;)

gib moar plz kk

[tamrend]

Chapter 16: Dunesmar

Part I

Shael twisted in the saddle to look back along the trail. “What’s wrong, Makaya?” The wolf’s tail hung straight out from her body as she dropped her nose to sniff at the dirt. She raised her head and gave Shael a squint-eyed look and a low whine. Something about Makaya's behavior put a pang of dread in her stomach.

“She has scented demons,” Loric said. “A pair of them passed this way not long ago.”

Shael remembered the pair of demons that she and Kelsia had nearly stumbled upon just outside their village so many weeks ago. “Could it be a patrol?” She left the rest of her thought unspoken, that a patrol would almost certainly mean that a much larger force of demons lurked nearby.

“It may be,” Loric nodded, “but we are less than a dozen leagues from Dunesmar now. A small pack of demons could avoid detection, but more would probably not risk venturing too close. Whatever the case, we must be on our guard.” He cast a long look at Makaya. His lips moved slightly but Shael could hear no sound. The wolf watched him closely, her ears up and tail still held out stiffly. Shael had seen this silent communication many times, and had come to recognize many of Makaya’s postures. This one meant that she knew there was danger, and the way she returned Loric’s gaze showed she considered herself nearly his equal. She treated Shael more as a favored pup.

As if sensing her thought, Makaya turned her gaze to Shael. She shivered uncomfortably at the alpha female’s look and quickly averted her gaze. The wolf yipped twice and loped off through the trees in a flicker of silver fur. Shael turned to see Loric peering at her with what looked like amusement. “Is something funny?” Shael asked, a flush creeping into her face.

Loric’s smile faded, though his eyes still twinkled with laughter. “Makaya will follow the trail, but she will take care to stay hidden. If there are more of them nearby, we should know soon enough.”

They resumed their measured pace through the forest, the sun's muted light gradually giving way to night. As twilight fell, Shael and Loric made camp in a tiny clearing, both of them working in silence. They had set out from her village over a week ago, and though they were nearing their destination and the promise of help for her beleaguered people, she could not shake a dark foreboding. More than once since leaving, she had questioned her decision. How could she be sure that the demons would not descend upon the villagers as soon as they were away?

When she had asked Loric about it, his reply was less helpful and more cryptic than usual, “I do not know the future, Shael. The best anyone can hope for is to act with wisdom and with noble intent. You must be prepared to live with the consequences of our decisions, good or ill.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant howl. Loric froze in the action of setting kindling for a fire and listened. Shael saw in his eyes the same creeping dread that clenched her own heart at the mournful sound. She knew that the howl had come from Makaya.

Loric’s body rippled and began to change, his face elongating into a snout, his body growing shorter and leaner. His clothes appeared to meld into his skin, while a thick coat of black-speckled gray fur grew to cover him. He fell forward onto his hands, which were already growing into a pair of huge paws. The wolf paced a few times, sniffing at the ground and the air, then raised his snout to the sky and howled. The sound was nearly as heartbreaking to Shael as the one that had come moments earlier, but there was something more to it as well.

Another distant howl sounded, this one laced with the same idea that was present in the howl Loric had given. It was calming and reassuring.

Another wolf bounded out of the trees and stopped at Loric's side. He had a white face and belly and dark gray flanks. Shael remembered his name: Nahele. Unlike Makaya, he normally stayed out of sight, so much that Shael had nearly forgotten about him. The Loric-wolf looked at Shael and gave a kind of growl that ended with a whine.

“I’ll stay here,” she promised.

That seemed to satisfy Loric, who lunged away and disappeared into the deepening dark, Nahele at his heels. The rhythmic thump of their paws on the ground lasted a few moments longer, and then that, too, faded, leaving Shael alone. She made to finish setting the fire, but then thought better of it. If there was something lurking out there, it might be better to not draw attention to herself.

Shael checked her horse over, feeling in the dark at his hooves for rocks and his coat for burs. Lastly, she checked that his tether was tied securely, but that the knot could be slipped quickly if she needed to leave in a hurry. She moved about the camp some more, uncertain whether to continue to unpack or leave things as they were. She finally decided upon the latter and sat down in the grass to wait.

Time passed at an agonizing pace. Shael chewed a piece of salted meat, more to give herself something to do than out of real hunger. She had intended to remain awake until Loric's return, but found herself startling out of sleep. She stood, stretching cramped muscles in her legs and back and rubbing the cold out of her arms. Looking east, she saw that the moon, previously hidden by the trees, had climbed high into the sky and shone down into the clearing. Hours must have passed since Loric had left to find Makaya. Something was wrong.

Shael picked up her bow, braced it against her foot and strung it smoothly. She felt better once she had an arrow notched and felt the familiar tingle of power coursing through it. She stood in place, listening, waiting. After a time, her arms began to tire and her legs burned, but she gritted her teeth and remained where she was. She would not risk falling asleep and being taken unawares. Teeth chattering in the cold, she very nearly missed the rustling of leaves, of something large moving through the forest. Shael drew back the string of her bow, and felt the tingle increase to an almost painful buzz. Streaks of light flickered and danced across the arrowhead.

"There will be no need for that," a voice called out from the dark—a man, human, but a stranger.

Shael spun on her heel to face the direction it had come from, drawing the string back easily to rest near her cheek. "Come out where I can see you," she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt.

"First put down your bow." The man said to her, the voice coming now from a slightly different direction. Shael shifted her stance to follow. She could not place the accent. "We already have you surrounded. We're not here to hurt you, but you are in danger. I don't mean to frighten you, but there are demons about. Wolves, too. You'll be safe if you come with us."

"Wolves, you say?" she asked, thinking of Loric and Makaya.

The man must have heard the apprehension in her voice, but assumed that the cause was fear for herself. "My men encountered a silvery white wolf just after dusk, and two more skulking about soon after. They probably wouldn't hesitate to attack a girl sleeping out here all alone."

Shael mentally scoffed at that remark. Wolves would not attack humans unless cornered or provoked into a fight. And she was certain that the wolves the man had seen were Makaya, Nahele and Loric. She would have liked to ask him more, but was wary of calling too much attention to them. "I'm not afraid of wolves. Now show yourself or leave."

He surprised her this time, by doing as she asked. He stepped out from the concealment of low-hanging branches and walked towards her slowly, his arms held out to show he carried no weapons. Too late, she saw movement from the corner of one eye, and realized at once that she had been flanked. A quick glance over one shoulder confirmed it. Two men leveled crossbows at her as they silently stepped into the clearing. "Tell your men to stop," she said, speaking loudly enough for all of them to hear, "or I will let my arrow fly."

"There is no need for this," the man grumbled again, moving steadily closer. Shael could see more of his features now. His face was pale, like Seith, but the resemblance ended there. He stood at least a head taller, and his prominent nose, though not ugly, drew her eyes to it as an oddity. His head was uncovered and his hair spilled down around his shoulders in dark waves. "I could turn away and leave you alone out here, but the hellspawn would likely find you before morning. I would rather not have your death on my conscience."

Shael hesitated, not quite willing to give herself up to a stranger, but aware of her lack of choice in the matter. The answer came before she could open her mouth to speak.

"In that case, you needn't worry. We are quite capable of defending ourselves."

"Loric," Shael breathed, her heart lifting. The druid had appeared seemingly from nowhere. He stood right behind her, guarding her back.

The man stopped just a few paces from Shael. He looked at her, then behind her to Loric, his frustration evident by the set of his jaw. "Very well." He cupped one hand to his mouth and barked a few phrases that made little sense to Shael. To her relief, the soldiers began to back away from them slowly.

"I'm not sure what to make of you two," the man said, shaking his head slowly. "These are dangerous times to be traveling alone. I'm surprised you're still alive, which means that you are either very smart or very lucky. From the path you are taking, I would assume that you are headed for Dunesmar. I would advise against going any further. Hellspawn have the city under siege. We have come to offer aid in fighting off the demons, but it will be some time before an offensive can be launched. If you do intend to reach the city, your best hope would lie in returning to my camp with me."

Shael began to give him a memorable retort, but Loric's quiet voice intervened. "We will go with you, but we must first attend to an injured companion. You may stay, if you wish, but I must ask that you make your soldiers withdraw and get well out of sight."

The man licked his lips as he considered, looking first at Loric, then letting his gaze linger for a time on Shael. "I will stay," he decided. He raised his voice, "Withdraw your forces, lieutenant."

Another man stepped into the clearing, a pair of soldiers close on his heels. "Captain?"

"Take your men back to camp. I wish to stay here and speak to these travelers. If I have not appeared after two hours, return here to look for us."

"Alain, it's not safe," the lieutenant protested.

"I know the risk. And you have your orders."

The lieutenant shrugged and called out. "C'mon lads. You heard the captain."

The forest rustled and snapped as they moved off. Shael tried to guess how many there were, but it was impossible. A dozen, two dozen?

When the sound of their passing had faded, Loric gave a whistle through his teeth. Before the shrill sound had quite faded from Shael's ears, there came a quiet rustling at the edge of the clearing. A dark shape limped out of the trees and slowly approached.

"Makaya!" Shael shouted, running to meet her. She stopped short when the wolf uttered a menacing snarl and raised her hackles.

"Remain where you are, Captain Alain," Loric said. "She does not trust you, and with good reason, I'm afraid."

Shael could now see the reason for Makaya's limp. A squat arrow protruded from her left flank, and blood caked her rear leg. "She's hurt, Loric."

"I know. You may go closer, Shael, but you should put down your bow and take care not to touch her wounds. She is in great pain and might snap at you."

Shael approached Makaya slowly and dropped to her knees. She stroked the wolf's neck and back carefully, feeling her body tremble. Makaya stopped growling and began to lick at Shael's neck and face.

"This wolf is the companion you spoke of?" Alain asked in disbelief.

Loric didn't answer, but began to rummage through his pack. He brought out several small leather bags, some cloth and a bronze kettle. The latter he handed to Alain, along with a water skin from the back of Shael's horse. "I would appreciate your help, Captain Alain, since it was your men who injured Makaya. You will find my flint near the makings of a fire there. I need you to bring the water to a boil. Call me over when it is ready."

Alain nodded his bewildered acceptance of this and went to work on the fire. Loric hurried over to Makaya and Shael and knelt, talking soothingly in a curious mix of human speech and wolf sounds. “You’ve been a brave girl, Makaya,” he told her. She whimpered and settled herself painfully to the ground.

Loric inspected the wolf’s wound by the wan moonlight. “I found her not far from where the soldiers are camped. Captain Alain spoke the truth about the hellspawn. Makaya followed the demons' trail and found the rest of them. There are thousands of them camped outside the walls of Dunesmar. On her way back here, Makaya happened to catch the sounds of the soldiers’ camp and went closer to have a look. A sentry spotted her and shot before she realized what was happening. She could not travel fast, wounded as she is, and Captain Alain and his men were hunting for us. We evaded them easily, but their search must have brought them here to you.”

He paused in his speech and waved Shael closer. "The quarrel is imbedded deeply in her hip. She is bleeding badly. We need to remove it and cauterize the wound, but it will make Makaya mad with pain. I am going to hold her down. You must pull the quarrel out and seal the wound, Shael."

"I don't think I can," Shael protested, stepping back. "What if I do something wrong?"

"We haven't much time, Shael." Shael looked at him in surprise when he choked on her name. He continued in a calmer voice. "It is not barbed like an arrow, so it will pull straight out. Please. Help me to save her."

Shael swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Alright, what do you need me to do?"

Following Loric's instructions, she fetched a hatchet from their supplies and placed the head into the newly-made fire to heat. When Alain announced that the water had begun to boil, Loric put leaves from one of the pouches into the kettle and sprinkled powder in from another. "Keep it on the fire for just a bit longer, then remove it. I will call for you when I am ready. Come, Shael. It is time."

Shael's stomach felt queasy as she pulled the hatchet out of the fire and followed him back to Makaya's trembling body. She stared at the axe distrustfully, until Shael set it down. "You must move quickly," Loric admonished. Pull the quarrel straight out. It is not barbed, but it may not come out easily. You must press the hatchet firmly into the wound. It will take a few seconds for the burn to take, and you should see the bleeding slow right away. Are you ready?"

Shael nodded and swallowed another lump. Loric glanced at Alain as though he had just had a thought. "Do not be afraid of what you are about to see, Captain Alain." With that, he got down to all fours over Makaya and began to change. His body grew huge and heavy, a thick brown pelt growing over his ursine form. He covered Makaya's body with his own, one hairy paw poised against her side, just behind her forelimb.

Shael drew a breath and held it. She grasped the quarrel just forward of the fletching and began to pull upward. Makaya yelped and thrashed, her legs kicking out blindly, but Loric held her fast. The quarrel suddenly popped free, sending Shael back a stumble, and blood began to well up out of the wound at a frightening rate. Shael grabbed for the hatchet and set the blade into the wound. Makaya's thrashing and crying was worse this time and the choking scent of burnt hair wafted into her face. Shael gritted her teeth against the desire to pull away and waited until she was sure that the burning had taken. When she pulled the hatchet away, blood still seeped a bit from the wound, but it seemed to have closed over. Loric waited until Makaya's frantic motions came to a stop before he ambled backward and shifted once more to his human form. Makaya continued to whimper, but lay still.

"Bring the kettle, please, Captain Alain," Loric intoned.

Loric soaked the cloth and applied it gingerly to Makaya's wound. In a few moments, the wolf's trembling stopped.

"I've heard of your kind," Alain said wonderingly. "The druids of Scosglen. It has been at least a century since anyone can remember seeing one though."

Loric gave him a nod for answer. “Makaya needs to rest for a time. Come, we have much to discuss.” He gestured towards the fire.

Shael caught Loric’s arm and pulled him close once Alain’s back was turned. “How can you trust him?”

“I don’t, not yet. But I think it should be obvious that our situation has changed. Dunesmar cannot help us now. I would ask that you think carefully before you speak, and if in doubt, be silent. ”

Shael smiled wryly at that. "I'll try."

They joined Alain, who was busy warming his hands over the fire. Shael sat off to one side where she could watch him surreptitiously. The light from the flames revealed more of his appearance. He looked young despite a fresh grown, unkempt beard, and his eyes had a perpetually sorrowful cast to them that lightened somewhat when he smiled. His hair, worn long like Loric’s, was a luxuriously deep black and curly. Shael self-consciously brushed back a lock of her own short, rather plain brown hair, feeling mildly envious.

Loric spoke first. “I already know your name, though we have not had a true introduction. My name is Loric, and that is Shael. Makaya is my spirit wolf. We came here to ask for aid from the garrison at Dunesmar for Shael’s village. It seems that our plans will have to change.”

“You won’t find any help from Dunesmar,” Alain assured him. “The demons arrived here a few weeks ago, surrounded the city and cut off all travel and correspondence. It’s happening in other places too, all across the western edge of the continent. No one knows where the demons come from, or what their purpose is, but King Laurent has resolved to stamp them out from Sanctuary.” His voice swelled with pride as he said it.

Shael glanced over to see Loric watching Alain intently. “You are from the west, are you not? I thought I recognized the manner of your speech."

“You would be correct. My homeland is Westmarch.”

"You said the king's name was Laurent?" Loric asked.

“You’re a long way from home,” Shael piped in at almost the same time. In truth, she knew next to nothing about the world outside of her small corner of Kehjistan, but it was a reasonable guess.

“Yes, Laurent is king of Westmarch. And it has been some two months since I set out from my homeland. We traveled by ship most of the way. Fortunately, the return trip will be much swifter.”

Shael spoke up again. "Why would your king send his army across the ocean to battle demons in a foreign land?"

"As I said, he intends to wipe their kind out in Sanctuary. The westlands have seen more than a few incursions thus far by these hellspawn, but here is where they appear to be massing their numbers. Laurent has deployed his army throughout southwestern Kehjistan and has quickly gained the cooperation of nearly a dozen local lords. We expect Dunesmar to welcome us as well."

Loric gave Shael a glance, as if to see if she had picked up on the same thought he was having. Shael gave a quick nod. Alain had hesitated, as if there were more to tell.

"Now I would like to ask you both a few questions," Alain said, "starting with where you come from."

Shael let Loric respond, remembering his admonition. "As you guessed, I am a druid, and most of my kind hail from the forest of Scosglen, though my home is further south. You might say that Shael found me. She and her companion were on a journey to Dalmers Ferry and needed my help. We became separated, but I found her again later. We returned to her village only to find that the hellspawn had looted and burned it to the ground. Many of the townsfolk escaped and took up refuge in a cave nearby, but the demons lay in wait, attacking any who try to leave to fetch food and water. We have come west hoping to find aid and perhaps sanctuary for them."

Shael noted how carefully Loric had concealed the true purpose of her journey with Kelsia. He had been sincere when he said he didn't trust Alain yet.

"Your people are fortunate to be alive. But strange that they would send a girl on such an errand."

"I will be a woman in less than two years," Shael said, crossing her arms. Alain exchanged a look with Loric, who had the impropriety to give him a wink. "I'm going to check on Makaya," she muttered, moving off before her indignation began to show. Makaya was sleeping, but Shael knelt next to her and stroked her side and back. The voices of the two men still carried to her.

"I might be able to help you," Alain said slowly. "We can't yet move against the hellspawn that besiege the city. I could lead a company of soldiers back to Shael's village to find and rescue the townsfolk. We can give them protection until we have freed Dunesmar."

"And what payment would you ask in return?"

The question seemed to have caught Alain off guard. He took long in answering. "Shael's village falls under the protection of the lord of Dunesmar, does it not?"

Shael turned to answer. "A tax collector arrives each year at harvest. Graegor would meet with him and then send him on his way."

"It's settled then," Alain said, getting to his feet. "It's our duty to protect you, just as it is to protect the people in Dunesmar. I will speak to the colonel in the morning. I'm sure he'll approve."

Loric nodded. "I hope that he does. It is a week's travel by foot, so you will need ample supplies. Shael can show you the way. Why don't you come collect her tomorrow?"

"I will," Alain promised. "And, uh, tell Makaya that I'm sorry my men shot at her."

Shael watched the unfolding scene with increasing trepidation. It took all of her self-control to wait until Alain was out of sight before confronting Loric, who was busy with readying their bedding. "What did you mean, I can show him the way? You aren't going with us?"

"Makaya cannot travel with them, and she cannot be left alone in her condition. I will stay and care for her. I also intend to get a closer look at the hellspawn we are up against. I have seen the encampment of these Westmarch soldiers. They are a few thousand strong, but Makaya seemed to think that the demons were much greater in number. Whatever secrets he may be keeping, Alain is an honorable man. You will be safe with him."

It was sensible, but Shael didn’t like it. Loric had been the one constant she could rely upon during all of the tragedy and upheaval of the last few weeks. "I hate that you're always right," she sighed.

"Not always," Loric grinned. "Now that we have that settled, I have been meaning to ask you something. How long have you understood wolf speech?"

"What!?" Shael stared at him, expecting a laugh or a smile, but he returned her look coolly.

"Earlier today, Makaya looked over at you before she left and said, 'You are still a pup, favored or not. Do not forget your place.' And I saw you avert your eyes in deference. That is when I began to wonder. Later, when we heard her howling, I was so troubled that I changed form before I could tell you to remain at the camp. Then, when I spoke to you in wolf speech, you gave the correct reply."

Shael couldn't think of an answer to that. What had happened had not been anything like the act of talking. She couldn't connect meaning to anything that had transpired, or even remember any of it clearly, but somehow she had known. Now she understood the mirth that Loric had shown at Makaya's rebuke and her own mortified response. "I think that today was the first time it has happened."

"It is quite common," Loric reflected, "for a person to learn a new language simply by being around others who speak in it constantly. Or perhaps Makaya took such a liking to you that she helped you along. She certainly came to trust you much faster than she did me."

The questions whirling through Shael's mind were so many and so varied that she had trouble grasping hold and framing a single one. "Could I speak to other animals?"

Loric shrugged. "Not all animals can speak to you, Shael. Makaya and I have a very special bond, but that is only part of the story. She herself is special, as is Nahele, as was Ashkii." Ashkii was the wolf that had trailed Shael and Kelsia from Loric's home and died protecting them from the werewolf. Shael could not have comprehended at the time what a loss it had been for Loric. "They were all blessed with a living soul. Only such rare creatures are able to bridge the gap between human and beast and truly speak to us."

"Now," he said loudly, interrupting Shael's next question. "It is very late, and if Alain is true in his convictions, you have the start of a long journey tomorrow. I think it is time that you slept."

Shael sighed and lowered herself painfully onto her pallet. She lay back and listened to the chirps and chattering of small creatures moving about in the woods. It took only moments for sleep to claim her.

[tamrend]

I have a very hard time believing that so much time has passed. I wrote half a page, didn't like it, started again. Halfway into page two, I stopped. I put the story away for a while. I didn't want to restart it. That was my problem before. That's how I ended up losing two years. A few months went by. Okay, I wouldn't delete what I started, but I would make a new start and see how I liked it. Still not satisfied. I know that if I can just write the first two or three pages, I'll get to the parts that I have fleshed out in my head.

A few more months went by. Starting again, but this time, I'm not stopping until I have two pages written. I wrote a few hours that evening, email to myself and write a bit more at work in my idle time. Email again and a bit more at home. Slowly, the disparate halves of present and future writing start to connect. I'm setting up Shael's story arc now, and it has to be credible. I'm not entirely happy with the results but I push on. Five pages, six, seven. Okay, stop there. Some loose ends to fix. I comb through a few times, but I feel my interest waning. Against my better judgment, I let the piece languish for a while. I'm still not sure it's right. It will get me where I need to go, but is it credible? Is it real?

A few weeks go by and I'm pissed at myself. Who the hell cares? This has been a major block. It's not something to obsess over. It's something to get through. The story comes out again. Some minor tweaks are made. Seven pages, eight. Sit for a few days. Nine pages, though there is much more left in the chapter, I know. Ten pages!

And here's where I stopped. I have a lot of stuff going on this week. It's very possible that it will be a few weeks before I can get the second part of the chapter done, but it seemed like a good place to leave off. Right now, I'm just happy to have it out of the way. Hopefully you enjoyed reading it more than I enjoyed wrestling myself to write it.

[Snowglare]

Yay, a for real update really for real! I was a bit lost at first, but as the chapter went on, things became clearer and my memory was refreshed. Some edits:


Something about the Makaya's behavior put a pang of dread in her stomach.

Should be about Makaya's.


“She has scented demons,” Loric said. “A pair them passed this way not long ago.”

Should be a pair of them.


Shael had seen this silent communication many times, and had come to recognize many of Makaya’s postures. This one meant that she knew there was danger, and the way she returned Loric’s gaze showed she considered herself nearly his equal. To her, Shael was treated more as a favored pup.

That last sentence is a bit awkward. I have to walk around it to get at the meaning.


As twilight fell, Shael and Loric made camp in a tiny clearing, both of them working in silence. They had set out from her village over a week ago, and though they were nearing their destination and the promise of help for her beleaguered people, she could not shake a dark foreboding. More than once since leaving, she had questioned her decision. How could she be sure that the demons would not descend upon the villagers as soon as they were away?

It could be because I haven't read any of this in years, but this passage struck me as overly formal for Shael. "Her beleaguered people," "a dark foreboding," "would not descend upon the villagers." The tone is internally consistent, if nothing else. I wonder, though, would Shael use words like that to describe her concerns?


Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant howl. Loric froze in the action of setting kindling for a fire and listened. Shael saw in his eyes the same creeping dread that clenched her own heart at the mournful sound. She knew that the howl had come from Makaya.

This works better, in part because it's more emotional. The description helps connect us to the scene, which quickly moves from "random wolf howling, could be anything" to "OH NOES MAKAYA!"


Time passed at an agonizing pace. Shael chewed a piece of salted meat, more to give herself something to do than out of real hunger.

I liked this. I eat to keep busy sometimes, too. Need to do something, or your mind starts to go dark places.


Looking east, she saw that the moon, previously hidden by the trees, had climbed high into the sky and shown down into the clearing.

Should be shone.


"Come out where I can see you," she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt.

Nice. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd stuttered or otherwise given away her fear, but she handled herself well here.


I don't mean to frighten you, but there are demons about. Wolves, too. You'll be safe if you come with us."

"Wolves, you say?" she asked, thinking of Loric and Makaya.

Heh. "Oh no, Br'er Bear, don't throw me in the wolf patch! Anything but that!"


And she was certain that wolves the man had seen were Makaya, Nahele and Loric.

Should be the wolves or that the wolves.


"In that case, you needn't worry. We are quite capable of defending ourselves."

"Loric," Shael breathed, her heart lifting. The druid had appeared seemingly from nowhere. He stood right behind her, guarding her back.

*squee*


The man stopped just a few paces from Shael. He looked at her, then behind her to Loric, his frustration evident by the set of his jaw.

Curious.


The man licked his lips as he considered, looking first at Loric, then letting his gaze linger for a time on Shael. "I will stay," he decided.

...Ewwwww.


"Remain where you are, Captain Alain," Loric said. "She does not trust you, and with good reason, I'm afraid."

Shael could now see the reason for Makaya's limp. A squat arrow protruded from her left flank, and blood caked her rear leg. "She's hurt, Loric."

"I know.

*snrrk* Loric avoids yet another prime opportunity for a snappy comeback. He's almost too nice, but that's why I like him.


"The quarrel imbedded deeply in her hip.

I think this should be is imbedded, or otherwise rewritten. Sounds off.


Shael stomach felt queasy as she pulled the hatchet out of the fire and followed him back to Makaya's trembling body.

Should be Shael's.


His hair, worn long like Loric’s, was a luxuriously deep black and curly. Shael self-consciously brushed back a lock of her own short, rather plain brown hair, feeling mildly envious.

Hair envy! Close, Freud, but... Well, you know.


It’s happening in other places to, all across the western edge of the continent.

Should be places, too or places too. The first, I think.


“You’re a long way from home,” Shael piped in at almost the same time. In truth, she knew next to nothing about the world outside of her small corner of Kehjistan, but it was a reasonable guess.

Heh. Shael wants to be included. I do this all too often, jumping into or struggling to remain in conversations I probably have no business in, hoping I know enough to get away with it. Talking's too much fun to miss out.


"And it has been some two months since I set out from my homeland. We traveled by ship most of the way. Fortunately, the return trip will be much swifter.”

I only noticed this on the second reading. Wonder what makes the trip back easier. Waypoints? Surely not faster ships. The way he says it, it has to be something very different. I'm guessing it's intentional that it's not mentioned again.


"I will be a women in less than two years," Shael said

Should be woman, though it's funnier this way.


"I will," Alain promised. "And, uh, tell Makaya that I'm sorry my men shot at her."

Shot at? More like shot. Again, I'm guessing this is intentional, Alain trying to make it sound better than it was. "Sorry we tried to kill you. Wounded you, then hunted you down to finish the job. Almost. Doesn't really count."


"Whatever secrets he may be keeping, Alain is an honorable man. You will be safe with him."

I don't know about that. Loric obviously can't hold Shael's hand through everything, so I don't exactly see this as a bad call, but neither do I trust Alain. I doubt he's evil, but that doesn't make him noble.


"Now that we have that settled, I have been meaning to ask you something. How long have you understood wolf speech?"

Not sure about this. If it's simply, as Loric says, Shael "learn[ing] a new language," then OK. If it's more than that... maybe, but reading it twice it only seems to me that Shael is perceptive, not at all able to speak "wolf."

I am sure about this: MOAR. We must needs have it. More Shael, more Kelsia, more... stuff I've forgotten. Uh, Seith! Yeah, he's out there somewhere. Obviously no Loric for a bit, but more of him later. You keep writing and I'll keep reading.

[Raging_Zealot]

Glad to see the story continue, Tamrend!

[tamrend]

Thanks for the corrections, Snowglare. I realized as I was looking these over that they are mostly the omission of articles or prepositions, or places where I changed a word but failed to change the rest of the sentence. I have a tendency when I read my own writing to skip around a lot, paying more attention to sentence structure and content than to the actual readability. I'll try reading more slowly next time, especially after I have completed several edits.


The tone is internally consistent, if nothing else. I wonder, though, would Shael use words like that to describe her concerns?

I don't usually write in the voice of the character unless it is a first-person narrator. I also try to avoid pretentious language and write natural, accurate prose. Basically, it seemed like the right thing to say and the correct way to say it, at the time.


Not sure about this. If it's simply, as Loric says, Shael "learn[ing] a new language," then OK. If it's more than that... maybe, but reading it twice it only seems to me that Shael is perceptive, not at all able to speak "wolf."

It looks like you nailed it, actually. I looked up wolf behavior and was interested to see all of the things that they say to each other with growls, yips, howls, their faces and the positioning of tails. An observant person can come to understand what all of these mean, just like he could come to understand a foreign language after exposure. The only difference is that an animal with "a living spirit" can communicate much more than one without, and can understand human speech.


I am sure about this: MOAR. We must needs have it. More Shael, more Kelsia, more... stuff I've forgotten.

I had intended for this chapter to run a bit longer, but I'm thinking now that it's a good place to leave off. I can always add more in a future edit if needed. Next chapter will be about Maeryn and the Horadrim.

[Snowglare]

Cool. It is a good stopping point, and though I only vaguely remember her, I'd be glad to see more Maeryn. Those corrupt mages aren't going to detect themselves.

[Madrik Rimesorrow]

Nice progression. :thumbup:

And welcome back! :wave:

[Antonio]

Yesterday I visited the FF forum for the first time, and this thread came to my attention. What a great story, big congratulations and I hope we'll see more from you!

[tamrend]

Fan mail! Nom nom nom. Thanks for the kind words.

I stopped by because I needed to do some fact-checking for the next chapter and my own copies of the chapters are either out-of-date or missing (egad, I need to copy them over ASAP!). I spotted a few mistakes between 13 and 16, so I'll be doing some revisions. I noticed that the forums allow direct editing on posts now, so I'll want to go back and fix some of my earlier writing too. Also, it would be nice to do a huge revision and a full repost once the story is complete. I'm pretty sure that we'll see more than 20 chapters, but probably not more than 25, so we're at least past the halfway point in the "novel", by my reckoning.

I want to complete this thing soon, which I undertook as practice for writing a novel. My next will be an alternate history World War II story that I'm very excited about, and I plan to go for publication. Hopefully the next time you hear from me, it will be to post the next chapter.

[Ron_Lugge]

OMG OMG OMG -- a new chapter? Woooot!

[tamrend]

Note: I'm trying, but I'm my own worst critic. What you see below you is survivor, the chapter 17 (first half) that outlived two tragically dead and very different chapter 17s. Also, this is probably full of mistakes. The second half currently resides only in my head, but seems to fit reasonably well with what I have here, so I'm going to post that first half before another few months flit by.

Chapter 17: Evidence

Part 1

Maeryn swept the room with her gaze as she entered, matching faces with names. The Inner Council was seated on a dais at the front of the chamber, seven of the oldest and supposedly wisest and most powerful of the Horadrim. Master Ardin, who sat in the most central and foremost seat, was the acknowledged leader of the council, the closest thing that the Horadrim had to a lord or king. He was rather unremarkable, to Maeryn's senses. A few thin tufts of white hair clung tenaciously to his skull around his ears, and his surface thoughts sometimes lacked coherence, a sign of the beginnings of senility. She knew the other six members only in passing. To the right of the door stood Master Makel, Adept Brin--who grinned and tipped his head mockingly at her--and a handful of other malcontents that had flocked to them in recent weeks. The chamber's left side was empty.

Maeryn glanced back at the open doorway, considering whether anyone would have the temerity to attempt to stop her if she simply walked out. A moment's deliberation and she made her decision. No, they might not stop her from leaving, but it might look to them like cowardice, or worse, an admission of guilt. As much as it galled her, her best option was to play along with whatever those fools had planned for her. Maeryn took her place on the left side of the room.

Ardin squinted in Maeryn's direction, but then looked down to address the parchment on his desk. "Thank you for responding to our summons, Madame Maeryn. I trust that you were told the reason for this hearing?"

"I would appreciate if you would state that reason yourself," Maeryn said briskly.

Ardin looked up in surprise. "Of course, of course." He selected another parchment from the pile in front of him and cleared his throat. "It has been brought to the Council's attention by certain mages within the Horadrim that there have been many odd, seemingly unexplained occurrences since you arrived at the Keep, and they have raised questions as to your possible culpability in these events. Since you have been here, Madame, a cook, whom you yourself admit to seeing only minutes before, died from poisoning. Two weeks later, you were the only witness to the death of Adept Lorimer and guards Tomalin and Parvel. You were the first to find the body of Master Ulric and, later that day, Master Orelan."

Ardin reached for another parchment, and Maeryn used the pause to break in. "Master Ardin, surely you aren't insinuating that I killed any of those men?"

Ardin eyed her, no longer squinting. "Madame Maeryn, this hearing is informal, and we would merely wish to hear and understand why these events have occurred, to know what your part in them is. You have not been formally accused of any crime.” The word "yet" seemed to cling silently to the end of his sentence. He read, lips moving without sound, from the parchment for a moment and then nodded to himself. “To continue, it has furthermore been observed that you arrived here more than a month ago, and that in all that time, and despite interviews of every member of this order residing within these walls, you have failed to identify anyone as having been touched by demonic corruption. That, in itself, is surely unprecedented in all of the history of the Viz'jaq'taar, and a mystery to which I myself have great interest in understanding."

This time, Maeryn did not speak as Ardin shuffled his documents, a task that he seemed to relish. "Finally, there is one circumstance in which you do stand accused of wrongdoing: your alleged psychic attack on Master Makel. Makel states that you attacked him while he was angry and bewildered over the death of his friend, Master Ulric, and we have more than a dozen witnesses to this event. Now, is there anything that you would like to add to our record of these events?"

Maeryn clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. Her anger was cooling as it began to become finally, inexorably clear that her special status and privileges as a Viz'jaq'taar was being called into question. It had been the mage orders themselves, led by the Viz'jerei, who had worked to establish the Assassins, and for centuries, their authority in matters of corruption had been absolute. Perhaps without realizing it, the members of this council were setting a precedent for future relations that might lead to changes she could barely foresee, and she had to admit to herself that at least some of the fault for that could be laid at her feet for her stubborn pride.

"You are correct," Maeryn began, "that we've all experienced some highly unusual events since I arrived here. Never have I seen a corruption that could hide itself so effortlessly from my sight for so long. But the evidence is plain. At least one mage among the Horadrim is tainted by evil, and it is my sworn duty to seek out that one, or few, who carry it. I think that you must agree that the trap that claimed Lorimer and the guards was meant for me, as was the poisoned meat. I do not know why Ulric was targeted, but Orelan confided in me that he had discovered something unusual about his death, and I believe that he was killed to keep that secret."

"I have tried every technique and tactic that I know to find whomever is responsible for these killings, but they have failed me. I am pursuing other alternatives, but it will take time to gather all of the information I need. When I do, I will most certainly discover the source of corruption that has found its way here. Whether some disapprove of my methods, I have no choice but to press on in my investigation until the killer is found and the demonic taint is removed. As for Makel…" Maeryn glanced in his direction and was met with steely look, even as a trace of fear leaked through his front. "I regret what happened. I was physically and mentally drained and I lashed out at the comments he made against me and my order."

Maeryn sensed a loosening of the tension from the members of the council as they began to converse quietly among themselves, but from her right, anger boiled and seethed. Brin cleared his throat loudly, calling attention to himself. "Council members, may I be allowed to speak?"

"You may speak, Adept Brin," Ardin nodded.

"Council members, as much as I, like you, like all of us, would like to believe that all is well, that this woman truly is here to help us, I cannot help but point out once more that our present situation is highly unusual. She speaks of evidence of corruption, 'plain' evidence, and yet we have not yet heard what this evidence is. Five men are dead, yet she is unable to link them in any way to a killer, or to explain how she is unable to identify this one who is corrupted. Surely if it is so easy to understand, Madame Maeryn would be willing to share it with us."

Maeryn let her breath go as all eyes turned to her once more. She had been dreading that this moment might come. She met Ardin's gaze with her own, and in as meek a tone as she could manage answered, "I cannot reveal that to you."

"You can't?" Brin demanded. "Don't you mean that there is no reason, that this entire inquest is a sham? Who really killed those men, slayer?"

"That's enough, Adept Brin," Ardin warned. "This council will draw its own conclusions. Madame Maeryn, I must ask that you explain yourself."

"I can't tell you because I promised that I would not reveal what I know to anyone else." She considered carefully before adding. "And, I believe that divulging this knowledge to you now could have grave consequences." She cast a meaningful look at Brin and Makel.

Maeryn expected another outburst from Brin, but he wisely kept silent. Ardin squinted at her, and Maeryn sensed from him a kind of lifting of the fog that had begun to close around his mind with advancing age. There was excitement there, and a sense of recognition. She had to fight the urge to probe his surface thoughts. "Interesting," he murmured, then, more loudly, "an interesting answer, Madame Maeryn. You place us in a difficult position. While I appreciate that your order must retain a certain secrecy at times, I feel that this inquest has gone on long enough. I will give you two days to reconsider your answer, at which time we will decide if these charges against you demand a closer look. You are dismissed, Madame."

The doors creaked open behind her. Maeryn turned on her heel and strode from the room. No sooner had she cleared the doors than Pallas fell in step beside her. "You handled yourself well, Maeryn."

"Where were you?" she hissed, resenting her own feeling of dependence on him even as she was angry with him for leaving her to face the Inner Council alone. The trial had shaken her in a way that the fear and loathing of the mages here had failed to.

Pallas swallowed. "I am sorry, Maeryn. I didn't know about your hearing, and I wonder if that was not their intention. I only found out about it when I came looking for you. When I arrived, I was told to wait outside until they were finished."

Maeryn's anger softened at his tone of genuine regret. "It is not your fault, Pallas. I know that you wouldn't abandon me. It just seems so petty that Makel and Brin would try something like this, when so much is at stake." She glanced back to confirm what your senses told her, that they were, for the moment, alone. "I think Ardin might have already guessed our secret, Pallas. I couldn't take the risk of prying at his mind, but I sensed he was trying to confirm a suspicion."

Pallas shrugged. "Then it is well that you told him no more than was necessary. Even if he has read the same passages I have, I doubt he would believe them without your tale for confirmation. But enough of these worries. The reason I came to find you, Maeryn, is that I have some news to share. But here, I'll let him tell you himself."

He led her to a chamber where a gathering of Pallas’ confidantes waited. Besides the two of them, and Lorimer and Garron, who were both dead, eleven other people in the Keep had known about the Key, and their plan for bringing it here. All but one of them sat at the table in the center of the room, including one mage that piqued her interest immediately. Master Geir had been gone for over three weeks and, judging from the stains on his cloak, must have arrived within the last few hours. He had gone to Dalmer’s Ferry to meet up with Garron’s apprentice, Seith, and bring him home. It was good to see that he had returned safely, but she wondered why Seith was not in attendance.

"Start from the beginning, Geir," Pallas suggested, once he had closed and bolted the door. He motioned for Maeryn to take one of the empty seats and then chose the spot next to her.

"Well," Geir began, pausing to clear his throat, "when I arrived in the city, I sought out the inn where Seith was supposed to be staying. The innkeeper told me that he had departed some weeks past, but he seemed reluctant to say more. I pressed him further, and he said that Seith’s guard, Marius, settled the bill and left with a pair of girls who came into the common room during the midday meal. He remembers that one girl carried a bow and the other had a strange staff. He couldn’t tell me much more except that it looked queer to his eyes, as though it were twisted around itself. I hunted for more clues, but all I found was this.” He pointed to a parchment with Seith’s description and a large reward for his capture.

The room was instantly abuzz with conversation. Maeryn leaned slowly back into her chair, mulling and deciphering what she had just heard. She had not seen the Key with her own eyes, but the innkeep’s description matched with what her sisters had told her of it. As for how a pair of girls could come to possess it, she could only guess what it might mean. What was most important was that, somehow, the Key had slipped past the enemy that hunted it and had made its way to Dalmer’s Ferry. With the realization came the lifting of a great weight, and Maeryn felt real hope for the first time since Pallas had brought them word of Garron’s death.

Pallas clapped his hands for silence and the voices faded at once to a murmur of whispers. He gestured for Geir to continue.

“You might find this next difficult to believe,” Geir said, leaning in towards the others. “Everywhere I went, people were talking about demons returning to Sanctuary. Mostly in the southwest, along the coast, but one man claimed that he actually saw zombies walking in the street about a month ago, the same night that a choking fog rolled in off the river. One or two stories I would dismiss as wild tales, but this had the ring of truth. I think that the forces of Hell are at work in Sanctuary.”

If anything, the response was even louder this time. Pallas had to lean in close to Maeryn to be heard over the din of discussion and the occasional question fired at Geir. “What do you make of this, Viz-Jaq’taar?”

Maeryn thought long before answering. “The reports of demons along the coast are disturbing. It is commonly accepted that all remaining hellspawn were eradicated from Santuary shortly after the war with the Prime Evils. An outbreak now makes no sense unless someone is bringing them here. As for Seith and these two girls, I don’t know what to make of it, except that it helps to explain why our mysterious enemy chooses to remain hidden. I don’t think that he, or they, have managed to acquire it. There is still hope.”

“You have spoken my thoughts almost exactly,” Pallas said, giving her hand a squeeze. He stood, and the others quieted to hear what he had to say. “My friends, I hope that you all appreciate what this news means to us. Garron’s apprentice now has possession of the Key, and he is presumably making his way here. We must find him before our enemy does. We must bring him to the Keep. I am going to need every one of you to help in the search.”

Those assembled slowly murmured their assent as Pallas swept the room with his gaze. “Good. You can expect to leave in the morning. I will need some time to consult maps, to chart where Seith might have gone. If you will excuse me.”

Pallas made for the door, and Maeryn slipped right out behind him. Doubts had begun to worm their way into her consciousness even before he had finished speaking. “Are you sure that you are doing the right thing?” she asked, once they were away from the others.

Pallas stopped so abruptly that Maeryn almost collided with him. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Of course. We have to find Seith and the Key. I thought that was obvious.”

“With ten men?” Maeryn scoffed. “Dalmers Ferry is hundreds of leagues to the west, with large cities and vast wilderness between us. You’ll never find him.”

Pallas shrugged. “We must try. We have no other choice.”

Maeryn put her hand on his shoulder. “Yes, you do. Tell the council about what we know. Get the entire order searching for Seith. They already know that I am harboring a secret. Telling them now can only help us.”

Pallas seemed at a moment to be at a loss for words. Maeryn sensed the tide of anger and opposition from him well before he began to speak. He shook her hand away as he stepped back. “No! No, that’s simply not an option. You want to let this secret get out before we have control of this weapon? Take hold of your senses, woman!”

He stalked off, leaving Maeryn alone in the corridor. Some ugly possibilities had begun to occur to her, but they didn’t fit with what she sensed from Pallas. She thought of going to the council herself, but quickly rejected that thought. No, she would not break her word to Pallas. Clenching her jaw in resolve, she turned and ran after him. He was already entering his chambers when she caught up to him.

“I will not discuss this any further,” he warned, blocking the doorway. "I understand that the council has put you in a difficult position, but your personal problems are not what should concern us."

Maeryn chuckled in amazement. “My personal problems? This is not about me, Pallas. The situation has changed. We need help if we are going to find the staff before they do. We don’t have time to—“ She stopped at sensing another, unfamiliar presence, and dropped her voice. “Who is here?”

“My new apprentice,” Pallas answered. He called over his shoulder, “Come here, Sirral.”

“Sir?” the boy piped, appearing from the adjacent chamber. He was seven, perhaps eight years old. The Horadrim did not except boys younger than six, so he was, at most, a second year student. Maeryn had the impression that she had met him before, though she couldn’t place where.

“Come in here, please. I would like you to meet someone.” The boy crept forward, his gaze on the floor. “Now, Sirral,” Pallas admonished, “I told you before that there is nothing to be frightened of.” He turned back to Maeryn. “Sirral was Ulric’s apprentice. I haven’t had my own apprentice in over a decade, but I felt sorry for what happened to the boy’s former Master.” And perhaps responsible in some way for his death? Maeryn wondered.

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Sirral,” Maeryn said, in as cordial a voice as she could muster. She had little experience with children and they made her uncomfortable.

The boy looked up cautiously and nodded. “You as well, Viz-jeq…Viz-ja…”

“Viz-jaq’taar,” she amended. “I appreciate your use of the formal name, Sirral.”

He smiled for just an instant at the praise and then darted a glance to Pallas. “You may return to your studies, youngling,” Pallas said, waving the boy off.

Once he was away, Pallas fixed her with a frown and spoke just above a whisper. “You will not bring this to the council, Maeryn.”

She drew herself up to her full height, suffering a momentary bout of annoyance that she still had to tilt her head back to look at him. “No, I will not break my word, Pallas, but this is not finished. In two days’ time, Ardin will ask me again what I know. By the laws of your order and upon my honor, I will have no choice but to answer him truthfully.”

Pallas studied her face, his mind a whirl of conflicted emotions. Gradually, they settled into a kind of agitated reservation. “Do what you must,” he said, coldly, and closed the door on her.

[tamrend]

Note: Holy crap, it's quiet in here. I hope D3 brings some life back to this forum, and I hope you all enjoy this next part. It's a doozy.

Chapter 17: Evidence

Part 2

Maeryn’s shoulders slumped as she turned from Pallas’ door. She tried to envision a positive ending to the mess they were in. Perhaps Pallas just needed some time to consider her words. Somehow, keeping Pallas’ trust and his respect was nearly as important to her as her mission. She knew how it would look to the council if she were the one to tell them what they had all been up to. It would mar his credibility far worse than anything she had yet managed, and that hurt as well.

Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed where she was going, but found herself now in front of her own modest chambers. She took several slow, deep breaths to cleanse her mind of the doubts that weakened her resolve. When she was satisfied that she had achieved the proper focus, she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, following the same ritual that she performed each time she came to her door. She could sense no immediate danger, no eddies in the natural order of reality that would signal the presence of magic. Even so, she remained alert as she fitted a key to the lock, turned, and pushed the door inward.

She let out the breath she had been holding when only the silent, empty room greeted her. She walked over and glanced at the tiny mirror above her washbasin. Finding nothing to interest her there, she began to pace the room, and her mind quickly returned to her quandary, and to the disappointment in Pallas’ eyes. Cursing, she dropped to her knees and pulled the inlaid wooden box from beneath her cot. The short, broad blades of the suwayyah inside carried no ornamentation at all other than the faint glistening of oil along their lengths.

Maeryn wound the leather wrappings around her arm with practiced ease, tasting the bitter tang as she pulled the straps tight with her teeth. Satisfied with her work, she got up to leave but then growled in disgust at realizing that her key was still in her pocket, and out of reach of her bound hands. It would take several minutes for her to unbind her hands and retrieve the key.

Sighing at her own foolishness, Maeryn visualized the key lying in her pocket next to her skin. Carefully, she tugged it upwards so that it pulled loose from her clothing and hovered in front of her. The key moved with her to the door, slotted itself in the lock and turned, allowing her to pull the door inward with a stronger tug of psionic force. She made the key follow her out, pulled the door closed with her mind, and locked it with the floating key. The most difficult part of the operation was getting the key to push its way back into her pocket.

She knew where she needed to go and made her way there with single-minded determination, not pausing to look back as servants and mages alike shied away from the blades strapped to her arms. She found the practice yard occupied by a dozen or more trainees sparring under the watch of a bald-headed veteran. Even the sparring pair stopped to look her way as she crossed the edge of the sparring pit, but she paid each of them no more than a single glance.

Coming to a stop in a quiet spot at the edge of the grounds, Maeryn gradually slowed her breathing, bringing her troubled mind to focus solely on the task of drawing in and expelling air. When she felt sufficiently free of distraction, she began to practice her forms, stepping, pivoting, retreating in a smoothly flowing dance. She could feel her life force moving in step with her body, gathering into her center as she dropped into a forward split, then arcing out to the tips of her fingers and out into the steel of her enchanted blades as she thrust one blade forward and the other upward in a motion that would simultaneously impale and disembowel an enemy.

Maeryn sensed the others moving in around her, but ignored them, as they kept a respectful distance. The trainees had evidently been excused from their exercises and had come to watch her. She closed her eyes and let her other senses take over. If anything, her movements became faster, more fluid without the distraction of sight.

When one of the trainees, egged on by the whispered taunting of his fellows, sauntered quietly up behind her, she could hear his breath and felt the motion of his fingers in air as they curled around the hilt of his wooden practice sword. He waited a few moments, studying her movements, and then thrust the sword out to catch her leg as she brought it forward. Maeryn let the ruse play out for a heartbeat as her foot struck the sword and seemed to throw her off balance, but she rolled, came up in a crouch at the soldier’s side and brought her own blade up under his chin. “If you wanted to spar,” she said, grinning, “all you had to do was ask.”

The rest of the trainees roared with laughter as the youth who had sought to trip her looked warily down at her blade and his face flushed crimson. Maeryn lowered her blade and stepped back, assuming a ready stance. “Well, would anyone else like to take a swipe at me?”

After a moment’s deliberation, one of the men stepped out into the dirt, bringing his sword up to the ready, this one made of steel rather than wood. Maeryn let him circle slowly to the right for a few seconds before she lunged, knocking his sword out of his hand with her left blade while the point of her right came to rest against his chest. The speed of her attack had obviously staggered the man, who raised his hands in defeat and then cautiously bent to retrieve his sword. Maeryn had worked her way through nearly half of them, stopping just short at striking them and delivering what would have been killing blows, when the trainer returned to the yard. “Alright, you dogs, that’s enough!” he shouted. “Get your asses back over here!”

Maeryn smiled as they moved off. Though they lacked the training and experience to pose a real challenge, the exertion had felt good. Most of her peers at the enclave had considered her too old to fight effectively hand-to-hand. Sending her here on this mission had been their way of making her feel useful when they considered her to be past her prime, a liability and a weakness. Considering how poorly she had fared in her hunt, maybe that’s what she was after all.

Maeryn cursed and lunged forward with both weapons, releasing the energy stored in her blades in a blast of icy wind that coated the ground with a thick layer of frost. Amid the appreciative whistles and shouts of the men out on the practice ground, Maeryn lowered her suwayyah and walked from the yard. She could feel weariness seeping into her bones like old age itself. The sun had begun to sink below the wall of the keep, and right then she wanted nothing more than to sleep.

The sight of the boy huddled against her door was so unexpected to Maeryn that she did not react on first spying him. Coming to her senses, she stopped some distance away. “Sirral?”

The boy stirred and lifted his head to look her way. “Viz-jaq’taar?”

Maeryn winced at the strange cacophony of half-understood thoughts and emotions coming from him. Children’s developing minds differed from an adult’s in subtle but significant ways. “What are you doing here?”

“Please, Viz-jaq’taar, I’m scared. Can I come in?”

The request was even stranger than finding him here. Maeryn tugged at the bindings of one suwayyah with her teeth until it came loose and slowly unraveled. “What’s happening? Did Pallas send you to get me?” Maeryn dropped the weapon carefully to the ground so that she could unlock the door.

“No, Viz-jaq’taar, I came on my own. I saw something, and I thought I had better come tell you at once.”

Maeryn could make out enough through the nonsense coming from him to sense that he spoke the truth. “Come in and sit down, then,” she sighed, pushing the door open. She bent to retrieve her weapon and followed him inside.

“It’s my master,” the boy said, once she had closed the door.

“Pallas?”

Sirral nodded. “After you left, I heard him in his chambers. He sounded very angry. When I asked him what was wrong, he asked me to leave. I did as he said, but then I came back after a bit to check on him. He was gone, but I saw something drawn on the floor and I went in for a closer look….” He paused. “Is something wrong, Viz-jaq’taar?”

Maeryn had turned her back to him. A chill slowly crept across her skin. “Be silent, Sirral,” she whispered. “Something is here with us.”

In moments, Maeryn could see her own breath misting in the failing light as the temperature in the room fell. “Where are you, demon?” she hissed, hoping to draw its attention so that it would attack her rather than the boy.

Sirral’s strangled cry told her that she had failed. The apparition materialized and groaned in agony and bliss as it wrapped ghostly tendrils around him. The boy screamed as ice hardened over his skin where the creature touched him. Maeryn knew it as a wraith, a human soul that had been damned to spend an eternity of torment in hell. Such a creature longed only to inflict pain upon mortals, and was capable of drawing out both the life force and mana of living creatures.

Her psychic hammer struck the ethereal demon as though it were solid and sent it careening away across the room. Released from its grasp, Sirral crumpled lifelessly to the floor. Maeryn raised her arms, remembering only then that she had removed the blade from her right hand. She could sense that her attack had barely phased the creature. Another blast pushed it back, but she was succeeding only in keeping it at bay. It seemed that she was dealing with an exceptionally strong wraith. She needed to be at her full strength to fight it.

Maeryn once more summoned up the force of her will, but did not direct it this time at the undead creature. Instead, she shaped it carefully, precisely, to lift her suwayyah from where she had dropped it and cause it to fly onto her outstretched hand. In an instant, the straps snaked around her arm and drew tight seemingly of their own volition.

With a cry, Maeryn leaped at the creature, but her blades passed through its glowing body. It let out a sound that was part laughter, part moan of unbearable hunger. Maeryn leapt back from the wraith’s ravenous tendrils and struck again with no more effect than the first time. The third strike passed through the creature as before, and Maeryn hammered the creature once more to push it back, but even as she did, pain seared her shoulder where the creature touched her. Maeryn fell to one knee as her strength failed, the flow of energy in her body disrupted by the creature’s touch. The wraith closed in on her at once, certain of its victory.

“Return to hell,” Maeryn whispered, and unleashed the power she had built up in her blades into the creature just as it touched her. Flames leapt from the stone floor, enveloping the wraith and blasting her face with heat. It screamed its rage as it fell, crumbling into ash. In a moment, the flames vanished as suddenly as they had come, though a few of Maeryn’s personal items continued to smolder.

“Viz-jaq’taar?” Sirral was struggling to get to his feet.

Maeryn stood on shaking knees and made her way over to him. He had begun to shiver violently, but the frost on his skin was already melting away. She examined his reddened flesh carefully, but it appeared he had suffered no permanent injury. “You’ll be alright,” she assured him, but he began to cry as soon as he heard it. Maeryn pursed her lips, feeling completely out of her element. She gave him a good minute or two for his sobbing to ebb before she spoke to him again. “Listen to me, Sirral. You said something to me earlier about a drawing on the floor in your master’s chambers. Can you take me there?”

It took several minutes more before Sirral had calmed enough to walk and to speak. He led her back towards the door to Pallas’ living quarters, stopping one door down to enter the small study area that adjoined them. With her hands still bound within her weapons, she let Sirral use the meager flame from an oil lamp to light a candle and place it in a silver holder.

Shadows danced and leapt as they passed through into the main living area of Pallas’ chambers, but she could sense that there was no one there. What she could sense, though, made her tremble with dread. Pure evil still swirled within the room, but laying eyes on the source of it somehow made it that much more real. At the exact center of the room was an encircled pentagram, drawn in blood. One tip faced due south. It was one of Hell’s most powerful symbols.

“What have you done, Pallas?” Maeryn muttered under her breath. She had felt only disgust and pity until now for those who fell to the dark, but this was her friend. The tightness in her chest felt as though it should choke her.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” Sirral asked. Even one so young understood at once the significance of what he had seen.

Maeryn didn’t answer, but addressed him firmly. “Go to the dining hall, now. You need to get a good crowd of people around you, preferably mages. Stay there until I come to get you.”

Maeryn watched Sirral flit down the hall and swallowed back a wretched lump at what she was about to do. When Pallas had rejected her suggestion to reveal the key to the other Horadrim, it had occurred to her that he might have selfish reasons for doing so, that he might want the glory of presenting the weapon to the council himself, or even that he might wish to test its powers. She had settled on thinking that he was merely being misguided by his own caution. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

She sensed him as she approached the room, right where she thought he would be, still playing his part to perfection. She could only guess at how many lies he had fed to them. Maeryn knocked and waited.

A muffled “who’s there?” came from the other side of the door. She gave her name and heard the bolt slide back almost immediately and the door open.

“Master Ralem,” she said, nodding to him as she entered. The other mages in his circle were all there, discussing where they should go to look for Seith. Pallas was poring over a map with another mage and looked up as she entered. To his credit, he did not appear at all surprised to see her alive. Even the emotions she sensed from him were not unduly disturbed.

“I was just attacked by a creature from Hell,” she announced, to the general startlement of the people in the room.

“Are you alright?” Pallas asked, coming around to look at her.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Sirral was caught in the attack as well, but he seems to be doing alright.”

Pallas made another exclamation of concern, but it was not what she had expected. He was somehow masking his thoughts and emotions perfectly, and she was still unable to sense the corruption inside him. “More to the point, I have finally uncovered who is responsible for all of the attacks, both against me, and against the mages who were killed.” She raised her blade and pointed it at Pallas. “And he has played us for fools since the very beginning.”

Stunned silence met her accusation. Pallas looked at the blade on her arm, then into her eyes. Slowly, he shook his head. “You are not one to make jokes, Maeryn.”

“This is no jest, Pallas. You sent the creature that attacked me this evening. You decided to kill me rather than reveal the Key’s existence to the council.”

“No.”

“Only, your apprentice was worried about you after you sent him away, so he went back to your chambers to check on you.”

“He would have found them empty. I have been here most of the afternoon.”

“He found the inverted pentagram that you drew with your own blood.”

Pallas shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand why, but he must be lying.”

“And I’ve seen it myself.”

A tense silence followed her pronouncement. It was broken when Master Geir stood and made for the door. Maeryn knew where he was going without asking and nodded her agreement. “I’ll show you,” she said to the others. “Pallas, stay out front where I can see you.”

Pallas made for the door slowly, as if in a daze. Maeryn kept her senses primed for any sudden moves he might make. The remaining Horadrim followed in a knot behind her as she ushered him down the corridor.

“Why are you doing this?” Pallas asked over his shoulder.

Maeryn swallowed back a lump of regret for the friend she thought she had known. “I’m only doing what I trained my entire life to do.”

They met Ardin and four Horadrim of the Warlock sect at Pallas’ door. Ardin kept his distance behind the others, whose shields crackled and glowed faintly in the gloom. “Open it,” Maeryn commanded. Pallas unlocked and then pushed the door open, waiting for her signal before entering.

“It’s right over here,” Maeryn began, but stopped cold. Though she could still sense the demonic aura, the summoning circle had been erased from the floor. “What did you do to it?” she demanded of Pallas.

He shook his head sadly. “Maeryn, I’m not sure if you really believe what you have been saying, but it is time to stop this deception. I’ll try to defend you as well as I can, but—“

“What did you do?!” she repeated, her voice raising almost to a scream.

“Here, what’s this?” Ardin barked, jostling his way through the mages crowded around the door. His brow furrowed as he flitted his gaze around the room. “Geir said something about a demonic summoning circle. Isn’t that what we all came here to see?”

Maeryn backed away from the group, beckoning Pallas after her with her arm. “It was right here,” she said. “How did you get rid of it so quickly?”

“Master Ardin,” Pallas said beseechingly. “I have no idea what she is talking about. She came to my chambers this afternoon and I left shortly after. If you wish, the men behind you will confirm that I have been in council with them for several hours.”

Maeryn could sense that she was quickly losing any chance of convincing them of what she had seen. She had one last chance. “The boy, Sirral, will be able to confirm my story. I sent him to the dining hall.”

Ardin nodded to one of his Warlock bodyguards, who disappeared down the corridor. “I will speak to the boy personally and advise you of what he tells me. Now,” he said, almost gently, “don’t you think you had better let Master Pallas get back to his work?”

Maeryn didn’t take her eyes off of Pallas. “I can sense that you don’t believe me, Master Ardin, but I can’t let this man go free. He has already killed at least five people, possibly more. He’ll go after Sirral next. My duty here is clear.”

Pallas started to speak, but Maeryn held a blade up to his chest, silencing him. She knew what she had to do, knew from their alarm that the mages around her might well kill her where she stood, and only understand after they found and spoke with Sirral. She drew her arm back to strike, diverting her attention just long enough to paralyze the vocal cords of one of Ardin’s Warlocks as he began to utter a spell against her. The noises of distress coming from him served to distract the others, and it would give her just long enough to do what had to be done.

Don’t do this, Pallas thought, forcefully enough for her to pick up without exerting any effort to listen. She could sense from him the terror of confronting his own imminent death, and something else. Love.

She hesitated at the brink of throwing her weight forward and plunging her suwayyah into his chest. It was just long enough for Ardin, who had realized her intention, to mutter a quiet incantation. Maeryn fought the fog that closed in around her mind, pushing her consciousness down against her will, but the old mage’s magic proved stronger than she could have guessed. There was a sharp pain as her backside struck the stone, then the back of her head. Her last memory was seeing Pallas knelt over her body. She cursed him silently for his final ruse as she slipped into the dark.

[Raging_Zealot]

Wow, glad to see you back posting Tamrend! Unfortunately I shall have to wait until tomorrow to read your two most recent posts, as I found them just now at an inopportune time (right before sleep was necessary for proper function tomorrow).

Yes, unfortunately it is much quieter in the Fan Fiction forum now, for me personally, it is tougher to see if new content is posted, since the FFF is now a sub forum to Fan Creations, and thus you don't get a preview/recent post just for it anymore from the main index.

[Raging_Zealot]

Another nice read. Glad to hear more about Maeryn.

From the first part:

With the realization came the lifting of a great weight, and Maeryn felt real hope for the first time since Pallas had brought him word of Garron’s death.


This sentence confused me a little. I'm thinking you meant Maeryn had felt real hope for the first time since Pallas had told Maeryn about Garron's death, in which case I believe the bolded "him" above should be "her", but I may have just mis-understood.

That is the only thing that really stood out to me, but I am not nearly as thorough as some others here (hopefully Rev is still around and has time to give this a once over for you!).

Anyways, great to see the story progressing, and happy to hear that you are still working on the story!

[tamrend]

Thanks, R_Z. I fixed the sentence you pointed out. "Them" seemed to me the most appropriate pronoun.

[Raging_Zealot]

Not a problem. I see "them" working best as well, as in the information is brought to the whole group.

[tamrend]

Chapter 18: Festival

Marius and Kelsia began their trip at daybreak on a wide, cobbled street that took them on a shallow curve across the southern face of the city’s great hill. They walked, leading Cloud behind them, saving her strength for the long ride ahead. Along some stretches, buildings rose up along either side, but where the hillside grew steep, the ground to the right fell away and Kelsia could see the roads and rooftops marching down and outward to the wall far in the distance. To the left, the domes and minarets of the palace gleamed ruddy orange with the sunrise. The four highest of the towers glistened all down their lengths, giving the illusion of water falling down their sides, and reached so high that they seemed to touch the heavens. Indeed, Kelsia could remember one rainy day where the bulbous tops had disappeared into the bottoms of the clouds.

They halted their journey to water Cloud and enjoy a meal of bread and cheese at a fountain outside of the house of what must be either a minor noble or a very wealthy merchant. Marius was eager to press on, so Kelsia ate quickly. Soon enough, they came to a wide intersection where a road, even larger than the one they were on, neatly bisected the city, driving steadily upwards to the west towards the palace and falling away in a gentle slope to the east. Marius led them east, falling in with the moving mass of people and carts that carried goods towards the outer city.

It was well into midmorning when they arrived at the massive archway that tunneled through the city’s wall. Marius pulled Cloud to the side to check her hooves for stones once more and then rifle through the packs to ensure that he hadn’t forgotten anything. His frown did not disappear when he had finished, but it had softened enough to tell Kelsia that he was satisfied.

“It will take two weeks to reach Horadrim Keep,” he reminded her, “but it might be a month or more before I bring help back for you, so keep a close eye on your money.”

“We will,” Kelsia promised.

“And don’t be out after dark, but if you have to, stay to the main roads.”

“I will.”

“Don’t let Seith go wandering from his room for any reason.”

“I won’t.”

“And stay out of the burrows.”

“Marius, we’ll be fine.”

His frown deepened for a moment, but then he nodded. “I will worry for you nonetheless. Well, this is goodbye, then.” He held out his hand.

Kelsia clasped his hand in hers. “At times like these, my people say, ‘good journey’. Also…” She threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. Her voice was muffled slightly by his tunic when she spoke. “Come back safely, Marius.”

Marius encircled her with an arm and patted her back. “I’ll miss you both, and I promise I’ll be back soon.”

Kelsia blinked away tears as Marius turned, mounted, and passed under the wall at a stately walk. He paused for a moment to have a word with the guards outside the gate, turned to wave, and then was off, Cloud’s hooves kicking up puffs of dust as he let her break into a brisk canter.

Kelsia crossed the road to join the sparse traffic heading upwards towards the city center. Looking up, she sighed at the upward slope that greeted her, knowing that the journey back would take much longer than the one that had gotten her there. Retracing her steps was not difficult, as Marius had made her memorize the intersection of the east-west and north-south roads.

The sun warmed the back of her neck as she finally arrived once more at the inn. She ducked into the stable and found Copper munching oats contentedly. “How ya doing, old boy?” she said, reaching into his paddock to scratch him on the withers. The gelding nickered appreciatively and swung his head around to her. Kelsia snorted a laugh as he nuzzled her hand and dropped his muzzle for a scratch between the ears. “I sure would like to get you out of here,” she told him. “But it’s going to be a bit of a wait yet, I’m afraid.” Copper gave a blow and dipped his head at her as if to say that he would be patient.

Kelsia dipped her hands in a rain barrel at the corner of the inn and shook away the freezing water. She darted through the nearly empty common room and entered the kitchen. Damali, the youngest daughter in the family that owned the inn, was scrubbing pots when Kelsia came in, but she dropped her work and wiped her hands on her apron when she saw her enter. “Kelsia-mati!” Whatever she said next was lost on Kelsia as a torrent of words came out in Ronish.

“Damali, wait, slow down,” Kelsia pleaded in the foreign tongue.

“Ai, I am sorry,” Damali said, speaking much more slowly this time, and choosing simple words and phrases. “Did all go well?”

“Marius is fine,” Kelsia answered, grasping for words to express what she wanted. “He left the city.”

“Good,” Damali replied in Kelsia’s Kehjistani tongue. “You have hunger?”

“Yes, much, please,” she answered in Ronish, knowing she had botched her phrasing badly, but Damali nodded her understanding.

She had known Damali for just over a week, but the two had already become fast friends, despite being unable to communicate without an interpreter when they had first met. Though she stood nearly a head taller, Damali was just a few months older than Kelsia. She had light brown skin, like her mother, but had her father's dark blue eyes. She wore her hair in a loose braided fashion that was currently popular with the city folk, and had promised to do the same for Kelsia.

It had been Damali’s idea for each of them to learn to speak the other’s native language. Now they tried, whenever possible, to speak to each other in this fashion. Kelsia was surprised by how much she had learned already, and Damali seemd to be picking up her language faster than she learned Ronish. When Kelsia had expressed frustration at feeling she was falling behind, Seith explained that Damali already knew how to speak yet another language, so it was easier for her..

“I keep soup,” Damali said, bringing out a bowl from where she had hidden it in a cupboard. She frowned at it. “Cold.”

Kelsia smiled to show that she didn’t mind and took the food from her. “Thank you.” She took a seat in the corner as Damali returned to her work. After a few bites of the tepid soup, she pointed at the ceiling. “Seith?”

“He eat. I bring some him. He ask…” she paused, frowning again. “He ask if you…”

“If I come back?”

“Yes, he worried. My guess, he like you.”

Kelsia blushed at the word Damali used, which actually implied considerably more attachment than simple friendship. If not for the emphasis that the other girl put on it and the giggle just after, Kelsia might have thought that she had picked the wrong word by accident. “Stop,” she protested, unable to think of a better response in either language.

“Oh, you no like him? You want I tell him? Maybe he choose he like Damali now?”

“Stop that,” Kelsia said, turning an even deeper shade of red.

“I think he pretty,” Damali said.

Kelsia burst out laughing and got an indignant look from Damali for spoiling her teasing. When Kelsia was finally able to breathe again, it took her several tries to make it clear to Damali that “pretty” was a word that was normally only used to describe females, and that the proper word was “handsome”. Now it was Damali’s turn to look embarrassed.

Kelsia was relieved when their conversation turned to less awkward subjects. Damali had questions about the translation of a few words, then related in broken Kehjistani the events of the morning. “Hundreds more demons dead with the latest Ganting ambush,” she said, after Kelsia helped to correct her first, incorrect phrasing. “Father say that soon the country folk be free of them and go back to their homes. Good, no?”

“Is good,” Kelsia agreed in Ronish, and she began to describe her trip to the eastern gate, with Damali patiently helping her when she stumbled over her words or mixed up the order. When she had finished, Kelsia drank down the last of the broth, suddenly conscious of how much time had passed. “I need talk Seith I back.”

“Tell him,” Damali corrected. “You need to tell him you are back.”

“Right. I see you tonight.”

The stairs creaked under her as Kelsia ascended to the third floor of the inn. When they had first come to the city, the thought of so much space between her and the ground made her feel unsteady on her feet, as though the building were swaying beneath her, but she knew now that it was her imagination and that the inn was built quite solidly. She knocked on Seith’s door. “It’s me.”

Seith opened the door and closed it quickly behind her. “Did everything go alright?” he asked earnestly, as he dropped into a chair.

Kelsia sat on the edge of his bed, curling and uncurling her toes inside her boots to try to relieve some of the sting from her feet. “Marius left by the eastern gate and no one tried to stop us.”

Seith let his breath go and nodded. “We will just have to be careful until he gets back. The Horadrim will have no trouble getting in here and bringing us out.”

“Damali said she brought you food.” Kelsia wasn’t sure why she said it until it was out of her mouth. Light-hearted as her banter had been, as much as she liked the other girl, the thought of her trying to catch Seith’s eye didn’t sit well with Kelsia.

“Yes, she has a good heart to think of me. I just hope that she and her parents are true to their word.”

Kelsia suddenly felt childish for feeling jealous when they had much bigger problems. When she and Marius had first seen the Ganting soldiers, they assumed that they were here to look for Seith, but after a few days of hiding and listening, the truth had come out. Rona had been under siege from a demon horde for weeks, its army taking heavy losses each time they tried to repel them from the gates. The soldiers from Ganting had arrived shortly before Kelsia, Seith, and Marius, and had made some sort of deal with the king to help deal with the demons. Somehow, the relatively small force had succeeded where the Ronish army had failed, and had killed or driven out most of the hellspawn from the immediate vicinity.

Still, even if they had not come here to find Seith, it was foolish to think that they would not be on the lookout for him, considering how much effort they had put into trying to find him in Dalmers Ferry. Seith had gotten the innkeeper’s word that he and his family would not reveal his presence there to anyone, and would not accept when Seith tried to offer him a few extra gold pieces from their meager money supply. “You are a Horadrim,” he said, and apparently that was reason enough to help.

With their hiding place secure, it had taken several days to discuss and plan their next move. Marius and Kelsia had located the portal stone that Seith had hoped to use, but it had been built over long ago and was useless to them. Consulting maps and speaking with the locals, they had quickly come to the conclusion that to continue overland towards Horadrim Keep was far too risky. In good weather, it would take weeks, a fortnight at least, if they could get access to a portal stone that lay near the road to the east, and with the remnants of the horde that had attacked Rona out there, Seith was not confident in their chances to get through to the east undetected. Marius’ suggestion to go alone and bring back help had been met, at first, with skepticism from Kelsia and Seith, but he had persisted. Eventually, they were forced to admit that his plan was their best chance.

Kelsia’s thoughts came back to the present, and to more immediate problems. Seith was holding the staff across his knees, studying it intently. Just a few weeks ago, he would have been unable to do that without causing her extreme discomfort, if had been even been able to allow him to pick it up in the first place. Now, she felt nothing at all.

“I’ve been thinking about this script,” he said. “I thought I had seen wording like this before, so I looked at it more closely. And then it came to me. Back at the keep, there is a corridor on the main floor that has a mural painting along one wall with several panels. It depicts the War of the Mages, what some call the Great Schism. I told you once, some time ago, about the brothers, Bartuc and Horazon. The mural depicts how Horazon and Bartuc began to learn some of the most protected secrets of magic, and they were even able to study the mysteries of divine and fel magic. Horazon began to rise to fame among the Viz’jerei as he performed amazing feats of wizardry and demonstrated great power over the creatures of Hell, but Bartuc became obsessed with the new powers he had tapped, and rather than use them to tame and destroy hellspawn, he thought that he could attain even greater power by drawing directly upon demonic powers, and eventually, by actually allying himself with the powers of Hell. In time, he lost his humanity and became known as Bartuc the Bloody for the hideous and terrible acts he performed.”

“Horazon was able to kill his murderous, demon-corrupted brother, but then fled to a sanctuary of his own making to hide. Most think that he, too, was becoming corrupted, and sought to hide his fall from those who would destroy him. His disaffected followers, who were no longer welcome by the mage clans for their leader’s supposed corruption, went on to found the Horadrim under the direction and tutelage of the archangel Tyrael.”

“Each panel of the mural has a script written below it, presumably describing the events that occurred, but I was told that no one living understands that language now. I think that the writing on this staff is the same language.”

It seemed like an interesting clue, but Kelsia was unsure how it could help them. “Is there anything more that you remember about that mural?”

Seith shrugged. “Only that it is very old. It must have looked exquisite when it was new, but the paint has since cracked and faded over the centuries. One whole section of the last panel is destroyed.”

“Destroyed? How?”

“No one seems to remember, but the stone is gouged and pitted. Perhaps a spell went awry, or some vandal defaced it.”

Kelsia resolved to have a look at the mural once they arrived at the keep, if only to see the story’s illustration for herself.

“Are you ready for your lesson?” Seith asked, setting the staff aside. She easily ignored the impulse to reach for it.

“Of course. I’ve been looking forward to it.” She had progressed from single letters and phonetics to words, and now was learning how to read and write complex sentences. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, and went to her room down the hall. Seith had loaned one of his books to her, A Treatise of Fire. It was hard going, but she was making progress. She retrieved the book from under her bed, along with some notes that she had scrawled on a scrap of parchment.

Kelsia laid out the book and the notes on the floor and questioned him about a number of words that she had written down. Many were just difficult pronunciations that she was delighted to recognize, but others were words she had never heard before. “What is this word, Ral?” she asked, turning to the page that she had written down and pointing at it.

“Oh, pay that no mind,” Seith said dismissively. “You’ve read much faster than I would have guessed. There are some words and concepts there that you have no need to learn.”

“Tell me, please. I’ve tried saying it out loud, but I don’t think I quite have the sound right. I get the strangest feeling even just reading it, though, as if something is about to happen.”

Seith looked down once more at the word. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and sighed. “Alright, I’ll be honest with you. Had I remembered that this book contained that word, I would never have given it to you to read. What you see is a simple word of power that focuses upon the element of fire.” He turned his palm up and looked at it. “Rahl.” The word seemed to tingle up her spine as a fist-sized flame flared to life above his palm, then snuffed out instantly. “As you can see, it isn’t much use on its own, but mages over the centuries have devised uses of this word in combination with others to summon up much more powerful magic.”

Kelsia thought for a moment. Turning her palm up, she said the word, which had a longer, softer "a" then she had thought, and visualized what she wanted. “Rahl.” She gave a cry of shock when a flame flashed into existence and disappeared with a tiny pop. “By the Light,” she breathed. “Did I just…?”

“Yes, it appears that you did." Seith leaned back slowly. "It was not my intention to teach you to use this magic, but I suppose you would have eventually discovered the word’s usage on your own. It is a novice’s first spell, one that I was able to master under Garron's tutelage before I arrived at Horadrim Keep. The word itself is only a small part of it. One must know how to will the flame into being. It is quite rare for someone to succeed on their first try.”

“Rahl.” Kelsia repeated, focusing this time on a candle across the room. The flame appeared on the wick, shrank back down, but after a moment grew and burned steadily.

“Be careful, Kelsia,” Seith warned. “A misstep could catch the table or even the building itself on fire. And I can’t stress enough to you how nervous this whole business makes me. A few weeks ago, I would never have believed that a woman could work magic.”

“The staff,” she reminded him.

“I’m not so sure that it is such an easy explanation as that, but it is the best one we have, for the moment. And it doesn't make me worry any less. I want you to promise me again that you will not try to use magic. I don’t have the experience to teach you properly and I am afraid for your safety if something should go wrong.”

Kelsia pressed her lips together. She remembered the energy she had summoned when the mage had attacked them in the wilderness, and how she wanted to feel that again. But even this simple spell had been a thrill to use. It seemed to her to be far easier to learn than Seith implied that it should be, and she wanted to see what else she could do with it. But she also Seith had her best interest at heart, and he would know the dangers of using magic much better than she would. "Alright, I promise."

"Thank you, Kelsy," he said, looking genuinely relieved.

The light was failing when Seith called an end to the lesson, complimenting Kelsia once more on her progress. "Are you going to the festival with Damali tonight?" he asked, as they put away her parchment and writing implements.

She nodded, considerably less excited about the prospect than she had been for the last few days. "I've never been to the royal garden. Damali said that it is only open to the smallfolk on festivals and feast days. And there will be singing and dancing."

"It sounds wonderful."

Kelsia turned to look at him and realized that he had been staring at her face. "What is it?"

Seith shrugged and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

"Well, I need to get ready, then," she said, feeling strangely light-headed as she turned away. She stoppered the inkbottle and put it on a shelf with the quills and unused parchments pieces. "Damali didn't say how late we would stay."

"That's alright," Seith assured her. "You and your friend have fun. You deserve it after what you've had to endure."

Seith's words had the opposite effect than what he probably intended. "Oh, I wish you could go," she said miserably, stooping to gather the sheets of her writing practice.

Seith knelt in front of her to help. "I know. I wish I could too. But it also makes me happy to know that you will get to see and do something that you will always remember."

Her heart beat faster as she felt the warmth of his face next to hers and felt an urge to lean closer. Before she could move, he leaned back, got to his feet and offered her his hand. She stood, murmured her thanks, and turned for the door before he could see the sudden heat in her cheeks.

[Raging_Zealot]

He paused for a moment to have a word with the guards outside the gate, turned to wave, and then was off, the Cloud’s hooves kicking up puffs of dust as he let her break into a brisk canter.

Seems like "the" isn't necessary here.

Another nice chapter. I'll have to go back and read up on the last few chapters to remember exactly how you left it off with Marius, Seith and Kelsia, since it has been too long since I've read it.

[Kijya]

Another great chapter, though I also have to admit my recollection on the events of Kelsia before starting ch18 wasn't perfect.

Awaiting the next chapter with keen interest :wink:

[tamrend]

Kijya, thanks for the compliment. I know what you mean about forgetting what came before. I ended up re-reading the story myself to refresh my memory. Also, I thought that some people might miss it, since I've been gone so long, but I posted chapter 17 about a week ago and it is on the previous page.

R_Z, thanks for the grammar check. I fixed it.

I'm hoping to keep up the pace I'm setting of a chapter about every 1-2 weeks.

[tamrend]

I'm still here, just ruminating a bit over how I want to structure the rest of the events of this chapter. I have the end of chapter 18 partially written and expect to have it finished and posted over the weekend.

[Raging_Zealot]

Great to be seeing fairly regular updates again! Hope to see the rest of Ch. 18 up soon! I'll continue to help give it a once over as well, but usually I don't notice nearly as many things as Rev, etc. did, so I always feel nit-picky with like 1 or 2 words being all I find. I guess that speaks well to your writing though, if that's all I have to complain about! :)

[tamrend]

Chapter 18: Festival

Part 2

Kelsia's room was just down the hall from Seith, and she ducked inside, trusting that he wouldn't follow. She closed the door and flopped onto the straw bed, wondering just what Seith thought of her sudden departure. "He'll think I'm a halfwit," she scolded herself, but there really hadn't been much alternative but to escape. Better that than for him to know what she had been thinking about doing.

Once her heart had settled down to a more manageable pace, she got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. Damali was gone, but her mother, Farah Ganas, was preparing the evening meal. "Ganas-sota, water, clean?" Kelsia asked, pantomiming the action of scrubbing herself. She didn't know the word for bathtub, or if there even was such a word in Ronish.

"I don't understand what you want," the woman said in Ronish. She pointed. "The bathhouse is down the street." She went back to chopping vegetables immediately.

Kelsia knew about the public baths, but tried not to think too much about them. Damali had enjoyed her shocked reaction when she had first told her that crowds of strangers actually bathed together in public. She tried again. "Hot water, Ganas-sota?"

Farah looked up, as though surprised to still see her there. She sighed and then spoke so quickly that Kelsia was hard pressed to keep up. "I don't have time to help you, Kelsia-mati. Get a bucket, get water from the well, and put it into a kettle. Put the kettle over a fire until it boils."

"Thank you, Ganas-sota." Kelsia said, with a respectful bow. It had been weeks since she had seen a proper bathtub or bath barrel, and even the washbasin in her room had been a welcome change from the road, but tonight she wanted to actually feel clean. She did as the woman instructed, and soon had a large kettle of boiling water that she didn't know what to do with. She wondered if she might be able to wet a cloth and at least scrub some of the grime away, when she noticed a large, empty barrel sitting in a corner. "Ganas-sota?" she asked, risking the woman's further irritation.

Farah sighed. "Yes, what is it, Kelsia-mati?"

"The-ah, that." She pointed at the barrel. "I use? My room?"

"Damali!"

The girl appeared in moments. "Yes, mother?"

"Help Kelsia carry that pocreda up to her room."

The barrel was heavier than Kelsia expected, but the two of them were able to roll, bump and drag it up the two flights of stairs to her room. Kelsia hurried down to put on another kettle of water, and she and Damali brought the first kettle, plus buckets of water from the well, up to her room. It took a several trips to the well to fill it sufficiently, and the two boiling kettles were only able to slightly raise the temperature of the chilly well water, but it would have to suffice.

Damali left her to return to her duties downstairs. Kelsia stripped and carefully climbed into the barrel, sucking in her breath when the water touched her skin. She lowered herself in quickly, thinking it best to get it over with, and was able to sit at the bottom, with her legs folded and the water just below her neck. After a minute or so, the water's chill wasn't so harsh, and as she scrubbed her skin with a scrap of cloth and felt the weeks of sweat, mud and road dust sloughing off her. The only thing missing was soap, which she resolved to find at the first opportunity.

She reluctantly climbed, shivering, out of the barrel, dried herself, and retrieved the green wool dress that Damali had given her a few days earlier. It was too small now for the taller girl, but when Kelsia first put it on, she thought that her friend must have grossly misjudged her height. The hem of the dress barely fell below her knees, leaving her ankles and a fair bit of leg exposed for anyone to see. But no, she was thinking of the petticoats and dresses back home. What she had on was the style that the local people wore.

Kelsia donned the shoes and went down to the common room, resisting the urge to pull at the dress to cover the parts it left bare. Damali was waiting with her father, Athan, at the bottom of the stairs. The other girl wore a blue dress that was very similar to Kelsia's, but her hair had been braided into an elaborate ponytail with long blue ribbons, and her face appeared to have touches of color around her eyes and lips that seemed to accentuate her best features. Damali fussed over Kelsia's hair and dress for a moment, tugging and straightening her into place.

"You look lovely, Kelsia-mata," Athan said, speaking in Kehjistani for her. Damali had said that, in his younger years, his father had traveled far and wide across the eastern continent, but that he had been born in Kehjistan. When he was not busy, Kelsia and Damali often quizzed him on the details of each other’s languages.

"Thank you, soti," Kelsia responded in Ronish, with a respectful bow.

Athan beamed at Damali and spoke now in Ronish. "And you, my daughter, you shine as brightly as the sun." He leaved close to Kelsia and mock-whispered. "Our eldest, Kalila, met her husband at the harvest festival four years ago. I have a feeling that we just might find young men for both of you tonight. What do you think, mata?"

Kelsia smiled uncertainly, wondering if Athan was making a joke. Damali, though, rolled her eyes at Kelsia behind her father’s back. They said their farewells, leaving Farah behind to tend to the few travelers who preferred to stay indoors.

On the street outside, Kelsia could see that many of the shops had already closed down, but many people sat or stood on front stoops, talking and drinking together. Turning west, they soon came to the north-south thoroughfare, which was lined edge to edge with people. The three of them fell in with the crowd, Athan holding the hands of each girl firmly in his own to keep them from being jostled away from him. The sun sank into the west, lengthening the shadows until they covered the street and then crept upward towards the height of the buildings on the western side. The stars had begun to twinkle in a violet sky when, at last, they reached the gates of the royal estate at the top of the hill.

Finally, the press of people began to diminish as the crowd dispersed into the grass-covered slope to either side of the road, while the strains of music and the delectable scent of food beckoned them onward. The weariness of Kelsia's long hike upward quickly gave way to excitement as she caught sight of the tents and booths erected all around the courtyard that fronted the palace and lit with hundreds of lanterns and torches. Athan stopped at a booth to buy them all bowls of hot candied fruit, an exotic confection that Kelsia found delicious but that was almost shocking in its sweetness.

"What you like, mata?" Damali asked.

Kelsia pointed to a stage that she had been watching for some time, where people seemed to be acting out a story. They drew closer and watched the show to its conclusion, and Kelsia broke into laughter and applause with those around her, even though she didn't understand all that was said by the performers.

They wandered for a time, watching jugglers, musicians, street-mages, and other performers ply their trades. “I want to go dancing, father,” Damali said, pointing to the square up ahead of them.

“Well, go on then,” he said. “And you, if you wish, Kelsia-mata.”

Kelsia watched the dancers for a moment and shook her head. “I don’t know how.” The truth was that she did very much enjoy dancing back home, but that was nothing like what she saw here. Damali gave her a look that was almost pitying. “I teach you,” she promised.

Kelsia and Athan found a spot on the grass to sit and watch as Damali looked for a partner among the line of people waiting for the next dance. A lanky young man who had been watching Damali the whole time as she approached hurried up to her, gave a bow and asked for the honor of a dance.

“Ah, Nielos,” Athan said approvingly. “I know his father. He’s a bright, hardworking lad. He has had his eye on Damali for some time, I hear. And a soldier in the king’s army, I hear tell. Aha!” Here he slapped Kelsia on the back. “She accepted. She has an eye for quality, my Damali, ah?”

Kelsia nodded as she watched Damali and her partner begin to march into the square in time to the music and Athan told her about how strong and handsome his grandsons would be. She murmured agreement when Athan added that, of course, Nielos would quit his trade to help Damali with the inn and keep the grandchildren close to the family.

The dance soon came to an end and Damali had a few words with Nielos before she waved goodbye. “Hmph,” Athan said. “I had hoped that she might bring the lad over to introduce him to us. Ah, but she is a clever girl. Best to whet his appetite, and keep him pining after her a bit longer.”

Damali was breathless when she reached them. “Oh, father, did you see me? It was wonderful, to be up in front of all those people.”

Athan slipped easily into Ronish to converse with his daughter. “Yes, but what about Nielos? Did he say anything flattering to you?”

“Who is Nielos?” Damali said innocently. At Athan’s astonished look, she added, “I’m joking, father. He’s a sweet man.”

That hardly seemed to mollify Damali’s father, who muttered quite loudly under his breath that he might well be dead before he ever got to see any grandchildren. It was made all the more amusing when Damali whispered to her that her sister Kalila already had two boys, with another baby on the way.

Kelsia was yawning and blinking her eyes to keep them open when Athan finally called for them to head for home. She could not hazard any guess as to the hour, but it seemed to be already long into the night, and the celebration showed no signs of ending. She knew that the festival would go on for a fortnight of revelry in the streets, taverns, and inns of the city.

This year’s celebration was all the more precious since the harvest had almost been loss to the demons’ siege, but the king had assured everyone that there was more than enough grain to see them through the winter, even with the losses they had taken in the outlying farms. Ale and wine would sell at a premium, and Athan only worried that the small cache that they had stockpiled in the weeks prior would be gone before the festival was over.

Kelsia climbed the steps to the third floor on aching legs and blistering feet, but she felt happy nonetheless. She could see candlelight leaking underneath and through the cracks in his door, so she knocked quietly and announced herself. Seith’s face lit up on seeing her. “Did you enjoy the festival?” he asked.

“Yes, very much so,” and she proceeded to tell him about all of the wonderful foods she had eaten and the things she had seen. She could not remember later, but she must have dozed off somewhere in the telling, because she woke to moonlight streaming in through the window and realized that she was not in her own bed. She still wore her clothes, but Seith had piled blankets over her. She looked around, and when she spotted him, she sighed in self-reproach. He had gone to sleep at his writing-desk, slumped over a book in what looked to be a very uncomfortable posture. She covered him with one of the blankets and then let herself quietly out.

The days that followed were largely uneventful. Kelsia helped Damali and Farah in the kitchen much of the time, working at their languages while gossiping about whatever Damali found interesting. Kelsia would sometimes talk about the people back home in her village, but sometimes she would start to tell some story about Shael and the terrible pain would threaten to take her in its grip once more, so she mostly let Damali do the talking. Her lessons with Seith continued, and though he would not loan her A Treatise of Fire or the other two books he carried with him to read, he now had her keeping a journal of loose parchments. He showed her how to measure out and draw it into sections for writing in that that would later be folded, cut, and bound into a book. When she asked if he kept his own journal, he answered only that yes, he did, and would not tell her more.

It was on the fifth day of the harvest festival when Athan took it upon himself to invite Nielos to dinner. All that day, Damali’s moods swung from anger, at her father’s presumption, to excitement at the prospect of seeing Nielos again, to nervousness that she might make a fool of herself, then back to taciturn anger once more any time she caught sight of her father. Kelsia thought that it was all a bit overwrought, but she pretended to sympathize and to be cheerful or comforting at each turn.

The preparation of the evening meal soon consumed all of their attention, and even Athan, who normally saw to the cleaning of the rooms and comfort of the guests, came to give the women a hand with the soup, which would be served to the guests of the inn, and with a special meal of roast pork for the family and for Nielos. Kelsia was invited for dinner, and Farah promised to set aside a plate for Seith as well.

While the family went, in turns, to the public bath to get clean, Kelsia made the laborious preparations for her own bath in her room, which was just as cold as her previous bath, but this time she had managed to acquire some soap and had the time to properly comb out her hair.

They ate dinner in a small room at the back of the inn that seemed to be furnished for that purpose, while the two hired hands saw to greeting and serving guests. It was as fine a meal as Kelsia could ever remember having, with fine cheeses and breads, a perfectly cooked and seasoned roast, steamed vegetables, and red wine. Kelsia drank hers sparingly, expecting to only have the one cup, but was pleasantly surprisd when Farah leaned over and refilled her goblet when it was only half gone. Nielos was soft-spoken, but had an earnest way of telling a story that made people want to lean in to listen intently, even though it was Athan’s translation that she actually heard and understood. Kelsia liked him almost immediately.

Though Nielos had only been a soldier for a little over a year, he had already seen more battles than some of the veterans prior to his joining. “It was a close thing before these Ganting men came down from the north. The king was close to raising levies to try to fight off these demons, but I have my doubts that it would have done us good. Even if he got ten-thousand conscripts, there is only so much that can be drilled into them in a few days or weeks. Fighting demons is not like fighting men. They can stand back up from a blow that would fell the strongest men, and they fight with a cruelty that can frighten even the most stout-hearted. Conscripts would have turned and run from them at the first sign of blood. My battalion suffered heavy losses in our sorties against the demons, but half of those were deserters, most like.”

“Why are these Gantings so successful where the king’s army failed?” Kelsia asked, and Athan translated.

“They have a special attachment within their ranks, who call themselves Iron Wolves. They do not claim to be wizards, but they use magic, both directly against the demons, and to add strength to the blades and armor of the regular soldiers. The two fight as a single unit, each part protecting the other. I have seen them fight off and scatter a force of demons more than three times their size.”

Kelsia wanted to ask more, but Athan turned the conversation around to Nielos’ own accomplishments, which he spoke of modestly and not at great length. “I’ll make sergeant if I can stay alive for another year,” he said with a shrug. “I was thinking that I might try to join the watch, or go into my own business, perhaps.”

“Ever consider innkeeping?” Athan asked, and gave a grunt at what must have been Damali’s elbow hitting his side.

“I’ve thought of it,” Nielos said, looking directly at Damali, who did her best to appear shy, “Though I would have much to learn about the trade.”

“I would teach you,” Athan said, brandishing a hunk of bread towards Nielos.

Kelsia was feeling pleasantly warm and full from the food and the wine. In fact, her face felt as though it were warmed by a roaring fire. She could tell that Damali liked Nielos at least as much as she did and smiled to herself about what a great deal they would have to talk about the next day in the kitchen. She drained the rest of her cup and set it down, realizing belatedly that Farah had just called for her. She and Athan were standing at the door, carrying used dishes and platters, and had asked for her help getting them to the kitchen. Kelsia stood, wobbling a bit as the room spun suddenly. She remembered, now, why it wasn’t a good idea to drink too much wine or ale. She managed, with concentration, to carefully gather her dishes and carry them out and across the common room to the kitchen.

Athan and Farah were talking in hushed voices when she got there. Kelsia realized that they had probably brought all of them out of the room so that Damali and Nielos could have some time to talk alone. “Would you please take Seith’s food up to him?” Athan asked her as soon as she entered, and she knew that it was a reasonable pretext for the two of them to go on talking about their daughter’s potential new husband once she was gone.

“You’re drunk,” Seith said, as soon as he saw her.

“I am not,” she protested, and the flush flowing to her face and neck made it feel even hotter than before. “I brought you dinner.” And she pushed the tray at him, which he caught before it could tilt and spill the contents on the floor.

“You are drunk, Kelsia,” he repeated. “And you’re going to wake up with a terrible headache if we don’t do something. Here, sit down. You need to drink some water.” He filled a cup from the pitcher he kept on the desk.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, laughing, though she knew that it really shouldn’t have been funny. She felt a warm glow of affection as he sat next to her, and not the nervous twitter that normally settled into her stomach when he was close to her. He kept his hands on the cup to steady it as she lifted it to drink.

“Have you never had wine before?” Seith asked, in a less combative tone than he had used up to now.

“Only a few times, and never this much,” she admitted. “Farah just kept filling up my cup.”

“Even a modest amount can be potent for someone not used to it. I am sorry for being angry with you.”

“Seith?” Suddenly the nervousness was back. She felt like she had been building up for weeks for this moment, though she had never quite planned it out.

“What is it, Kelsy?” he asked, when she didn’t say more.

“I want….” She had thought that she had a perfectly fine sentence prepared, but now the words seemed all jumbled up and wrong. She tried again, “I want to tell you….” Again, words failed her, so she simply gave in to impulse, and did the one thing she never thought she could do. She leaned over and kissed him.

He didn’t react at first, and Kelsia had the horrifying thought that she had done it completely wrong. She had kissed her parents and her brother before, but never on the lips. Then, for just an instant, she thought she felt him kissing her back, pressing fiercely against her lips with his own, but in the next moment, he had drawn back from her.

Her head felt lighter than ever and her skin tingled all over. She could feel her pulse racing in her neck, as if she had just run for leagues. She opened her eyes, only having just realized that she had closed them. Seith was staring at her with an unreadable expression. “Let’s get you back to your room,” he said in a shaking voice.

Kelsia let herself be led, the good feelings dissolving into numbness. She looked around, suddenly aware that Seith was out of his room. It wasn’t likely that he would be recognized should a guest happen to climb the stairs at that moment, but it was unlike him to take even that small risk. He turned down her bed and started for the door, keeping his eyes averted from hers. Finally, the numbness began to give way to something else. “Seith, what did I do wrong?” she said, her voice little more than a whimper.

“You did nothing. It was the wine,” he said, reaching for the door.

“Please. I need to know why.”

She saw his shoulders slump and his head droop, but he did not turn to face her. “I never told you. Horadrim are not permitted to marry. It would be better if we both just try to forget that this…ever happened.” He opened the door and closed it behind him before she could say anything more.

Something hot and wet tickled the side of Kelsia’s face. She wiped it away with the back of her hand and forced long, deep breaths, but couldn’t hold back the sobbing or the tears. The thought of marriage had never crossed her mind until he had said it, but what else could there be? He was right that there could never be anything between them, but it did nothing to lessen the pain. Here, though, the wine helped her. Once she finally lay down, she was asleep in moments.

The next morning, Kelsia went straight down to the kitchen, nursing an aching head and an upset stomach, but determined to bury herself in work to try to forget what had happened. Damali chattered on and on about Nielos and what a nice time they had together, which was fine with Kelsia, because she didn’t have anything that she wanted to think about, let alone put voice to. She almost skipped her writing lesson altogether, but then Damali reminded her, remarking there really wasn’t anything else to do before dinner, and she had no excuse to stay away.

Seith looked surprised to see her, but welcomed her in all the same. She sat on the floor next to his desk and brought out her journal entry for him to read. He looked it over, not speaking for a time, and Kelsia wondered whether he thought anything at all of the fact that she left out her visit to his room, the kiss, and everything that was said between them, when she always recorded the day in such detail.

“This is very good,” he said, absently. “Your hand is steadier and you’re doing much better at speaking in past tense.” He was staring, not at the parchment, but through it.

Kelsia stood up and took the parchment from him. She was angry with him, but it was a cold, bitter feeling. She knew that he didn’t deserve it, and she hated her words even as she said them. “I don’t think I will be needing any more lessons.”

He nodded at her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to say. Kelsia wanted to scream at him for how easily he let her break that tie. Had he felt nothing for her all this time? Had she only imagined the warmth that she saw in his face? It certainly seemed to have fled, if it had ever been there.

Over the following days, she threw herself into her work. When she wasn’t in the kitchen, she was practicing her writing alone, or working with Damali on their languages. She even consented to allowing her friend to teach her two Ronish dances, which they practiced in the alley behind the inn. Kelsia didn’t think it likely she would actually have the courage to try them in front of other people at the festival, but it did take her mind off of brooding. An entire week went by without her stopping in even once at Seith’s room to see him.

They were in the alley, practicing, when Nielos came running up to them. Damali called a warm greeting and threw her arms around him, but he cut short the embrace and waved them to silence.

“I’m glad I found you here,” he said hoarsely, out of breath. “I don’t have much time. Someone might notice at any minute that I’m not at my post.” He pointed at Kelsia. “They are looking for you. You and some other person, a man named Seith.”

Damali looked at her with a frown. “Looking for her? Who is? What is going on?”

“Soliders,” he gasped. “Ganting and Ronish. They are making a sweep through the city tonight, starting with all the inns. She is to be arrested. I don’t know what kind of trouble she is in, but I didn’t want you or your family to be caught up in it.”

Kelsia had been slowly backing towards the rear door of the inn. “We have to go,” she said. “Damali, I can’t stay here. Tell your parents that we are leaving.”

Note: There will be a part 3. Just hashing that out now.

[Raging_Zealot]

Another nice chapter.

A few comments/suggestions/discussion points


It took a several trips to the well to fill it sufficiently, and the two boiling kettles were only able to slightly raise the temperature of the chilly well water, but it would have to suffice.

I don't believe the "a" I bolded should be there, left over from a re-write?


"You look lovely, Kelsia-mata," Athan said, speaking in Kehjistani for her. Damali had said that, in his younger years, his father had traveled far and wide across the eastern continent, but that he had been born in Kehjistan. When he was not busy, Kelsia and Damali often quizzed him on the details of each other’s languages.

Is Damali telling Kelsia that Athan's father had traveled far and wide? I originally thought it referred to Athan himself, and thus thought the "his" should be a "her". It makes a lot more sense that it would be Anthan's father though, for whatever reason I didn't think of it until writing this. I guess maybe b/c Anthan seemed so comfortable with the language that they can quiz him on the details I figured it was he who had traveled? Either way I guess nothing needs to be done here, assuming I now understand correctly.

EDIT: Upon reading it again, it makes a lot more sense, since you are saying that while Anthan's father traveled a lot, Anthan was actually born in Kehjistan. Sorry for all the confusion, I guess my brain just got impatient and didn't pay attention to the important end details of the sentence as well as it should have:embarassed:


The weariness of Kelsia's long hike upward quickly gave way to excitement as she caught sight of the tents and booths erected all around the courtyard that fronted the palace and lit with hundreds of lanterns and torches.

This just seemed a little awkward to me, especially the part that is bolded. I assume that the tents and booths are what is being lit with hundreds of lanterns and torches? I don't know if it is just the length of it, or what, and it does seem technically correct once I "work through it" and figure out exactly what you mean, but you may want to look into some rewording so that the second look isn't required. I may also just be "special" and others might not actually need a second look.


She could see candlelight leaking underneath and through the cracks in his door, so she knocked quietly and announced herself. Seith’s face lit up on seeing her. “Did you enjoy the festival?” he asked.

This is another that I think is correct but I just wanted to point out. At first I thought it was kind of strange to use the pronoun "his" before mentioning Seith, since she'd just gotten back from the festivities and we don't really know who it refers to. However since you use his name right after, I guess it is fine, and I kind of like the style that you brought it together with. Plus that really is the only "he" that she visits in a room, so it probably makes sense on that level too. Anyways, it just stood out to me on the first read through, so I figured I'd bring it to your attention.


He showed her how to measure out and draw it into sections for writing in that that would later be folded, cut, and bound into a book.

Seems an extra "that" managed to wiggle its way in here. I'm no expert on comma usage by any means, and it probably is just a stylistic thing up to the author, but I am also in favor of adding a comma after "in" so that it reads "...draw it into sections for writing in, that would later be folded...". Again it might just be the way my mind read it, but at first glance it looked funny due to the double "that", but the first time I read it I wasn't sure if it was going to turn into a "in that" usage, like "in doing so" or something.

Okay so only a few "real" corrections, with a nice helping of me pointing out the sections that didn't quite go as smooth as the rest to me. As always, everything I listed was just a suggestion, and I could very well be coming completely out of left field with some of them, so take 'em as they are, just one data point in a sea of many.

[sangorel]

Tamrend,
I'm really happy to see that one of my favourite diablo stories is still alive and kicking after all these years. Thank you for sticking with this amazing story and not giving up. I'm actually looking forward to refreshing my memory by rereading the older chapters before I dive into the new stuff.

I actually copy pasted all the chapters into a single word file so that I could read it at leisure on my phone... and discovered that you've crossed a hundred thousand words. Wow!

[Snowglare]

Note: Holy crap, it's quiet in here.

Yeah, sorry about that. I procrastinated something fierce on reading this.


Ardin looked up in surprise. "Of course, of course."

He doesn't seem surprised. Maybe rewrite this for clarification or a different reaction?


He read, lips moving without sound, from the parchment for a moment and then nodded to himself.

Hah! I like how you added further evidence of Ardin's growing senility. Telling us was adequate, but showing always helps.


Her anger was cooling as it began to become finally, inexorably clear that her special status and privileges as a Viz'jaq'taar was being called into question.

I think that should be were being, as it refers to "special status and privileges."


It had been the mage orders themselves, led by the Viz'jerei, who had worked to establish the Assassins, and for centuries, their authority in matters of corruption had been absolute. Perhaps without realizing it, the members of this council were setting a precedent for future relations that might lead to changes she could barely foresee, and she had to admit to herself that at least some of the fault for that could be laid at her feet for her stubborn pride.

I could be wanting to see this, but I wonder if Maeryn is ashamed that her pride is causing this... or proud. Maybe a little of both?


Maeryn glanced in his direction and was met with steely look, even as a trace of fear leaked through his front.

Eww. Also, that should be a steely look.


I will give you two days to reconsider your answer, at which time we will decide if these charges against you demand a closer look.

Is this Ardin misspeaking? Earlier, he said the only charge against her was the "psychic attack" on Makel.


She glanced back to confirm what your senses told her, that they were, for the moment, alone.

Should be her senses.


"Start from the beginning, Geir," Pallas suggested, once he had closed and bolted the door. He motioned for Maeryn to take one of the empty seats and then chose the spot next to her.

D'aww. They're best buddies!


It is commonly accepted that all remaining hellspawn were eradicated from Santuary shortly after the war with the Prime Evils.

Should be Sanctuary.


"You have spoken my thoughts almost exactly," Pallas said, giving her hand a squeeze.

I love Pallas. He and Maeryn have this great father/daughter thing going on.


Pallas seemed at a moment to be at a loss for words. Maeryn sensed the tide of anger and opposition from him well before he began to speak. He shook her hand away as he stepped back. "No! No, that’s simply not an option. You want to let this secret get out before we have control of this weapon? Take hold of your senses, woman!"

D: Nooo, don't be evil, Pallas!


"Where are you, demon?" she hissed, hoping to draw its attention so that it would attack her rather than the boy.

Sirral’s strangled cry told her that she had failed.

Auggh! Maeryn has the worst luck. By the way, I love the use of her psionic powers as telekinesis. Kinda funny how her hands are practically useless while she's bladed up; how can she accumulate phat stacks of lewt like that?


She examined his reddened flesh carefully, but it appeared he had suffered no permanent injury.

Oh. He's OK? That's a surprise.


Pure evil still swirled within the room, but laying eyes on the source of it somehow made it that much more real.

Oh, Pallas...


Don’t do this, Pallas thought, forcefully enough for her to pick up without exerting any effort to listen. She could sense from him the terror of confronting his own imminent death, and something else. Love.

!!!

I'll get to chapter 18 shortly, once I've clambered down from this cliff.

Edit: All caught up. Write more now! ;)


Kelsia was surprised by how much she had learned already, and Damali seemd to be picking up her language faster than she learned Ronish. When Kelsia had expressed frustration at feeling she was falling behind, Seith explained that Damali already knew how to speak yet another language, so it was easier for her..

Should be seemed, and you have an extra period at the end.


“Yes, he worried. My guess, he like you.”

Kelsia blushed at the word Damali used, which actually implied considerably more attachment than simple friendship. If not for the emphasis that the other girl put on it and the giggle just after, Kelsia might have thought that she had picked the wrong word by accident. “Stop,” she protested, unable to think of a better response in either language.

“Oh, you no like him? You want I tell him? Maybe he choose he like Damali now?”

“Stop that,” Kelsia said, turning an even deeper shade of red.

Bwahaha!


Just a few weeks ago, he would have been unable to do that without causing her extreme discomfort, if had been even been able to allow him to pick it up in the first place.

Needs a rewrite. I was about to ask what was up with the staff when I reached this part. She's progressed far indeed if she can see Marius off and chat with Damali without so much as thinking about the staff.


But she also Seith had her best interest at heart, and he would know the dangers of using magic much better than she would. "Alright, I promise."

I think you meant she also knew.


I'm hoping to keep up the pace I'm setting of a chapter about every 1-2 weeks.

That would be awesome.


He leaved close to Kelsia and mock-whispered.

Should be leaned.


This year’s celebration was all the more precious since the harvest had almost been loss to the demons’ siege

Should be lost.


All that day, Damali’s moods swung from anger, at her father’s presumption, to excitement at the prospect of seeing Nielos again, to nervousness that she might make a fool of herself, then back to taciturn anger once more any time she caught sight of her father.

Not sure about the comma after the first "anger."


Kelsia drank hers sparingly, expecting to only have the one cup, but was pleasantly surprisd when Farah leaned over and refilled her goblet when it was only half gone.

Should be surprised.

How old are Seith and Kelsia? For some reason, I imagine nearly all of the female characters to be young and most males to be old. I'm pretty sure Maeryn's supposed to be older than Seith, but I picture them as peers. The Seith/Kelsia romance probably shouldn't read as creepily as it does to me.


An entire week went by without her stopping in even once at Seith’s room to see him.

And he starved in sullen silence...


This just seemed a little awkward to me, especially the part that is bolded. I assume that the tents and booths are what is being lit with hundreds of lanterns and torches? I don't know if it is just the length of it, or what, and it does seem technically correct once I "work through it" and figure out exactly what you mean, but you may want to look into some rewording so that the second look isn't required. I may also just be "special" and others might not actually need a second look.

I noticed that, too. Good looking out.

[sangorel]

How old are Seith and Kelsia? For some reason, I imagine nearly all of the female characters to be young and most males to be old. I'm pretty sure Maeryn's supposed to be older than Seith, but I picture them as peers. The Seith/Kelsia romance probably shouldn't read as creepily as it does to me.
I noticed that, too. Good looking out.

Seith isn't very old, actually. I used to think Seith was in his late 20s / early 30s, but having re-read all of the chapters recently, I realised he was only 17. When he is introduced in chapter 6, through Kelsia's eyes we see:


He was young, a man grown but only just barely.

The part that nails his age down is in chapter 15:


Seith shrugged. “I was very young for an apprentice. The usual rule is that we do not begin to train youths before the age of six, but as I said, cases like mine are rare. By the time I turned ten, I could best any of my peers, including those awaiting their adept trials. Well, perhaps not Lorimer, but he is five years my senior.”

“Adept trials?” Kelsia prompted.

“All apprentices are required to undergo a test upon reaching eighteen years, to pass on to their next phase of training as a Horadrim. Those who fail are dismissed from the clan.”

Kelsia had guessed that Seith was young upon first meeting him, but had revised her thinking over time. Now she realized that her first impression had been the correct one. “When will you take the trial?”

“It is set to take place in a few months time. Tradition allows one month from the actual date of birth for additional study and preparation, but I shouldn’t need it. Garron has trained me for it for half my life. He often said that I would one day become an initiate, the first to appear among the Horadrim in over a generation.”


Looks like even Kelsia was fooled... perhaps because Seith is so mature all the time? ;)

As far as Kelsia's age is concerned, we know she's. From chapter 8:


“I knew it,” Shael groaned, clapping Kelsia on the shoulder. “Your birthday was three days ago, Kelsy, the day we got to Dalmers Ferry. It was your sixteenth birthday and we missed it completely.”

Finally, Maeryn tells us she is 48 years old in chapter 9:


"Old?" she finished for him. "Forty-eight years, to be exact, and well past my prime. Most have retired by my age, but I’ve never had interest in a family outside the enclave."

[tamrend]

Hi, Snow. Good to see you again and it's good to be back writing.


How old are Seith and Kelsia? For some reason, I imagine nearly all of the female characters to be young and most males to be old. I'm pretty sure Maeryn's supposed to be older than Seith, but I picture them as peers. The Seith/Kelsia romance probably shouldn't read as creepily as it does to me.

Sangorel has it right, and pointed out most of the relevant passages on their ages. One of the problems with posting as I write this is that my own recollection of things can get foggy with time. Rarely, it results in an outright contradiction of something I've written before, but more often, it's a matter of things like characterization being inadequately portrayed. For reference, here is a listing of major character's ages, from youngest to oldest:

Shael: turned 15 a few months ago
Kelsia: just turned 16, the age of majority for her
Seith: 17, will be 18 in a few months, which is considered the age of majority for Horadrim
Marius: late 30s/early 40s
Maeryn: 48
Pallas: over 100, probably close to 13th decade
Loric: Around 300 years old

I had intended for the relationship between Seith and Marius to be a bit strained, given the difference in their ages. Seith was never supposed to be leader of their group, but as a Horadrim, even if only an apprentice, he effectively outranks Marius. Marius has much more experience and, early on, argued with Seith a few times, such as when Seith tried to press on through a blizzard. His maturity is supposed to be in spite of his age, and Sangorel pointed out that passage in chapter 15 where I very deliberately tried to fix Seith's age in the readers' minds. It's something that I would need a rewrite to fix. Some of it might just be the fact that most people have read each chapter weeks or months (or years!) apart.

You are spot on with the Maeryn/Pallas relationship. They are both growing old physically, but mages live much longer lifespans. Maeryn tends to treat Pallas as a peer, where he is more aware of their difference in ages.

[Snowglare]

Ah, thanks. I was too lazy to look it up myself.

It's weird to think of Maeryn as middleaged. I guess I default to the in-game assassin whenever there's not a flashing neon sign saying "No, really, she's kinda old."

I vaguely recall being surprised at Seith's youth once before. Maybe that was on a different incarnation of the FFF, or a different reality altogether... Anyways, 16 and 18 is okie dokie, and those scenes read much better in retrospect. Too bad Seith's a monk.

Edit: Ooh, behind the scenes info!


Shael: turned 15 a few months ago
Kelsia: just turned 16, the age of majority for her
Seith: 17, will be 18 in a few months, which is considered the age of majority for Horadrim
Marius: late 30s/early 40s
Maeryn: 48
Pallas: over 100, probably close to 13th decade
Loric: Around 300 years old

I had intended for the relationship between Seith and Marius to be a bit strained, given the difference in their ages. Seith was never supposed to be leader of their group, but as a Horadrim, even if only an apprentice, he effectively outranks Marius. Marius has much more experience and, early on, frequently argued with Seith, such as when Seith tried to press on through a blizzard. His maturity is supposed to be in spite of his age, and Sangorel pointed out that passage in chapter 15 where I very deliberately tried to fix Seith's age in the readers' minds. It's something that I would need a rewrite to fix. Or it might be more the fact that most people have read each chapter weeks or months (or years!) apart.

You are spot on with the Maeryn/Pallas relationship. They are both growing old physically, but mages live much longer lifespans. Maeryn tends to treat Pallas as a peer, where he is more aware of their difference in ages.

Interesting. I was thinking Shael was older than Kelsia, but then, I imagined Kelsy to be about 13. I'm terrible with ages. Had no idea Pallas was so old, nor that mages live supernaturally long. Has that been mentioned before?

[tamrend]

Had no idea Pallas was so old, nor that mages live supernaturally long. Has that been mentioned before?

Let's see what I can find on this:


Pallas turned to face her. Standing more than a head taller than most men, he was a rather imposing figure. He looked old even for a mage, whose life spans ranged from two to three times longer than most mortals. He had changed in the twenty years since she had first met him, but even more, it seemed, in the last few weeks. Now, deep lines etched his face and fatigue lent a slump to his shoulders. For the first time, Maeryn realized how old he really was, how frail. Then he smiled, and suddenly he was his typical, stalwart self again. "Early as usual, I see. It's only half past eleven. Please come in and sit. We have much to discuss."

I thought there was more, but couldn't find any reference to the 130 figure--probably some mental note I made--so let's just leave it at "over 100". I'm going off an average life expectancy of around 40-45 here, with few old people living past their 50s. This would put Pallas' physical age not far from Maeryn's.

[Snowglare]

Cool. So Pallas is on the upper end for mages, eh? Could maybe live another average lifespan's worth, or closer to twenty years, assuming good health and a dearth of stabbings. Is Ardin much older, or is he getting a head start on aging?

[tamrend]

Ardin is older. He could croak at any time.

I've got the end of the current chapter coming up. Look for it in the next day or so.

[Shuffleblast]

I've got the end of the current chapter coming up. Look for it in the next day or so.
I've been looking for it for the past few days... :\

[tamrend]

I've been looking for it for the past few days...

Sorry, it ended up a bit longer than I thought it would. How about I just say "soon"?

[tamrend]

Chapter 18: Festival

Part 3

Kelsia took the steps two at a time and pounded against Seith's door much louder than she intended. "It's me, Kelsia," she called.

The door flew open and Seith stood there, watching her with a guarded expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"We have to leave," Kelsia gasped. "Soldiers are searching through all of the inns in the city tonight. Nielos came to warn us."

Seith swallowed and fear clouded his face, but only for a moment. He gripped her shoulders, hard, and looked into her eyes. "Go to your room. Pack your things and meet me back here. If it's not important, leave it behind." Before she could nod her acceptance, she found herself in a fierce embrace that was over just as quickly. "Now go. Hurry."

Kelsia ran to her room in a daze, in part out of disbelief that they were really leaving this place, the closest she had come to feeling at home since her journey began. The other part was the confused and conflicted feelings that she felt for Seith, brought to the fore once more after nearly a week of trying to bury them.

Kelsia changed into her traveling clothes, the same old tunic, boots, and breeches that she had worn the night she had left her village behind, now cleaned and mended, but still as familiar to her as a second skin. She brought out the thiefshroud from where she had hidden it under her mattress and clasped it at her throat, then tucked her coin purse out of sight beneath it. The fur coat and blankets she stuffed into a pack. She took one lingering, longing look at the dress Damali had given her, and decided to leave it where it hung.

As she started down the hall to Seith's room, something nagged at her thoughts. In a moment, she had it: it was too quiet. On any normal afternoon, the sounds of talking and laughter from the common room carried easily up to the top of the stairs. Now, she could hear but a single voice speaking softly and, she thought, authoritatively, and quieter still, the sound of footsteps trundling over the wooden floor.

Stepping carefully to avoid the boards that would creak, Kelsia returned to Seith's door. He was still in the process of packing his belongings, but abandoned that immediately when she told him what she had heard. He rushed to the window and peered out, then worked at the latch until the pane suddenly released and swung outward on creaking hinges.

"We go out this way," he said, motioning for her to hand him her pack and the staff, which he had left propped against his desk. He leaned down and let the packs go. There was a pair of faint thumps as they landed. He dropped the staff next, which clattered against the roof below. "The door!" he hissed suddenly.

Kelsia's heart leapt into her throat at the sound of booted feet coming up the stairs and realizing that she had left the door unbolted. Her hands shook as she slid the bar home into its socket. "Okay, it's locked," she said, turning back, but Seith had disappeared. No, she saw his hands, gripping white-knuckled to the windowsill. In the next moment, they released and the tinkle of something breaking came through the open window.

A pounding on the door nearly caused Kelsia to scream, but she clapped her hand to her mouth. With her heart pounding in her ears, she ran to the window. Seith was below, standing on the sloping roof of the shop that shared a wall with the inn. It looked like a long drop, but Seith waved her on frantically. Another pounding of a mailed fist against the door, this time followed by a shout, was enough to get her moving. She put her feet out of the window, turned and gripped the sill as Seith must have done, lowered herself down, then dropped for a gut-wrenching instant before her feet struck the tiles of the roof. Pain lanced through one of her ankles as it twisted on landing. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out and managed to keep the sound to a whimper as she fell onto her back, pieces of shattered roof tile sliding away below her.

Seith appeared over her, both packs slung over his back and the staff in one hand. "We have to move," he said. "Do you think you can stand?"

Kelsia took his hand tested her weight against the foot and found that the throbbing pain increased to a keen but bearable sting. "Let me have the staff," she said, and he handed it over at once. Using it like a cane, she could move at a lope along the roof. Traveling along the back slope, they were concealed from anyone who might look up from the street out front, but easily visible to anyone who stood in the alley that ran behind the buildings. And of course, they would be seen at once from the window of the room they had just left.

Seith stopped suddenly, peering over the edge of the roof. It was only a single story drop, but he had to be worried about what the fall might do to aggravate her injury. "This will have to do," he said. "There is a pile of refuse below us. I'll try to catch you as you fall, but you must not land on that ankle."

He dropped to the ground, staggering a bit under the weight of the packs, but unharmed. Those, he put down and then lifted his arms to catch her.

"There, I see them!" came a shout from Kelsia's right. She looked and saw, leaning out through the window of Seith's room, a helmet and hauberk stained crimson by the sun sinking into the west.

Kelsia looked down at Seith, held her breath, and hopped off the roof with her good foot. Seith's hands caught at her waist but couldn't slow her fall completely, and they tumbled into the midden heap, which sent up a swarm of flies and a choking stench. Kelsia dragged herself off of him and up to her feet, relieved that neither of them appeared to be hurt.

"Come on," Seith urged, pulling at Kelsia's arm.

She stole a look back toward the inn. Copper was there, in the stable on the other side. Silently, she prayed that Damali and her family would take good care of him, or at least find him a good home.

Ever step sent another stab of pain up Kelsia's leg, but she hobbled along as fast as she could. She could see up ahead where the alley intersected with another, but they were closing the distance far too slowly. Indeed, they had gone only a few dozen steps when shouts of pursuit rose up behind them. A dozen or more Ronish soldiers dashed into the alley, coming towards them.

Seith snatched his wand from his belt, turned and muttered a string of words, Ral spoken plainly among them. With a roar, flames licked up out of the ground, nearly filling the alley from one side to the other. The heat struck the side of Kelsia's face and sent pinpricks down her arm and her neck where her hair was singed. The soldiers, much closer to the flames, leapt back with cries of alarm.

"The spell will not last," Seith said hoarsely. "Keep moving."

Seith and Kelsia ducked into the intersecting alley, barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. They followed the alley uphill to the next street over. Seith turned right on the sparsely trafficked street, towards the east, but then they stopped dead and hurried to backtrack. A squad of Ganting soldiers marched briskly up the street toward them from that direction, but fortunately they were not yet close enough to recognize faces. They had gone barely a block when Kelsia heard shouting and realized that the soldiers following them from the inn must have met the other group coming up the street.

They turned into another alley, but instead of opening out into a street, this one led into a narrow dirt lane running to left and right. Seith chose left and Kelsia hobbled after him. The road soon cut sharply right and led into a pile of bricks. A few bricks still clung to the walls on either side, marking where a wall used to be. Seith stopped, casting a furtive glance behind them.

"What is this?" Kelsia whispered.

"We must be at the edge of the burrows," Seith said quietly. "A terrible plague broke out in this section of the city almost two centuries ago, and most people believe it to be cursed. The soldiers might even be reluctant to look for us here. Come on." He helped her climb over the bricks an she winced as they quickened their pace once more.

Kelsia looked upward as they took one branch of two angling streets. The tiles were collapsed along most of the eaves, and moss grew in great swathes along the sides of the building. Seith stooped to peer into a hole in one of the walls, then motioned her to follow as he dropped to his knees and crawled inside. The clay floor inside was damp and the room stank of mold. A few small, high windows let in a dim light. There was little left of the plaster on the walls and ceiling, letting the rotting supports show through. A few bits of soft, wet debris might have been the remains of furniture.

Seith sighed at the dismal surroundings and sat down on a spot of dry floor. Kelsia hobbled over to him and he jumped up again to help her lower herself down and then knelt to look at her ankle. She gasped and bit off a cry as he pressed against the sides of her boot. "It's swollen," he said. "Probably a sprain. I think we better leave it alone for now. Just try to keep your weight off of it."

Seith settled back to the ground and they sat together in silence for a time. Kelsia kept thinking about what he had said about this place and finally decided to broach the subject again. "The people who lived here, they all died from the plague?" she asked.

"Some," Seith answered. "The king was so desperate to stop its spread, he ordered every exit sealed off. Anyone attempting to leave was killed. A few weeks passed, and people stopped trying to climb over the walls to get out. Still, the king waited for the plague to run its course. When a wall was finally torn down and men ventured inside, months had gone by, and everyone had died. The plague killed many of them, but the rest starved to death. Some stayed alive by eating from the dead, but they, too, died off, one by one." Kelsia swallowed back the urge to be sick so that she could hear the rest of the story. "Some years after the first wall came down, a few people began to come back in, to knock down the rest of the walls, but only because no one else wanted them. Thieves, lepers, and the only very poorest and most desperate live here. Even so, there is a lot of space in which to hide."

Almost as soon as his voice died away, Kelsia heard a new sound, footsteps in the street outside. Seith put a finger to his lips and drew his wand from his belt. They waited in anxious silence until the booted feet had passed, continuing unhurriedly down the street.

"What do we do next?" Kelsia whispered.

Seith didn't answer at first, and she thought that he must still be working at the problem. "We will wait until night," he said at last. "The longer we stay here, the more likely they will come in here to find us, so we need to get out while we still can. From there, we'll try to find a way out of the city."

Kelsia didn't much like the thought of going out into the wilderness again, but she nodded her agreement all the same. "Seith, there's something that's been bothering me. When we were out in the wild, we had demons chasing after us. Here, in the city, it's soldiers. What is the connection between them?"

He looked down and shook his head. "I wish I knew. That wizard who attacked us, perhaps, though I find it hard to believe that he would have anything to do with these Ganting men when he seems to be the one leading the demons that they came here to fight."

They waited until well after dark to venture out of their hiding place. Kelsia's ankle had grown stiff and any weight on it was an agony, so Seith put one arm behind her back to support her. There were a few people about in the streets now, but they mostly kept to themselves or watched from a distance. One blind old woman shook a cup at them as they passed, but Seith hurried quickly past as if she were brandishing a knife.

The echoing sound of horses clopping over cobbles was the first indication that they were getting close to the edge of the burrows. They followed it through the maze of angled streets and dead ends, finally catching sight of the ragged edge of a demolished brick wall and a wide avenue beyond. Seith approached the opening warily, motioning for Kelsia to get behind him. Almost the instant he stepped out, someone shouted, "He's there! I see him!"

Seith stepped back quickly, far too late. Kelsia knew immediately what had happened. The soldiers must have posted sentries to watch every exit from the burrows. Seith turned to her, the look of abject fear on his face hardening as she watched. "Go back, find a hole to hide in," he hissed.

Before she could protest, he had his wand drawn and was running into the street. He disappeared from sight, but the next moment a flare of light sizzled past going the opposite direction and exploded with a whump, followed by cries of pain and alarm. A trio of answering fireballs sped past, detonating somewhere down the street. At least a dozen soldiers ran past, trailed by three men dressed in polished armor and bright red cloaks.

Kelsia's limbs felt leaden as she backed away from the scene. He left me, was the thought that kept running through her head. She turned a corner and forced herself to move faster, ignoring the roiling in her stomach. The first thing she had to do was find a place to hide. "He'll get away," she whispered. "He'll come and find me." But the words were no less convincing when she said them aloud.

[Snowglare]

Kelsia ran to her room in a daze, in part out of disbelief that they were really leaving this place, the closest she had come to feeling at home since her journey began. The other part was the confused and conflicted feelings that she felt for Seith, brought to the fore once more after nearly a week of trying to bury them.

*squee*


She took one lingering, longing look at the dress Damali had given her, and decided to leave it where it hung.

Aww. Running from the law is always so tragic.


Kelsia took his hand tested her weight against the foot and found that the throbbing pain increased to a keen but bearable sting.

Missing an and?


She stole a look back toward the inn. Copper was there, in the stable on the other side. Silently, she prayed that Damali and her family would take good care of him, or at least find him a good home.

Not the horse!


Ever step sent another stab of pain up Kelsia's leg, but she hobbled along as fast as she could.

Should be every.


He helped her climb over the bricks an she winced as they quickened their pace once more.

Should be and.

Another great chapter. I'm torn between getting back to Maeryn and finding out what happens now that Kelsia and Seith have split up, so I assume chapter 19 will take us back to Shael.

[tamrend]

Chapter 19: Pursuit

Part 1

Shael stepped back and adjusted her grip on the waster, bringing it up so the tip was at eye level and straight out in front of her. She stood with her feet planted at angles, one in front of the other. Sergeant Amaury, her opponent, held his practice sword lower to the ground and angled across his body, his weight seated on the balls of his feet. mongoose form she thought to herself. He would wait for her attack, attempt to draw her off balance and then strike. She would have to strike quickly and without warning, so that he would have no chance for a counterstrike. A quick thrust to the…

Her thought never completed as the man threw himself forward, sweeping his sword up with a cry. The blades met with a crack and a bounce. Shael scrambled back a step to regain her footing and brought her sword down to deflect the thrust coming for her heart. The satisfying crack of her parry was almost indistinguishable from the force of the blow striking her at the base of the ribs. The breath went out of her in a rush and when she tried to take a breath, nothing happened. Panic began rising in her as the memory of her punctured lung and the pain and misery she had endured at the hands of her demon captors rushed back. She remembered in perfect detail the hunger in their eyes as they carried her away to be tortured and killed.

"Easy there, miss," Sergeant Amaury said, lowering his sword. "You just had the wind knocked out of you. Wait a moment and it will pass."

It did pass in another moment, and Shael gulped air and tried hard to banish the memories. "Sorry," she gasped. "Never…had that…happen."

"Aw, you'll be alright," Amaury said. "Might have a bruise for it. Now tell me what you learned."

Shael thought over what had happened. "You chose a defensive form. I assumed that you would wait for my attack, but you surprised me by going on the offensive."

"How would I know to do that?"

Shael suppressed a sigh of exasperation. She should be used to Amaury's style of teaching by now, of questioning rather than explaining. They had been at it every morning for nearly a fortnight. The odd thing was that Shael had never asked to be trained in sword fighting. During the first day's march from Loric's camp, some of the Westmarch soldiers had admired her bow, and she had indulged them with a show of its capabilities when they stopped for the night. Alain had asked her why she didn't carry any weapons for close combat, and she had replied truthfully that she didn't know how to use any. Amaury had awoken her early the next morning and handed her the beaten-up practice sword that mimicked, imperfectly, the size and balance of a longsword.

"You must have seen me hesitate," Shael said, grimacing at the admission.

"Exactly right. In battle, there are no rules, no safe assumptions. This is doubly true when fighting demons. Now, tell me how you intend to correct your mistake."

"Shael!" Alain's shout cut through the noise of the camp, disrupting her attempt to frame a reply.

"Save it for next time, I suppose," Amaury shrugged. "Go on, see what the captain wants."

Shael headed in the direction that Alain's voice had come from, weaving between tents and knots of soldiers packing up their gear for the day's march. She had been dismayed at first by the slow pace that they made, covering about half the distance that she and Loric had made in a day, but after watching all of the preparation and the heavy loads each soldier carried, she now appreciated how hard each man had pushed himself in this march. Knowing that, though, did nothing to forestall her anxiety.

"There you are," Alain said, spotting her as he came from the other direction. "Is your horse ready to ride?"

"Yes, but why? What's going on?"

"A scout spotted the remains of your village a few leagues up ahead. We are a bit closer to it than we thought. We need you to find that cave and assess the condition of your people. Come meet me at the eastern edge of the camp."

Shael hurried to do as he asked, fighting down the dread at what she might find after three weeks away. Alain and twenty of his men on horseback greeted her as she approached. They set off at once, wending their way eastward on a narrow track that passed over hills and through gullies. She directed them northward along a gulch and soon spied the crack in the rocks that marked the cave entrance.

"You're sure this is the place?" Alain asked, a sudden edge creeping into his voice. Shael understood his concern. No one had come out to meet them as they approached. Surely they would have heard the racket that the horses' hooves were making on the rocky, sun-baked soil.

Shael pointed. "You can see blood over there where the demons attacked and tried to take the horses, the day Loric and I arrived here. This is definitely the place."

She slipped down from the saddle, but Alain moved faster and motioned her back behind him as he approached the entrance, sword drawn. He stopped a few feet from the edge of the hole and knelt to look at something on the ground. "This doesn't look like demon blood," he said grimly.

Shael came up next to him to have a look for herself. A splash of black about the size of her palm stained the rock at the foot of the cave entrance. Black ants flitted over and around it busily. Heart pounding, Shael rushed through the narrow opening and around a bend to the main cavern, ignoring the protests from Alain and the others. For several moments, she could see nothing while her eyes adjusted to the light filtering in from behind her, but a choking mix of rotting fish and mold hit her nose immediately. Slowly, shapes took form out of the darkness: a pallet here, an overturned kettle there.

Shael whirled around at the snapping sounds of something breaking. Alain peered down at the floor and the remains of a ceramic jar, its contents drying on the cavern floor. Other soldiers filed in behind, stepping carefully in the dark. "There are weeks of stores here," Alain said slowly. He kicked at the sodden pile next to his feet. "Something drastic must have happened for your people to leave all of this behind."

"They aren't dead," Shael said, the tightness in her throat strangling the words to a whisper. "They can't be."

Alain put a hand on her shoulder and crouched so that his face was even with hers. He spoke in a low voice. "We don't yet know what happened here, Shael. Look around. There are no bodies here. If it were goatmen, as you say, they would have no reason to haul the dead from this cave. I promise you that we won't leave this place until we know for certain what became of your people."

It was Alain's sincerity that brought her out of the wave of despair and guilt that threatened to swallow her. He truly believed that there was a chance her family and the other people of the village were still alive. Shael blinked away tears and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Let's find them, then."

They emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. Alain drew his sword at once, prompting Shael to quickly bend and string her bow.

"There, captain," one of the soldiers said, pointing south. At first, she didn't recognize the pair that approached them. Tarin, her eldest brother, dirty and bedraggled, walked with a slump to his shoulders that should have belonged to a man twice his age. The other, Renn, was a man of seventeen and Shael's favorite brother. His boyish good looks had always been admired by the girls in the village, and more than a few of the older females as well, but now his face was hardened by a scowl, and his eyes were cast lifelessly downward as he walked. The horse that he led looked like Edwin's.

"Sister!" Tarin shouted, spotting her amidst the others. "Shael, it is you!"

"Stand at ease," Alain commanded, putting his own weapon away.

Renn looked up and his face transformed at once upon seeing her. He picked up speed at once and nearly bowled her over in his haste to scoop her up into his arms. "You're alive," he repeated, over and over, as though trying to convince himself, still clutching her tightly against him until her ribs began to hurt where Amaury had struck her that morning.

"Renn," Tarin said, then with more force, "Renn, let her go. You're hurting her."

At these words, her brother released her at once and the pain eased. Renn wiped the back of his sleeve over his eyes to dry them and stammered an apology.

"It's not your fault," Shael assured him. Before she could say more, Tarin had her in a gentler embrace.

Shael gave them and Alain brief introductions before asking the question that was burning on her tongue. "What happened?"

"We were out hunting," Tarin answered. "After that night when you arrived and fought them off, the demons stayed away. We kept a watch on Edwin's horse, staked outside the entrance, but they didn't try to take it again. We thought at first that they might even have left for good, but then father spotted a pair of them skulking around to the north, watching the path up out of the ravine. We began to go out again, in threes and fours, to bring back food. Two days ago, Renn, Edwin and I went out to hunt, and when we came back, the demons were there." He swallowed and his expression turned dark. "They killed Master Gale, and it looked like the others gave up without a fight. There were hundreds of them, Shael. There was nothing we could do. They took my Maida and Ellis and everyone else."

"Where did they go?" Shael demanded, letting the breath she had been holding go in a rush.

"The demons tied them together with ropes and took them south along the gulch, then turned to the southwest into the plains. We trailed them for a few leagues, but then Edwin wanted to go on alone. He told us to come back and wait nearby for the help you would bring."

"I'm glad that you did," Shael said.

Alain took the opportunity to ask a question. "What did they do with Master Gale's body?"

Renn shook his head. "They took the body with them. Why would they do that?"

Alain frowned in thought but didn't answer.

They returned to camp, and riders began scouting the hills and woods surrounding the village. It seemed that the demons had vanished from the area. One scout returned after only a few hours with news of a patch of trampled and despoiled ground to the northwest of the cave that probably served as a camp for the goatmen. A trail of crushed vegetation led back towards the cave, but was lost in rockier ground. Further south, the trail was easy to find on the open plain. The demons had traveled overland in a straight line with little regard to obstacles in their path.

Shael, her brothers, and Alain and his lietenants held counsel over the midday meal shortly after the news arrived.

"They have two days on us," Alain told them. "As far as we know, they are heading roughly southwest over the plains."

One of the lieutenants, a balding, hook-nosed man named Gilles, cleared his throat to speak. "Do we know where the demons are taking them?"

Alain shook his head. "It's all wilderness that way for many leagues. They would reach the southern swamps long before hitting the ocean. There may be some small settlements that way, but nothing of consequence. Hauling prisoners along will slow them down. We'll break camp in the morning and pursue them. We should have little trouble catching them if we keep to a brisk march."

"I don't think so," Shael said, interrupting the murmurs of agreement. She felt awkward at the sharp looks suddenly directed at her, but pushed on. "At least, the four that captured me didn't seem to much care whether they ran me to death or not. They won't stop to give the tired or the weak a chance to rest. Every hour we delay puts them further ahead of us. We should break camp now and not stop until it's too dark to see our way."

Alain's brows lifted in surprise. She had told none of them the story of her capture and near-death at the hands of the slayers. There were too many questions that might lead back to Kelsia and the staff, and she thought it best to keep that part of their journey a secret. She could see the questions forming in his mind, but she dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "There is no time to lose, captain. How much of their gear and supplies can your men leave behind?"

"The cooks, the wagons and packhorses," he said. "Our heavy weapons as well. We could halve their load of stores and have food enough for several days."

"Let's do it then," Shael said. She lifted her bowl to her lips and tipped it back to drain the rest of the soup she had been eating. When she brought it down again, she saw that every eye was on her.

Alain had that same odd, appraising look he had given her when they first met. "Haste might be called for in this," he said at last and turned to address his officers. "Hellspawn prefer to move about at night. Even if they show their captives no mercy, they will have to stop to eat and rest. If we are to catch them, we will need to march all day and part of the night. I want each of you to weed out those under your command that cannot make such a march. I want to leave a few dozen soldiers behind to protect and fortify the camp. That will leave us with a bit over two hundred men."

Shael hurried to pack her tent and her store of salted meat, bread and cheese in her saddlebags. She didn't know how long her brothers had been standing there when Tarin gave a low cough. "We're going to need provisions, too," he said.

Part of her wanted to tell them no, that she would feel better knowing that they were here, safe in the camp. But she also knew that her brother's wife and newborn daughter were out there, along with the rest of the family that they shared. She pointed. "Go see sergeant Roland, the tall fellow over there by the cookfires. Tell him that you will need six days of dry rations for each of you. He'll get you what you need."

The preparations for the journey proceeded with what seemed to Shael to be agonizing slowness. It was well into afternoon when the two hundred Alain had called for stood assembled for inspection. If Alain noticed Tarin and Renn standing ready next to Shael, he chose not to comment. When all was ready, they set off at a brisk pace. Before nightfall, they intercepted the broad trail that the demons had left.

[Snowglare]

Yay, Shael! ...I'm so easily pleased. This chapter starts out so strong, I can't muster any disappointment about the character carousel. If you introduce an arc that doesn't engage me, it'll be the first time.

Thank goodness these chapters are long. I hope they catch up to the demons in Part 2.


Sergeant Amaury, her opponent, held his practice sword lower to the ground and angled across his body, his weight seated on the balls of his feet. mongoose form she thought to herself.

Mongoose should be capitalized.


Shael, her brothers, and Alain and his lietenants held counsel over the midday meal shortly after the news arrived.

Should be lieutenants.


"There is no time to lose, captain. How much of their gear and supplies can your men leave behind?"

I think captain should be capitalized here since it's used as a proper noun.

[tamrend]

Thanks, Snow.

It took some time for me to figure out where I needed to go with this chapter, and then once I had it, I rushed it onto the page and out the door pretty quick. I'll see if it all works together well once I'm done with the second part.

Speaking of the second part, I'm starting to move forward on that, so hopefully that will be up soon.

[Kijya]

I have little more to contribute with then to thank you for another awesome chapter. :thumbsup:



Speaking of the second part, I'm starting to move forward on that, so hopefully that will be up soon.
:alright:

[tamrend]

I just wanted to pop in and assure my readers that, yes, I am still working. I have new characters and plot complications that need to be introduced and the details are tripping me up. Once I get them figured out, I'll be able to finish it off and post. Bear with me a bit longer. I don't want to ruin this plot thread with shoddy construction.

[Snowglare]

Thanks for the update. I eagerly await the next installment.

[tamrend]

Chapter 19: Pursuit

Part 2

The swath of trampled earth was some ten or more paces across and cut across the gently rolling plains in an unerringly straight line. Alain's soldiers marched along this path at what was surely a brutal pace for them, even lightened, as they were, of much of their previous burdens. Even so, Shael's apprehension increased by the hour. Adding to her worries was the mystery of why her people had been taken. Not killed as she had feared, but captured and made to march southwest into an area that to anyone's knowledge was unbroken wilderness all the way to the ocean.

The nearly featureless terrain soon swallowed them up in its long, flat expanses of grass. Only the movement of the sun in the sky and the occasional stops for food, rest, and grazing marked the passage of time. Dusk came and went, and still they pressed on, carefully pacing both men and horses to get the greatest distance possible from each of them. It was long into the night when the column of men and horses came to a halt. Shael followed the example set by most of the soldiers and chose not to pitch a tent. Exhausted and sore, she unsaddled and tethered her horse, then unrolled her bedding and slept under the open sky.

Shael woke with the dawn and the great bellow of a horn. After a meager breakfast of hard bread and cheese, they were off again. When they stopped at midday, Shael took a moment to check on her brothers. They were weary and footsore, taking turns at riding the horse to save their strength, but determined to press on. Again, a halt to the march was called late into the night. The grueling march was beginning to have an effect on both the morale and the health of the soldiers. A few had worn their feet bloody with blisters.

The third day brought the first signs that they might be gaining ground. A few patches of scorched ground and ashes marked where their quarry had stopped long enough to build fires, probably to cook some small game they had caught. Digging threw them revealed that some coals were still hot, and probably had been burning no more than a day ago. Bolstered by this news, they renewed their brisk pace for the remainder of the day and well into the night, certain that the hellspawn would appear on the horizon at any moment, but they finally came to a halt late that night. It took every bit of resolve that Shael had to tend to her horse and lay out her bedding before falling to the ground to sleep.

The fourth day brought no further sign of the demons, making many wonder if they were really gaining any ground at all. Injury and fatigue were becoming ever greater problems, and that night they made camp shortly after dusk. Alain and his lieutenants met in counsels many times that night and the next day, and Shael began to worry that she was seeing the beginnings of dissension among his officers. They were nearing the end of their food supply, and while the men could forage for food to keep them from starvation, it would be impossible to maintain the chase.

The sign they had been waiting for finally came with the dawn on the sixth day: a column of gray smoke on the horizon, turning the sunrise a dusky orange. At first a thin and indistinct haze, as they drew closer, it became apparent that the source of the smoke was several large fires spaced apart. The land, too, was changing. Where the ground had been dry and rocky, now, small pools and ponds dotted the earth, and lush greenery sprouted from rich, black soil. Strange, drooping grew right out of the water in the larger pools. The mud quickly became a problem. Though the trail they followed did twist and turn to stay on solid ground, sometimes they would come upon an unexpected bog. Those on foot would sink up past their ankles, and the horses would balk, snorting and squealing at the unstable footing.

At midday, the column was skirting the edges of a large, fetid pool where mosquitoes swarmed so thick that Shael had given up swatting them off and tried to ignore them and the itching bumps they left. When the line of men and horses came to a stop, she pulled her gelding up short, guessing that the lead soldiers of the column had stepped into a bog and that they would start up again once a way around it was discovered. After a few moments though, she began to hear murmurs from those up ahead. "What's happening?" she asked of the rider just ahead of her.

"Not sure," the man said. "Sounds like they found something on the ground."

Shael broke out of the line of horses and spurred her mount toward the head of the column. The men at the head of the column stood in place, maintaining a semblance of order even as those just behind made every attempt to peer around to see what was happening. Several paces up ahead, Alain and a trio of his officers crouched in a semicircle partially hidden by talls grass. Shael dropped to the ground and approached on foot. He looked over his shoulder before she had come within a dozen yards and nodded, as if giving his permission to come closer.

What she saw made her breath hitch. The grass in a wide swath was crushed down and soaked with blood, as if a large animal had lain there dying. Skinny hoof prints, like a goat's, were imprinted deeply in the sodden ground all around the site. Seeing sun glint off something to the right, she knelt and fished through the reeds and mud, coming up with a crossbow. Alain motioned her over and took the weapon from her.

"It looks like one of ours," he said. He addressed the officer to his right, a stocky man with a thick gray moustache. "Syd, have any of our scouts come up missing?"

"Only one," the man responded, "Burke. He didn't check in at midday."

There were a few beats of uncomfortable silence while each of them absorbed the implications of that. "I think we can assume that the demons know we're coming now," Alain said grimly. "I think they butchered his horse right here, carried it off for the meat. They probably got Burke too. I want to know immediately if any more of our scouts and patrols come up missing."

Alain mounted his horse called out orders to the remaining, anxiously waiting soldiers to resume their march. Shael didn't miss the furtive glances and whispers as the column moved around the patch of blood-soaked ground.

Shael brought her horse up next to Alain, who sat gazing off into the mist-shrouded swamp into which they were heading. "I don't know what we're heading into, Shael," he said quietly. "Something about this place doesn't feel right. It's like…." He stopped abruptly, brow furrowing in concentration. After a moment, he blinked and inhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath.

"Is something wrong?" Shael asked.

Alain gave a small shake of his head. "Nothing there," he said softly, as if talking to himself. Suddenly he looked over at her, as if surprised to see her there. "Stay alert," he said, and spurred his horse into a trot.

As they moved deeper into the swamp, the mist that clung low to the ground grew thicker and deeper. Soon, it appeared that all of them waded through a swirling, roiling sea of white. Shael, concerned about Alain's strange behavior, kept a close eye on him. Syd, the officer in command of the scouts, approached Alain and Shael drove her horse surreptitiously forward to within earshot.

"…should have been back by now," Syd was saying. "And he was watching our left flank. I don't like this at all, Captain." He gestured with an arm. "And if this gets any thicker, we won't be able to see ten paces in front of us."

Shael looked around and could see that it was so. The ground-clinging mist now came up nearly to the shoulders of those men who were on foot. She looked out into the swamp to the left where some trick of the air currents had momentarily thinned the fog. A jolt of alarm gripped her middle as she saw a dark and vaguely human figure standing there. Keeping her eyes fixed on the spot, she wheeled her horse and spurred it toward where she thought she had seen the thing move quickly, as if ducking suddenly behind a tree. She heard shouts from behind her, calling her to stop, but she ignored them and pressed ahead. Suddenly, the ground seemed to drop away. For just a moment, she felt herself falling. Then, with a lurch, the fall stopped, but she found her seat twisting away beneath her as her horse rolled. She didn't even try to hold on, knowing that it was futile, and let herself tumble from the saddle. She fell face first into reeds that stung as they struck her skin and then, the next moment, into tepid, scum-filled water.

Rising to her knees, Shael could hear her horse struggling and thrashing about as he righted and pulled himself out of the water. Lucky he didn't break a leg, she admonished herself, suddenly feeling very foolish for tearing off into unknown terrain after something that she had probably imagined. The mud sucked at her arms and legs as she scrambled to her feet, but in a moment, she had grasped hold of a massive root and pulled herself up onto the firmer ground where her horse had gone.

She very nearly collided with the figure that crouched down between two of the roots, face and body pressed up close to the tree as if trying to merge with it. If Shael had been one step further back, the fog would have concealed it entirely. Freezing in place, she studied the stranger a moment. Dressed in a filthy, ragged cloak, by its slight, short build couldn't have been more than a child. "Hello?" Shael ventured softly.

The hood turned suddenly in her direction, and the thin, ghostly pale face of a girl peered out with wide blue eyes. Shael held out her hand, and the girl shook her head silently, inching backward along the trunk of the tree. "Listen," Shael said. "I'm not going to hurt you." She had a sudden thought. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"

The girl stared at her without speaking for several heartbeats, but then flinched at the sound of boots coming closer at a run. "Wait!" Shael called, putting her hands up to forestall the soldiers who had rushed to her rescue. The girl moved much faster than she could have anticipated, throwing her shoulder into Shael to knock her down. By the time Shael regained her feet, the girl had disappeared into the murk.

The two men who had come after her approached with swords drawn, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. "I'm alright," Shael assured them. "Did either of you see where that girl went?"

"What girl?" said one, while shook his head and spit on the ground.

A distant splash forestalled any further thought as the three of them turned back toward the pool into which Shael had fallen. The slowly shifting shroud of white confronted them.

"Shael?" A voice called out. "Is that you?"

"Edwin!" Shael answered, recognizing the voice at once. "Over here!"

The slosh of mud and water, plus a muttered curse or two, marked his progress across the pond. When he appeared and scrambled up the bank, though, his grin was infectious. He took the hand she proffered and clasped it firmly. Had they not both been covered in mud, he probably would have embraced her. What he did do was talk so quickly that it was hard for her to keep up. "Shael, I can't believe it! I would never have guessed you would make it all of this way. You very nearly scared me out of my skin when I heard you come crashing into that pool. I thought that the demons had managed to track me down. And you've brought help, too? A pleasure, good sirs." He clapped one of them on the shoulder. "I trust that there are more of you?"

"See for yourself," Shael said, gesturing towards the faces that had appeared out of the gloom, more men come to find her.

"Shael, you're a marvel!" Edwin laughed. "Where did you find all of these soliders?"

"These men are under my command," Alain answered him, appearing on his horse. "I am Alain, captain of this company. You must be Edwin, the young man who chased off after the demon horde. I'm glad to see that you've kept yourself safe. Do you know the fate of your people from the village?"

Edwin's smile faded. "They are alive, for the moment, sir. But tell me, how many are you?"

"A bit over two hundred, not counting Shael and her brothers."

"I see," Edwin said, appearing pensive, the merriment suddenly faded from him.

"What's wrong?" Shael asked.

"Sir," Edwin began, looking up at Alain, "the demons hold our people captive not far from here. Much farther in and you would have stumbled right into their sentries. But they vastly outnumber you. Three, maybe four of them for every one of your men."

(Part 3 will be here soon.)

[Holyknight3000]

Hey Tam, check your e-mail and PM's please. Leord and myself have been trying to get in contact with you for about a month now. Just wanted to let you know!

HK

[DoomBoy]

I just finished reading your novel up to the last chapter and enjoyed it immensely! :thumbup:

Thanks for sharing your story and I can't wait until your next installment.

[Holyknight3000]

Tam, your PM's are blocking me out i cant send you a message so ill reply here:

Sure, anything that could help us build the wiki pages for your story and everything would be awesome. Thanks for finally getting back to me. Leord and i were gettin worried lol.

HK

[Leord]

I just realized the PM I thought I sent you a few weeks ago never actually arrived for some reason, I just realized it.

Regardless, we could use some help to flesh out Fan_fiction:The_Key. It needs a little bit better introduction. Feel free to just add a section like "Forwwords by the author", and write a bit about it.

Me an HK will continue to add the chapters, and they will even get front page spotlight as well.

Also: Snowglare: I think HK has sent you a PM, if not, send him one and ask him what he wants ;)

[Snowglare]

Sorry for the delay in reading and replying to this.


Digging threw them revealed that some coals were still hot, and probably had been burning no more than a day ago.

Should be through.


Strange, drooping grew right out of the water in the larger pools.

Drooping grass?


Several paces up ahead, Alain and a trio of his officers crouched in a semicircle partially hidden by talls grass.

Did you mean tall grass?


Skinny hoof prints, like a goat's, were imprinted deeply in the sodden ground all around the site.

I think this should be hoofprints, like footprints.


Alain mounted his horse called out orders to the remaining, anxiously waiting soldiers to resume their march.

I think there should be an and between "horse" and "called."


Shael brought her horse up next to Alain, who sat gazing off into the mist-shrouded swamp into which they were heading.

This might benefit from a rewrite; it's a bit clunky with all the intoing.


Keeping her eyes fixed on the spot, she wheeled her horse and spurred it toward where she thought she had seen the thing move quickly, as if ducking suddenly behind a tree. She heard shouts from behind her, calling her to stop, but she ignored them and pressed ahead. Suddenly, the ground seemed to drop away. For just a moment, she felt herself falling. Then, with a lurch, the fall stopped, but she found her seat twisting away beneath her as her horse rolled. She didn't even try to hold on, knowing that it was futile, and let herself tumble from the saddle. She fell face first into reeds that stung as they struck her skin and then, the next moment, into tepid, scum-filled water.

Exciting! The description was just confusing enough to limit me to Shael's POV without leaving me puzzled as to what was happening.


Freezing in place, she studied the stranger a moment. Dressed in a filthy, ragged cloak, by its slight, short build couldn't have been more than a child.

I kinda like it better this way, but I think there should be an it between "build" and "couldn't," possibly with a comma. It's clear either way but seems slightly off.


"What girl?" said one, while shook his head and spit on the ground.

Should be while he shook his head and spat on the ground.


"Shael, you're a marvel!" Edwin laughed. "Where did you find all of these soliders?"

Should be soldiers.


You must be Edwin, the young man who chased off after the demon horde.

It's dialogue, so it doesn't need to be grammatically correct, but "chased off after" sounds awkward.


"Sir," Edwin began, looking up at Alain, "the demons hold our people captive not far from here. Much farther in and you would have stumbled right into their sentries. But they vastly outnumber you. Three, maybe four of them for every one of your men."

Eep! Not one of my favorite chapters, but it moves the plot along nicely, and it seems there's something more interesting on the horizon. Perhaps not, though, since tired, hungry soldiers aren't about to rush into a battle where they're severe underdogs. I hope Shael finds some way to save her town, if it takes another chapter to enact.

[solarnoise]

Another old favorite story of mine =)

I've updated my old Word file with the chapters that have been added since I last read The Key... I only had up to chapter 15... I have lots of new material to read, yaaay! =D

[tamrend]

Note: I'm not done yet. Normally I don't post this many parts to a chapter, but I've been busy and didn't get as far along as I'd hoped, so I wanted to give people something to read in the meantime. There will be a part 4. I'm hoping to get a few hours tomorrow night and maybe write it all at once, but if not, expect closer to a week or so.

Chapter 19: Pursuit

Part 3

Alain slowly nodded his acceptance of Edwin's words. "That is grave news," he said. "How much farther on to the hellspawn camp?"

"Half a league, more or less," Edwin said with a shrug.

"We'll stop here, then, and plan our next move. I want to speak with both of you. Meet me back with the others."

Shael took a moment to retrieve her horse and wash a bit of the mud from her face at the water's edge. Edwin spoke in a hushed tone, recounting his side of the story to her. "Tell me," Shael pleaded, gripping his arm. "My brothers, my parents, have you seen them? Are they alright?"

"I'm sorry, Shael. I can't be sure, but I think I saw your mother a few days ago, back on the plains. I was afraid if I got too close, I might be seen."

The news did little to ease the knot of worry clenching her insides, but Shael thanked him all the same. "Let's find Alain," she said, "and hope that he can find us a way through this mess."

Back where she had left the others, the orderly column had disappeared, and in its place was a whirlwind of feverish activity. Some of the men were busily clearing land and setting tents for camp, but others were digging trenches in the soft soil or chopping branches from the nearby trees. Shael caught sight of Tarin chipping away at the end of one of these, shaping it to a point. She thought to wave but decided to leave him to his work.

Alain and his lieutenants stood together in the middle of camp leaning close so that their voices would not carry to those working all around. "There you are!" Alain exclaimed, waving them over. "I was about to come looking for you. Edwin here says that there are at least six hundred, and maybe as many as eight hundred hellspawn waiting for us."

"Are you certain?" the scout commander, Syd, asked. "The camp they used outside your village wasn't nearly large enough for so many."

Edwin inclined his head to the side, thinking. "I can't be certain about the number. It was much more than I could count. Most of them were already here. As you said, the goatmen I followed here was a much smaller force. I saw other types of demons too. Tough, armored things like those that attacked us the night you left, Shael."

Shael nodded. "Those would be slayers."

"Did you see where your people were taken?" Alain asked.

"Some kind of corral, I think," Edwin said. "And I…I think I saw other people in there."

Alain exchanged glances with a few of his officers, one of them muttering a curse.

"What's wrong?" Shael demanded.

"We've seen this before," Alain explained. "Back home. The demons are keeping your people alive to use them as food."

"We have to rescue them," Shael said staunchly, swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat.

"I know." Alain pursed his lips. "I know it, Shael. But what I don't know is how. Perhaps if we could have taken them by surprise, but…." He sighed. "Wishing will get us no where. We need a plan. First, though, we need to truly know what we are facing. Edwin, you said you got close enough to see this corral and their sentries didn't spot you? Do you think you could find your way back there?"

He nodded. "I could, but—"

"The fog," Alain finished for him. "We'll have to wait for it to clear. In the morning, then. It will give us time to rest and prepare."

"If they don't come for us tonight," Syd intoned ominously. "And I don't care much for this fog. It's unnatural."

"Let 'em come," Marcel sneered. He was the only one of the lieutenants that might have been younger than Alain. His head was shaved except for a long brown tail at the back of his head that reached to the middle of his back and a bit of neatly trimmed fuzz at the bottom of his chin. Most striking of all was the lettering and pictures that appeared to be painted directly on his skin, decorating the sides of his head, his neck, and his arms.

"The boys are itching for a fight." Marcel continued, patting the weapon hanging from his belt, a repeating crossbow of the kind that many others carried. It was an elegant design whose actual operation still mystified Shael. What was that handle that projected above the body? Where was the trigger? And how could you **** it when the string was enclosed within the body? "We'll give 'em a warm Westmarch welcome."

"Westmarch bows and Westmarch archers are the greatest in the world," Alain said, then added, as if in afterthought, "though it helps to be able to see one's enemy. We are at a terrible disadvantage here if we are attacked. And I agree with Syd. There is something strange about this fog."

Shael thought back to that night, so many weeks ago, when she and Kelsia had made their escape from Dalmers Ferry with Seith and Marius. The memory made her shiver.

The meeting broke up soon after that. After choosing a spot for her bedding, Shael and Edwin made a slow circuit of the camp, watching the preparations with mild interest. They came upon Renn, sitting at the edge of a pool and casting into it with a fishing pole that he had cobbled together from a stick and a dirty piece of twine. Edwin greeted him warmly and asked the obligatory question. "Have you caught anything?"

"Not a bite," Renn confessed. "Most of us are out of food," he said quietly.

"We'll be alright," Shael assured him, setting aside her own doubts for his benefit. "Alain says that we can forage on our return journey."

"Where are we going?" Renn asked suddenly. "All of us, I mean. Once we free everyone from the demons."

"Dunesmar, I expect," Shael said, shrugging. She honestly hadn't given it as much thought as it probably warranted. Of course, they could not go back. Her home was all but destroyed, and they would be easy prey there.

The three of them talked while Renn fished, about simple, inconsequential things, mostly happenings that had occurred before their world had been shattered. Then, recounting some event that had happened the past spring, Edwin mentioned the mayor's name and stopped, choking on his own words. The image of Graegor's body swinging from the makeshift gallows rose unbidden into Shael's mind and a wave of powerless anger surged through her. She thought of Alain, who could not hide his uncertainty earlier. Would he turn away and leave her people to die, with the odds stacked so keenly against them?

"I am going to get some sleep," Shael said, more to break the sullen mood than any actual desire to rest. She was utterly exhausted, but she was certain that it would be hours yet before she could bring herself to relax from the stress of the day, if at all.

"Sleep well, sister," Renn said, and Edwin echoed the sentiment.

Shael left them and tended to her horse. He didn't seem very happy with the tough grass that grew here, but Shael almost envied him. She had a little bread and dried meat left, but she tore off only a tiny piece from each and chewed them slowly. The fog was a thick, cold blanket that glowed faintly with moonlight. Lying back on her bedroll, she could see nothing of the stars and only the faint, skeletal black shapes of trees broke the endless gray. The fog that night in Dalmers Ferry was much thicker, more impenetrable, she decided. It was her last thought before she drifted off to sleep.

[tamrend]

Note: I know the last few parts were a bit uneventful. Hopefully this next part grabs you a bit better. This is the end of chapter 19.

Chapter 19: Pursuit

Part 4

Shael woke to a sharp pain in her thigh and the crush of something falling across her. She cried out and flailed to free herself, but the weight moved off of her of its own accord. A young soldier stood and recovered his crossbow. "S—sorry, miss," he spluttered. He gave her an awkward bow and disappeared into the fog at a run.

It was the middle of the night. Either that or the blasted fog has managed to choke off the sun completely, Shael thought darkly.

Shouts could be heard coming from the south end of the camp, the direction that the soldier who had tripped over her had run. Muttering a curse under her breath, Shael pushed back her blankets, pulled on her boots and swept up her bow and quiver. She took a moment to string the weapon before trotting off toward the commotion. At least half the camp was already there, surrounding a spot at the south edge of the makeshift palisade. Shael pushed and slipped through the gaps between men to get closer in, and was so intent that she very nearly stepped on the body of a goatman. It lay facedown in the mud, the thick shafts of four crossbow bolts sticking out of his back, with the shaft of another sticking out to one side where the thing had fallen on it. A puddle of black, vile blood oozed out from beneath him. With a sick feeling, Shael realized that the demon had been inside the palisade when it had died.

"How many were they, Victor?" It was Alain's voice, and Shael made her way towards it.

"Hard to say," another voice answered. In a moment, Shael came close enough to make them out through the fog. Victor, the one who had answered, was one of Alain's lieutenants, a slim, hook-nosed man with a bushy black beard. "One man said four, another said ten. We've got four of them dead on the ground. Bowmen Anton says he wounded one, but it ran away."

Alain rubbed his nose with a knuckle while he thought. "Ten is probably too many for a scouting party, but too few for an attack squad. Besides, I doubt they'd give up the fight with that many of them still alive. If they were scouts, I'd say six at the most. Did we lose any of ours?"

"One dead, one wounded," Victor said crisply. "Remi got a slash to the arm, but not too deep. The bugger that got Julien already had two bolts in its chest when it killed him." He turned his head and spat. "I'd say we're lucky we didn't lose more. I think those hellspawn were as surprised to stumble on our camp as our men were to see them."

Alain nodded at Shael to acknowledge her presence. "And right now, at least one of them is heading back to their camp to tell the rest of them where we are."

He looked about to say more, but another commotion broke off whatever it was. Cries of "halt!" and "stand where you are!" came right on top of orders to "hold your fire!"

"Now what is this?" Alain asked of no one in particular. He motioned Shael and Victor to follow towards the voices.

The three figures stood about ten paces out from the palisade in a tight cluster. The slowly drifting mist eddied about them, but did not conceal them entirely from view. One was a man hunched over by old age. Huddled against him was a small, thin figure. Shael could not be sure if that one was trying to hide or merely helping to hold the old man steady. The last was a giant with a massive barrel of a body, a bald head and, as best Shael could see, no clothes. There was something about all of them that prickled her skin, but the last didn't even seem to be human.

"Who are you, and what is your business here?" Alain asked, stepping just outside the relative safety of the palisade.

"You fight the demons," the old man said, his voice hoarse and gravelly. Though his thick accent slurred the words, it was plain that he did not intend it as a question.

"That is correct," Alain nodded. "We chased them here from afar. Are you native to this land?"

"You fight the demons," the old man repeated, as if he had not heard Alain, "but you cannot defeat them, not on your own. I can help you. Won't you come closer so that we might talk more?"

"What do you think?" Alain whispered over his shoulder at Shael and Victor.

"Waste of time," Victor said. "An old man, some kid, and a—well whatever that is. They're probably all mad."

"He might be a wizard," Shael offered, and swallowed, not sure if she was happy with that thought.

"He might," Alain said doubtfully, then added. "Stay right behind me and watch the big one closely." He raised his voice to shout at the old man. "We're coming out to meet you."

Alain strode confidently forward, and Shael scurried to fall in step behind him. The old man made a beckoning motion with his hand, the fingers bone-thin and oddly contorted. Coming closer, she could see how time had pulled, pitted and scarred him. Wrinkled skin hung beneath rheumy eyes and his thin white hair flew in all directions. The figure next to him, she was sure now that it was helping to prop him up, was most certainly a child, but a deep cowl kept Shael from determining more. Both were dressed in mud-soaked robes. The giant, seen close up, truly was a monster. It stood twice the height of the old man, and its massive shoulders were more than three times as broad. Eyes sparkling like black onyx looked out from a flat, nearly featureless face. Most troubling of all were the splotchy tufts of hair that dotted its naked body, that on closer look turned out to be grass. In fact, the longer she looked, the more convinced Shael became that the giant was actually made out of dirt.

"That's as close as we get," Alain said, still a few paces off. "Now tell me who you are, and why you think you can help us."

There were no teeth in the old man's wide grin. "You must have traveled far indeed," he said, "not to recognize a disciple of Rathma."

"You are Rathma cultists?" Alain said, his tone rising in disbelief. He took an unsteady step backwards while his hand strayed to his sword hilt. "Yes, I have heard of your kind."

"Bloody necromancers," Victor swore, perhaps louder than he had intended.

Shael had stiffened at Alain's reaction, though his and the old man's words had meant nothing to her, but the name Victor used made her shiver with bitter dread. She had heard at least a dozen stories told by peddlers and cantabanks. Necromancers toyed with death the way a fox might toy with an angry bear. In most of the stories, the necromancer was done in by his own foul magic.

"Our reputation is quite undeserved," the old man said defensively. His smile had slipped, and Shael thought the change an improvement on his looks. "We study death to understand it, you see."

"Hold on," Shael said suddenly, pointing a finger at the smaller figure. "Didn't we meet before? You were out in the swamp, watching us, and I almost tripped over you." The head turned toward her, and those strange blue eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the cowl.

"Ah, you must forgive my poor comportment," the man said in a tone of self-reproach. "This is Anaki, my great granddaughter, and I am called Saito Keiji. I'm afraid that Anaki cannot speak, a defect that she has had since birth." He flapped a hand at the giant, who had not moved since they had first arrived. "That one there is a golem. It won't speak unless I command it."

"She was watching us," Shael repeated, "and she ran off when I saw her. And I don't know much about Ramma, whoever he is, but I know all about necromancers. How do we know you aren't in league with the demons?"

The old man shrugged. "We were unsure of your intentions at first, and tried to stay out of sight. You have little reason to trust me, it seems. But consider this: those fiends that got away from you will return to their camp, and they will come back in force. You might have a day, probably less. As I said before, you cannot hope to defeat them alone."

"Let's take our chances, captain," Victor said derisively. "Why would they want to help us anyway?"

"Many of my own people have been killed or taken prisoner by those shaitan. I am all that is left of Anaki's family," he said sadly, "and she of mine." He patted her back consolingly. "We've survived by staying hidden, and held out hope that word of this demon plague reaches the great temple."

"Suppose we agree," Alain said thoughtfully. "Suppose we accept your help. What can the three of you hope to accomplish?"

The old man's eyes gleamed as he held himself suddenly straighter. "You killed some of those shaitan, did you not? Lead me to their bodies, and I will show you. It will be a beginning."

Alain ordered his men back, and called for the bodies of the demons to be dragged over to lie together outside the palisade. The golem began to move as soon as the old man and his granddaughter started walking. Alain repeated his order for the men to hold their fire lest some frightened youth loose a bolt at the thing.

Standing over the bodies, the old man studied each one in turn, muttering to himself, or perhaps chanting. Shael could not tell which. He reached into a pouch at his belt, took a pinch of something, and slowly sprinkled it over the first body, repeating the ritual until all four of the demon corpses had glints of white powder on them. He said something quietly and Anaki reached into his robe on her side, coming out with a slender white stick that looked suspiciously like carved bone.

"Do not be frightened," Saito Keiji said, looking around at the soldiers, some of them with crossbows trained. "I am about to reach through the veil of death and pull back the souls of these damned creatures. I will bind them to this world, and to the flesh they left behind. They will remain so as long as I will it, and no longer. However, you may find their appearance…alarming."

He took the stick from Anaki's hand and began to wave it—it's a wand, Shael thought—over the body of a goatman lying on its back with a bolt piercing its throat. Its flesh began to bubble and drip like melted wax. Shael stifled a shriek when the corpse twitched. Miraculously, none of the watching soldiers fired into the thing, and she doubted that she would have shown as much control, if she had held a crossbow at the ready.

The arms of the thing moved smoothly, bending at the elbows to place its palms on the ground. It pushed, and the torso lifted, dripping flesh. The face came away in a single glop, and the rest of the scalp followed, leaving behind the pale bones of a horned goat's skull. Sitting fully upright, the monstrous thing gathered its legs beneath it, leaving most of the skin and muscle of those limbs behind as it did. When it stood, the rest of its flesh fell messily away from the torso. Looking down without eyes at its ruined body, the naked skeleton of the goatman found what it was looking for. It bent and pulled an axe free from the belt that had fallen away with its flesh, and then turned to Saito Keiji, as if waiting.

"I will make more of them," the old man said, and began waving his wand over the second dead demon. "One skeleton for every corpse. All you have to do is kill enough of them, and hold out long enough, and we can overwhelm them by sheer numbers. Now, do we have an understanding, captain…?"

"Alain," he finished. "My name is Alain." Shael thought he looked a little green, and his voice was unsteady. "The Light save us all. We accept."

[Snowglare]

Ooh, necromancer. I guess we're shifting focus now, though. I had hoped we'd get to the rescue before this chapter ended. Something to look forward to.

[DoomBoy]

indeed! nice read!

[tamrend]

Ooh, necromancer. I guess we're shifting focus now, though. I had hoped we'd get to the rescue before this chapter ended. Something to look forward to.

So did I, Snow. This whole chapter came as a bit of a surprise to me. I kept trying to pin down what I wanted to advance the story and it kept going in directions I didn't want it to. After several rewrites of this section (and a waste of a good 3000-4000 words) I just gave up and wrote what came into my head and rolled with it, and this is what I got. Hell, when I was several chapters back, I thought that Shael would bring help back and just whisk the villagers off to safety, maybe with a little pitched battle with the demons who were hanging around. The only problem with it was that it was boring, but I would still have to write about it. Anyway, once I had committed to the chase, the plan was to have it wrapped up at the end of the chapter, but I really just felt like there was too much going on to really do it justice. On the positive side, Maeryn's chapter is fairly short and one-third finished, so I'll come back around to Shael's arc soon.

And I do mean soon. I'm burning to finish this story and start on some original works that I intend to get published. It's not that I'm getting tired of "The Key", just that I can't bring myself to focus on other works while it is left unfinished.

[Snowglare]

Hell, when I was several chapters back, I thought that Shael would bring help back and just whisk the villagers off to safety, maybe with a little pitched battle with the demons who were hanging around. The only problem with it was that it was boring, but I would still have to write about it.

Yeah, as much as I want to see happy endings all around, entertainment is key. This is good, tense stuff. I'm pretty sure Shael will survive and the good guys will find a way to avoid massive casualties, but family and friends might not make it.


On the positive side, Maeryn's chapter is fairly short and one-third finished, so I'll come back around to Shael's arc soon.

Cool.


And I do mean soon. I'm burning to finish this story and start on some original works that I intend to get published. It's not that I'm getting tired of "The Key", just that I can't bring myself to focus on other works while it is left unfinished.

Aww. I know how that is. I stop and start stories constantly, but I've often tried to focus on finishing one before moving on. Not good for the other stories, but if you keep shifting your focus you never finish anything.

Still, it doesn't feel like The Key is anywhere near a stopping point. I guess that depends on your definition. Shael's sidestory is wrapping up, Maeryn's part can stop once she uncovers the killer for sure... I just don't know about Kelsia. This is her story, so the supporting characters could get new storyarcs or fold into hers or disappear and the story would continue until her part ended. So, when she officially becomes a sorceress? I dunno, and I'd just as well find out when the last chapter is posted, but it mustn't be far off now. Maybe it's not as hard to imagine The Key ending as it is to imagine the FFF without the possibility of a new chapter to its greatest epic.

[tamrend]

Chapter 20: Darkness

Maeryn blinked her eyes, thinking they must still be closed, but there was no change in what she saw, or rather, didn't see. The dark seemed to press in upon her from all sides. She fought down the panic rising in her throat, struggling to burst free in a cry of anguish. Reflexively, she focused on her breathing. A slow inhale, hold, languid exhale, hold. After several measured breaths, the fear began to subside back to its usual, quiet dread. "I am still alive," she said aloud, just to hear a voice push back the emptiness. The noises she made sounded cracked and frail, and the words were small comfort, given the circumstances she found herself in.

She did not know how many days, weeks, or perhaps months, she had been in the dark. There had been light when she had first awoken in the cell. A pale yellow orb on the ceiling had cast a dim glow over her tiny space. Rough-hewn granite lined three sides and thick bars pitted with rust enclosed the last. Her furnishings were clean and serviceable, and no more. A low, narrow cot covered the length of the back wall. A tiny table sat in one corner and a chamber pot in the other. The light had gone off in an instant and without warning. It might have been a few days into her imprisonment, but it was so difficult to tell when there was no day or night.

She could see the room and its modest furniture in her mind's eye, and barely fumbled now as she found the chamber pot and squatted over it. Not for the first time, she wished that her captors had thought to provide a washbasin, or at the very least a washcloth, but of course, her comfort and cleanliness was probably not their first concern.

Maeryn emptied the contents of the pot into the hole that lay beneath it and replaced it quickly, covering the sour odors that seeped up from below. She waited a bit for the air to clear before moving to the table, and sat on the edge of the cot. As usual, a plate of food and a tall mug of water sat there, delivered through some magical means, the used dishes going out the same way. The meat was cold and the greens wilted at the edges, but she savored every bit, knowing that food would not come again for some time, and if she tried to save it for later, rats would come and nibble at it. She sipped at the water but was careful to leave most of it in the cup, knowing that it, too, would be filled for her at the same time the food came. After the light had gone out, she had feared each time she went to find her food and drink that they too would be missing.

Water dripped somewhere in a maddeningly slow rhythm, filling her world with blasts of sound for the barest instant before fading. Maeryn found herself counting the drops and stopped as soon as she realized it. One time, she had been well over a thousand before she caught herself. She had to fight the urge to give in to such obsessive behavior, but it became more difficult as time went on.

A point of light appeared in front of her, rapidly expanding to the form of an angel floating in the darkness. The glowing tendrils of its wings slowly rippled in a breeze that Maeryn could not feel. It cast no light in the cell, just hung there in the perfect black, so beautiful that Maeryn wanted to weep. Instead, she pressed against her eyes with the palm of her hand until blue spots began to dance in her vision, banishing the seductive apparition. She swallowed back the lump of regret in her throat and turned her mind to thoughts of escape.

She had pried and prodded at the bars time and time again, hoping that the rust that marred them had eaten one of them through to the core. She did that now, knowing that the result would be no different. Her fingers touched the lock and she paused, as she had done a hundred times before. Visualizing the lock's inner workings, she pried at it with her mind, pushing at the bolt, groping for the pins that would hold the lock's cylinder in place. She shook with the effort, but nothing happened. Either the lock had been fused, or it had been enchanted; the end result was much the same. She found her mind wandering, her thoughts fracturing, the smell of pine was suddenly so sharp and clear that a forest must surely have sprouted up around her in the dark. Focus!. She clenched shaking fingers to still them and turned to the wall next to her. The pine smell was gone at once. She caressed the stone, searching for a crack or a divot that might indicate some weakness. Across each wall, from floor to ceiling she searched. Nothing.

Not for the first time, she wished that the Horadrim had been less fastidious in undressing her unconscious body and stripping her of valuables. Her claws had been taken, of course, but so were her leggings and cuirass, her rings and amulet, and the circlet of electrum that the enclave had gifted to her to strengthen and focus her unusual affinity for the mental powers her order sought to master. In their place, the wizards had dressed her in a plain cotton shift and a brown wool dress. Even so, it was obvious that they didn't trust bars to hold her when she could exert influence over other's minds. In all her time as a prisoner, no one had ever visited her cell. Each time a new meal was waiting on the table, it was reassurance that they hadn't yet forgotten about her. She found that thought oddly funny and gave a rasping chuckle.

She sat on her cot in the dark, listening to the drip-drip of water and trying to stop herself from counting the echoing plinks of their fall, and her mind turned to the one thing it always went back to. She thought over all her blunders. She had failed poor Lorimer, who despite his disagreeable attitude had certainly not deserved to die in that corridor. She had failed to deal with Brin and Makel, who had managed to spread distrust of her throughout the Keep. She had failed Sirral, the boy who had risked his life to uncover Pallas' treachery. But most of all, she had failed at the one thing that she had trained all her life to do. She had been unable to see what Pallas had become, a misstep that had cost her everything. Even worse, when the moment had come to end his life, to put an end to the evil that worked through him, her resolve had wavered. Her feelings had gotten in the way of duty.

Always her thoughts returned to that moment, when a quick thrust of her claws was all it would take to end his life. How could she, a veteran of more than a dozen inquests, have been taken in by a trick of emotion? Her jaw tightened as she made herself face the painful truth. The same way she failed to see Pallas for the enemy he was. As if summoned, his face rose, wraithlike and hovered in the air, leering at her. Snarling, she struck at the apparition with her fist, felt a jarring impact, but the wraith only laughed at her. Anger uncoiled and writhed within her like a snake and she struck over and over, feeling the pain in her hands only distantly. She stopped only when she was sure that the floating face was truly gone.

She lay back on her cot, exhausted but sated. The coppery scent of blood hung in the air. Pallas' blood. No, that wasn't it. He was still alive, wasn't he? Is this what it feels like, she thought with an odd detachment, to go mad? She pushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes and felt a warm trickle touch her cheek. She brushed at the spot but only smeared more of the stickiness around. Her knuckles were beginning to throb, the pain increasing as the distant dripping grew louder and louder. Stop counting! she admonished herself, realizing that she was in the two-hundreds.

It was then that a sudden change in her environment intruded on her awareness. She was, by now, so used to the dark that she had all but stopped thinking about what her eyes were seeing, so the appearance of light, dancing in blurry slivers on the edges of the bars, did not at first look real to her. She stood and moved forward, her vision coming into focus. She held a hand out through the gap in the bars and saw the faint outline of her fingers. Even as she watched, that outline grew brighter and more distinct.

Maeryn stepped back, feeling giddy as the light spread along the floor outside the cell, small pebbles casting long thin fingers of shadow. The thought suddenly occurred to her that this could all be a dream, or even a hallucination. It seemed no more--if no less--real than any of the other things her mind had conjured out of the dark.

The tiny shadows flicked back and forth rhythmically and gradually shortened as the bearer of the light came nearer. Maeryn could hear the steady drum of a pair of booted feet, and the sharp thwack of wood hitting the stone, and now, the swish of robes. For a wonder, she couldn't even hear the water drip that only moments before had seemed deafening.

The shadows continued to shorten and then began to fan out. She sought to shield her eyes an instant before the light came fully into view, but it was still painful in its intensity, beating hammers at the back of her skull.

"Maeryn?"

The sound of another human voice brought a rush of exhilaration. She nodded belatedly to the question as she used the back of her wrist to wipe away tears. Her hands were still wet and sticky.

"What has happened to you?" the speaker asked. "You're bleeding, you…you aren't supposed to be in the dark." Maeryn found the voice to be comfortingly familiar. She parted her fingers to look through them, carefully blocking the direct light so that she could see the other's face. She gasped. The madness-tinged euphoria went instantly cold.

"You." That was the word she tried to speak, but it came out as an unintelligible hiss. Still, the rage she felt spoke for her as she lashed out with her mind. Pallas recoiled as if he had been struck. His staff, whose tip had been glowing a brilliant white, clattered to the floor and went out, instantly plunging them back into darkness.

Maeryn fought the panic that again threatened to engulf her and focused on what was happening, what was real. Pallas, here, now. Not a hallucination, real. She quickly calmed her emotions and even allowed herself a tiny smile. That mind blast must have hurt. Though her power was greatly weakened without her circlet and her talismans, it could still be formidable.

She heard his groping in the dark, then the shuffle of feet as he moved away. When the light flashed on again, Pallas was down the corridor, out of sight behind the wall of the cell next to her. "Why are you doing this, Maeryn?" Pallas asked plaintively.

The anguish in that tone, since she knew it to be false, turned her stomach. She tried to speak, got a croak, tried again and managed real words. "You are…abomination," she said. "Corrupt. Evil." She was going to tell him to leave, but the thought of losing the light was too much to bear.

"I'm not what you think I am, Maeryn," Pallas said tightly. "The inner council is convinced that you are either insane or have somehow been corrupted yourself. I had hoped it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, but…maybe it's true. Maybe you are mad."

Maeryn began to laugh, deeply, throatily. Reason unraveling. He was going to leave her again, plunge her back into darkness, and the thought terrified her so intensely that she would do anything to escape it. Anything except to beg for him stay, anything but that. It would be so easy to step out into that yawning abyss, to plunge into insanity. To fall forever. She would have gone over well before now if not for the training and mental discipline of the Viz'jaq'taar, but even that had begun to fail her. "Madness," she crooned. At hearing her own demented voice, some spark of humanity abruptly reasserted itself. Maeryn was finally beginning to realize just how much her sanity had begun to fray in the darkness and solitude. Her voice was cold when she spoke next. "You'd like that if I went mad down here in the dark."

"Listen to me, Maeryn," Pallas pleaded. He moved cautiously out where she could see him. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't know what made you think I was your enemy, but I'm not. I came to—"

"What did you do to Sirral?" Maeryn said, the words heavy with accusation. "Did you kill him like you killed the others?"

"What? No! Sirral is fine. After they took you away, Master Ardin ordered that Sirral be brought to him for questioning. He said that the boy was scared and confused. He seemed to have gaps in his memory. He's distracted, but I've begun teaching him once more. Maeryn, did you…did you do something to change his memories?"

Maeryn laughed, but this time there was neither humor nor madness in it. "You're right, another murder would foster suspicion. You know as well as I that you were the one to tamper with his mind. Magic isn't as precise as Viz'jaq'taar methods, but it sufficed for your purpose. It seems you thought of everything, didn't you?"

Palls spoke in an irritated rush. "I don't know what it will take to get you to believe me, Maeryn. I've tried everything I can think of to get you out of here, but the council won't listen to me. They won't even agree to put you on trial. I think that they just don't know what to do with you."

"Why do you play these games?" Maeryn said, feigning boredom. "Why not just kill me and be done with it?"

Pallas stared at her, his mouth agape. The waves of apparent confusion coming from him were almost too faint for her dulled senses to detect. "I didn’t come down here to kill you, or to argue with you," he said at last. "There is something I thought you should know about. And, not that you'll believe me, but I'm not even supposed to be down here. The council forbade it, for my own safety."

They got that part right, Maeryn thought savagely, though there really wasn't much she could do to him. Another mind blast would be satisfying, but ultimately useless.

"Last night," Pallas continued, "Marius, the one that Garron had recruited in secret, showed up at the front gate, alone." Maeryn, who had hardened herself to disregard any lies that Pallas might spout, gasped in spite of it. Pallas went on, "He asked to see me and was brought inside. I gathered the members of my circle and we heard his story. It seems that he and Seith had made it all the way to Rona, but Seith decided to hide in the city while Marius went for help. He said that the girl with them, Kelsia, was the one who had found the staff and that it seemed bound to her somehow. He also said that this girl could use magic." He sounded doubtful as he said the last part. "In any event, the Key is right there, within our grasp. I intend to find Seith and this girl and bring them here, where they will be safe. I thought that you should know."

Why was he telling her this? To confuse her? To throw her off her guard? "I don't believe you," she said slowly, firmly.

Pallas drew himself up and regarded her silently. Finally, he sighed. "I won't return, if that is your wish. But before I go, stand back and permit me to give you one kindness."

Maeryn stepped back, the back of her knees bumping against the cot. She prepared another mind blast, in case he had finally decided to use violence.

Pallas walked up next to the bars, his staff clutched in both hands. He spoke a string of words and gestured, and the golden orb of light on the ceiling appeared once more, suffusing the cell in its warm glow. "Brin or Makel may have had something to do with extinguishing that," he said angrily. "I've placed a ward on this light spell. It won't be so easy to tamper with it."

He didn't wait for her to thank him. She would not have done so, in any case. Without another word, he turned and walked away, his staff clicking against the stone in counterpoint to his booted feet.

"Wait!" Maeryn called. "Tell me, how long have I been down here?"

The footsteps stopped. "It has been twenty days," he called back, and then started away again at once. The sound gradually faded to stillness, and after a time, the drip, pause, drip returned.

Maeryn stood there, staring at the place where Pallas had stood. Nothing about the encounter was as it should have been. She knew that it must be more layers of deceit, perhaps the groundwork for some scheme to unfold when they finally brought her up out of this prison, but no matter how she twisted and turned things over in her mind, she could not make the pieces fit together. Why tell her about Marius and Seith? How could that serve his purpose?

"He just wants to gain my trust," Maeryn decided, speaking the thought aloud. But then another thought came right after that. Why bother, if he had the Key within his grasp? It had to be a lie. But her doubts, infuriatingly, would not be allayed so easily, and they would probably occupy her thoughts for a good many days to come. She wasn't sure what she wanted to believe.

She wondered how long it would be before someone else came down to visit her. Twenty days had seemed like months, sitting alone in the dark. Looking up at the glowing orb, she heaved a relieved sigh.

[Snowglare]

That was stressful. Confusing, mysterious, crazy. You did such a good job of portraying Maeryn's descent into madness that it seemed redundant to point out that she was, indeed, losing her grip on reality.

And yay! More reason to believe Pallas is good. He waited twenty days to sneak down there, though? Yeesh! Some friend.

[Silverbeard]

tamrend, after thoroughly enjoying The Mage Academy of Gea Kul that Flux posted, I hoped I would find another treasure within the Fan Fiction Forum. I began to read The Key and from day 1, I was transported into the lives of your characters with every page consumed! This has been an awesome story full of Diablo lore and creative fiction laid out in a way that keeps pulling me along with your characters. Will Kelsia truly fulfill her potential to be a mighty sorceress??? Fully against Seith's beliefs? Will HE be the mage Garron imagined? Shael has a boatload of whoop-*** to unload on some slayers and I can't wait for she and Loric to pummel these Hellspawn side-by-side and save what is left of the townspeople. Now you have thrown my beloved Necromancers into your brew...SWEEEET! Let's not forget Maeryn! Will she once again find a bond with Pallas and pursue the evil that plagues the Horadrim? Will Kelsia and Shael's path meet once again??? AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!
Heh heh heh!!! tamrend, I look forward to every page you create and hopefully one day publish. You truly have a gift! Thank you!

[Leord]

Well, me and HK have been trying to get people to read The Key for ages :)

[Silverbeard]

With tamrend's story telling and HK's excellent artwork, a PDF compilation of their talents could create an illustrated version of The Key!!! A feast for readers!!! :-)

[tamrend]

Chapter 21: Stolen

Kelsia edged closer to the stranger, peeking up for the barest moment before lowering her eyes to a basket of mottled pears at her feet. Next to the basket sat a woman with one whole leg, and another leg that ended just below the knee in a stump. "Not taken with the pretty fables from that zealot, are you?" the woman said disapprovingly, her Ronish words slurred slightly.

Kelsia looked up and stifled a scream. The woman's face was a mass of blotches and bumps. One eye stared out, milky white and unblinking, and the other was red beneath drooping lids. Most of the fingers of both her hands ended at the first knuckles in thick, rounded nubs. Kelsia nodded her head numbly as the woman spoke to her, lost in a haze of fear and shock. No one would actually buy food from one so afflicted, would they? Or perhaps she had been mistaken and the basket belonged to someone else.

Kelsia, backing away, mumbled an apology to the disfigured woman, telling her she needed to go. She finally tore her eyes away and turned, only to collide in a muffled squeak with what must surely have been a cloth-covered wall. She stumbled back, looked up, and saw that this wall had a head and two arms. It was the very priest that she had been trying to get closer to. He was of middling age, past his twentieth year, surely, but probably not much more than thirty. Kelsia had seen skin of that deep ebony shade only in the infrequent traders that came through from Kurast. His black hair was cropped close and his beard was neatly trimmed into a thick stripe that ringed his mouth and lined his jowls. He wore a black tunic that reached nearly to the tops of his shoes, the linen split down each side to allow for riding, and a white mantle trimmed in gold. Gold crosses adorned the center of his chest and each shoulder.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, flushing red. With a start, she realized that she was speaking Kehjistani. Quickly, she repeated the apology in Ronish.

"It is no matter," the man replied in Ronish, giving her a placating smile. "It was my fault as well, for not seeing sooner that you had begun to move. My name is Rehan, missionary and priest of the Church of Zakarum." Saying this, he extended a hand. Kelsia reached out and they clasped forearms, in the Ronish fashion.

"I'm…" the barest pause as she thought, "Kalila." Guilt stabbed at her as she said it. Her father had told her once that a man's word should be as precious to him as his life. The lie was only made more odious in that she had spoken it to a holy man. But it wouldn't do to use her real name, not while she remained in Rona.

"Well met, Kalila," he said. His gaze flitted to the staff in her hand, then back to her face. His expression betrayed nothing as he nodded. He looked past her then, and Kelsia turned to see that his gaze rested on the crippled old woman. "And you as well, madam," he added.

The woman snorted derisively and looked away.

"Can you help her, Father?" Kelsia asked quietly.

The priest shrugged. "The Light has already done its work through me. Whether she chooses to accept it or not is another matter."

"You just stay away from me, zealot," the old woman growled.

"As you wish, madam," Rehan said, a wistful smile touching his lips. He nodded at Kelsia. "A blessing on you, child."

He turned and started across the scratched and pitted bricks that covered the square. At least a dozen people stood or sat in the open spaces, offering various items of food and other essential goods like candles, cloth, and lamp oil to the people who passed through, most of them headed into the city, at this early hour. People called this place "Market", a name that served, in its unadorned simplicity, to distinguish it from the various other markets of the city proper, named for the streets or districts in which they resided, or for the types of goods sold there.

Kelsia looked after him, heart pounding as she considered. She had never intended to speak to the priest. She had been drawn to him, though, both by his warmth and charisma as he spoke of the Light to those who would listen, and for the fact that he was a familiar sight in a city full of strangeness. Men and women like him had, on occasion, stopped in her village for a day or two, giving healing to the sick and hope to the downtrodden, but in this place, it seemed, few if any had ever even heard of the Light.

"Father?" she called, hurrying to catch the priest, who seemed intent on a trio of tough-looking youths who stopped their idle chatter and looked over suspiciously as they took notice of him. Her ankle sent jolts of pain up her leg with each step.

"Yes, child?" He turned, eyeing her expectantly.

"I wish to ask something of you." She thought frantically as she approached. The story had begun to form in her mind as she had watched him walking away. It seemed at least plausible, though it pained her to have to lie again. "My brother and I are refugees from a farm to the west. We've been here for many weeks. Several days ago, a merchant in the marketplace accused us of stealing from him. We left before the watch could arrive, but got separated and I came here to hide. I was hoping that you could ask after my brother for me, out there." She gestured vaguely, indicating the city that lay all around the ruins of the Burrows.

"What happened to your parents?" he asked gently.

"We don't know. I fear that they might not live." That was true enough. Kelsia had good reason to believe that her mother had been killed by the wolf thing that had stalked her, though she had tried hard to put that out of her thoughts.

"This brother, can you give me his name, and a description?"

Kelsia named him "Nielos" and gave Seith's description, knowing that his red hair, his pale skin and blue eyes alone would make him stand out to the people of this land. When she had finished, Kelsia untied her coin purse and handed him two pieces of silver.

"No need for payment, child," Father Rehan said, closing her fingers back over the coins.

"Take it as an offering for the Church, then," she said, pushing them at him again. She tried not to think of the food that she could buy with it. She thought it was only right that she pay him, but also, it would give him extra incentive to find out what she wanted and return quickly.

Father Rehan took the money from her with a pat on the shoulder. "Bless you, child. Now where can I find you again?"

Kelsia started to tell him about the empty cottage that she had made her home, but thought better of it and gave him directions to another location. "Can you meet me there today?"

The priest squinted at the sun, just peering over the buildings at the east end of the square. "Expect me there after midday, but before the sun sets."

Kelsia nodded her acceptance of this. He would need some time to ask questions, and he couldn't be certain how long it would take. She waggled her fingers at him in farewell and he went back to his work, hurrying to catch the youths who had decided to slink away while he was talking to her. She started away in the other direction, but paused after only a few steps, stooping to press at the sides of her ankle. The pain had disappeared completely.

Kelsia broke into a run, laughing aloud at the joy of being healed of her injury. But it was more than that. Her spirits had been buoyed by her short meeting with the Zakarum priest, a welcome contrast to the days of cold and despair that had defined the last week of her life. That first night after Seith had gone had been the worst. She had huddled in the doorway of a nearby building whose roof had collapsed, praying for his safe return. The next morning, stiff with cold and sick from crying, she had stumbled out into the street and stood, looking towards the jagged break in the wall that led out into the city proper. Seith was out there, somewhere. If he could have come back into the Burrows to find her, he would have. She feared going out there just as much as she ached to go and find him. But he had told her to stay and wait, and that was the resolution that she always came to, each time she had that debate with herself.

She soon arrived at the abandoned, two-room cottage that she had picked out for herself. The hardy stone construction had withstood the decades of neglect, and there were few windows, so it was not as drafty as some of the other dwellings. The roof was tiled rather than thatched, so it had not rotted away, but if the water stains along the wall were any indication, it still leaked horribly in the rain. Kelsia stepped inside and crossed the floor of the first room, which she had left untouched. She went through the doorway to the second room and reattached the fastenings of the blanket that spanned the doorway. She had cleaned out much of the dirt and debris to make room for her bedding on the floor, with the exception of one corner, where a heavy oak tabletop tilted on one sagging leg.

She pulled back the detritus that lay against the wall beneath the table and retrieved her pack from where she had hidden it. She retrieved her quill, inkpot and a sheet of parchment from the center of her belongings, where her clothing served to pad the items against bending or breakage. Holding them, she frowned, realizing that she lacked a clean, flat surface. Then, with a shrug, she uncorked the inkpot, dipped the quill, and held the parchment against the titled surface of the table. Only then did she pause, considering her words, before beginning to write in a slow, careful script. When she had finished, she set the parchment aside to dry and settled in to wait.

She measured time's passing by the angle of the sun through the southern window. What started as a narrow line slanting across the floor and up one wall gradually moved towards the center of the room. Kelsia ate from the foodstuff she had gathered from Market on past mornings, as much to pass the time as from hunger, and afterward lay on her bedding and drifted off, sleeping more peacefully than she had in days.

She woke with a start, and it took her several groggy moments to realize what was wrong. Sunlight no longer fell through the window and the dimness of the room suggested twilight. Kelsia leapt from the bed, muttering at herself in exasperation. Peering through the window, she could see that it was not sunset, as she had feared, but dingy gray clouds that had rolled in while she slept. She gingerly tapped the ink of the parchment out of habit, knowing as soon as she did that it would have dried long ago, then rolled it and tied it with twine.

She pushed through the inner door, through the empty room and out into the street. The cold bit into her at once, prompting her to raise the hood of her cloak and pull its folds tightly against her torso. Shivering, she peered both ways to be sure she had not been seen. It wouldn't do to have someone discover her hiding place. While most of the people in the Burrows respected each other's right to be left alone, there were many burglars, cutpurses and footpads that would not balk at relieving her of her few possessions while she was out.

Kelsia ran, clutching the staff tightly in one hand, holding her cloak closed with the other. She turned down one street that she normally avoided, but took now to save time. She glanced up apprehensively at the sagging buildings on her left. Some of the multi-story wooden structures had collapsed in on themselves, but a few leaned precariously out over the street. Though she knew it was unlikely one of them would fall at the exact moment that she passed by, the sight of all that weight hanging above unnerved her. She was relieved to reach the cross street that would take her away from this place.

The road climbed here, moving up toward the palace at the heart of the city far above. The road would end not far ahead in a brick wall ten feet high and half a pace thick, one of many that had remained intact over the years. She was gasping for air, her pace slowed to near a walk, when she finally reached the spot where Father Rehan was to meet her. At least the exertion had helped to warm her.

The walls of the structure were made of white marble adorned with intricate carvings and delicate arches. A glittering dome rose over the central building and tall, bulbous-tipped towers rose at each of the four corners. Kelsia stopped in front of the building, concerned that she might have missed the priest, but he appeared after a moment, striding towards her out of the ornate structure, holding a basket, of all things. He had a pensive, almost regretful look about him that smoothed away as he drew near.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Father," Kelsia said, bowing her head slightly in shame.

"Think nothing of it, child. I have not been here long, and it gave me time to admire this temple. Had I known of its existence, I would have come here sooner." Rehan gestured towards one of several stone benches lining the front of the temple. "Come, sit with me. I brought food for us both."

Kelsia stifled her impatience as she sat near him and he shared food with her from his basket. She had been late, after all. She nibbled at a piece of cheese, far softer and more flavorful than what she had found at Market, and discreetly tucked the pomegranate he gave her into a pocket, saving it for later when she could pick it apart and savor it at leisure. She had never seen the fruit before coming to Rona, but had immediately acquired a taste for its odd mix of tart and sweetness. She waited until the priest had finished his first piece of food before speaking. "What did you find out about Nielos?"

"Nothing of consequence," he said, shaking his head. "A few remember seeing the man you described to me, but I doubt that most of them are the same person. One woman even said she saw someone like that but that he was captured by the demon hunters from Ganting."

Kelsia's eyes widened. She had to focus to think of the correct Ronish words, speaking slowly. "What else did she say? Did she see where they took him?"

Father Rehan shrugged. "That was all I got from her. You don't really think that was your brother they caught, do you?"

Kelsia forced a brave smile despite the tightness in her chest. "Probably not," she said. For a wonder, she didn't choke on those words.

"There is something you should know, Kalila," the priest said, giving her a sympathetic look. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning, leaving the city with my brothers in the mission. The demons outside--and the suffering of the people inside--kept us here longer than we had planned, and if we don't leave soon, the snows will trap us until spring." He looked up at the darkened sky. "The Light willing, it is not already too late."

"What about the demons?" she asked.

"It will be dangerous," he said, "make no mistake. But some of us missionaries aren't as helpless as we appear." He brushed his tunic aside to reveal a shortsword, the scabbard strapped tightly to his thigh. He gave an uncharacteristic chuckle. "The Church of Zakarum learned generations ago that the wider world could be a harsh and unforgiving place. In a place such as this, even a priest must be wary of attack." He covered the sword again carefully. "In any event, we'll be going south, over the mountains, where we are told the demons have only a token presence. I wanted to offer you passage with us."

The proposal surprised her, especially given the story she had concocted to explain her circumstances. "I can't leave without S—without Nielos," she said. "Perhaps if you could wait a bit longer, we could go with you together?"

He regarded her silently for several moments, and then put a hand on her shoulder. "I understand, child, but I sense that you desperately need to be gone from this place. We can get you safely past the watch. Your brother may have to find his own way."

Tears welled up in Kelsia's eyes at his words, but she blinked at them and swallowed back the pain in her throat. He was offering her the chance to escape. It was probably the right thing to do, to leave now with Rehan, to carry the staff safely away from this place that had entrapped her. But leaving now would mean giving up on Seith. She couldn't do that, not again. Not after Shael. "I can't," she repeated.

Father Rehan nodded slowly, sadly. "Then you will be in my prayers, Kalila. We can wait no longer. If you should change your mind, look for us at the southern gate. We will leave not long after dawn."

Kelsia nodded but did not take her leave. What she was contemplating was a risk, but she could think of no better alternative for what she needed. "I have one more thing to ask of you, Father," she said in a rush. "Can you take a message for me, to an inn in the south side of the city?"

"Kalila, I have much to do before we—"

"Please," she said fiercely. "Please, it's very important."

He looked at her then with such an intensity of gaze that she swore she could actually feel it, a prickling at the hairs on the back of her neck. Her guilt for all the lies she had told him suddenly came back to her, knotting in her stomach, and she fervently hoped that her discomfort did not show on her face.

"I will take your message," he said suddenly, resignedly. "What is the inn, who must I see, and what should I say?"

"The inn is The Green Man," Kelsia said, the relief coming through in her voice. "Try to find Damali, or failing that, Farah or Athan, and give them this." She held out the letter she had written earlier. "The message is for Damali." She frowned, thinking that her choice of name might cause confusion. "But don't tell her that it is from me."

"More strange requests," the priest sighed, taking the message from her and tucking it away. "What are you about, child?" Kelsia said nothing, sensing that the question was not one that he expected an answer to. Rehan sighed again. "Very well, then. Good journey to you, Kalila."

"Good journey," she said with a wave, before she could catch herself. The phrase was used commonly in Kehjistani, but a native of Rona would say, "Go in peace." It was odd that he would say such a thing in Ronish, but stranger still for her, a supposed native, to answer in kind. Fortunately, Rehan did not appear to have noticed the slip.

Kelsia took what she considered to be the safer route back to her cottage, avoiding the street with the buildings that looked about to tip over. She thought about her message, pleading for Damali to come to one of the holes in the Burrows walls to meet with her. She missed her friend dearly, and if Marius had gotten through to Horadrim Keep, he could be returning to the inn at any time, bringing help from the mages.

She was not certain how long the snow had been falling when she suddenly became aware of it. A light dusting had begun to accumulate on the cobbles and at the tops of walls and roofs. She thought of Rehan and the other missionary priests he had spoken of, and wondered if they would try to make the southern pass despite the snow.

Kelsia heard the scrabble of boots on cobbles a bare instant before the attack came. Pain lanced through her shoulder and she was knocked off balance, stumbling to keep her feet. She whipped her head from side to side, heart pounding as she searched for the faint glow of demon eyes. In the gloom and through the veil of falling snow, she caught sight of her attacker and almost laughed in relief. It was not a demon, but a human being, and scarcely more than a boy at that, holding a makeshift cudgel in two hands as he advanced on her.

Kelsia backed away, reminding herself grimly that demons weren't the only dangerous beings in the world. Her shoulder, forgotten for a moment in her shock and fear, throbbed where she had been struck. Her grip on the staff felt weak as she brought it up before her protectively. Her thoughts flew to the magic, but there was nothing there now, no words in her head, no presence to offer guidance and protection.

Pain and light exploded in her head. She cried out as she fell forward, her hands relinquishing their grip on the staff as she flung them out to try to catch herself. Her hands and knees stung fiercely as she crumpled, punctuated by one last, sharp pain as her forehead hit the street. At the same time, and with bizarre clarity, she heard the staff topple end over end and come to rest in a spray of snow.

Shuddering, with tears stinging her eyes, Kelsia rolled onto her side. Blood trickled warm across her forehead and the back of her neck, pooling cold on the side of her head. She could hear the soft crunch of the snow beneath their feet as the pair approached. One came into sight near her feet, whirling through a haze of pain. The face was almost handsome except for a scar that fissured one cheek, and vaguely familiar. He held a cudgel, like the first, stained red in one spot where it had struck the back of her head.

"Is she dead?" came a Ronish voice from the other side of her. His query was spoken softly but with earnest, as though he had to strain to speak above a whisper.

"Nah, just stunned," the one by her feet answered. He stooped to set down the cudgel and pulled a knife from his pocket. He stepped closer, one booted foot coming down right in front of her nose. Kelsia tried to speak, to plead for her life, but only a whimpering sound came from her throat. She closed her eyes against the fear and pain, silently imploring the men to go away as she tensed herself against the stab of the knife.

The attack never came. Instead, her cloak was whipped aside and there was a tug at the side of her belt and a faint jingle. She was rocked faintly from side to side, accompanied by a rhythmic sound. The tugging released suddenly, with more jingling. The man next to her stood and stepped back. Kelsia opened her eyes a sliver, enough to see that the man had pocketed the knife and now held her coin purse open in his hands. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy, so she let them close once more.

"Mostly silver," the scarred man said, in a tone that might almost have been regret.

"It'll do," the soft-spoken man said. "Not every day you get a mark as soft as this one."

"Let's be off."

"You go on ahead."

There was something cold and predatory about that simple statement. Terror clutched at Kelsia, hauling her back from the brink of unconsciousness. She forced her eyes open and saw the scarred one peering down at her. She looked at him and silently begged pity.

The soft-voiced one spoke again. "Go on. She'll freeze to death out here if she don't bleed out first. What difference does it make?"

"No," the scarred one said firmly. His eyes widened, as if in surprise at his own words. "Not this one. You just leave her be."

The other growled his disappointed assent. Then, "What's this thing, do you suppose?"

The scarred one shrugged. "Take it if you like. She don't need it." With that, the pair moved off, their crunching footsteps gradually receding. Soon, she could hear only the whispering blanket of falling snow.

Kelsia clung tenaciously to consciousness. She could feel the cold closing in on her, seeping up from the ground. Slowly, she tried moving her free arm, and it seemed to float is if under another's control. She moved her legs, tugging and bracing in deliberate movements that she could normally have accomplished without thought, rolling her body onto her stomach. Pain flared in her head as she did so, its buzzing tendrils snaking down into her neck and jaw and turning her stomach. Her vision narrowed, the red and white expanse of blood-soaked snow before her face shrinking to a circle. She breathed slow and deep through her nose, her teeth clenched so hard that she feared they would break from the strain. Gradually, the circle widened once more.

Slowly, carefully, Kelsia raised her head from the snow, moving by degrees. She was learning that it was sudden movements that brought on the unbearable pain. She slithered her hands under herself, stopping every now and then to gasp against the sudden pulses of agony that struck at random. In this way, she gradually lifted her body out of the snow, coming to rest at last on hands and knees. She stayed there for some time, head bowed, eyes closed, panting while she waited for the newest wave of pain to subside.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she realized with a start that night had fallen. The fall of snow had not slowed, and a trough nearly as deep as a handspan had formed where she had lain. She once more went through the excruciating process of raising her head and, holding it steady, looked around with her eyes. She could see no sign of the staff. She began to creep forward, moving one limb at a time, leaving furrows where she trailed her fingers through the snow to search for it. Surely it could not have been buried so quickly or rolled so far?

It was then that her thoughts, slowed by the pain and the cold, settled upon the parting words of the two men who had robbed her. The boyish one, the one who spoke in a soft, hoarse voice, must have been standing near where the staff had fallen. That was what he had taken when the two of them had left.

For some time, she just remained where she was, feeling the weight of her failure pressing down on her. Her tears cooled quickly in the biting cold, tracing chilling fingers down her face. It had all been for nothing. She could just drop herself into the snow right here and let the cold take her, and it wouldn't make any difference at all. For a moment, it was only the thought of the pain that such movement would cost her that kept her from doing it.

Then the moment passed, and with it came a new realization. Light flickered through the broken panes of a window up ahead, and the acrid smell of wood smoke came to her on the breeze. Clenching her jaw, Kelsia began to crawl forward, clinging to the promise of warmth when everything else had suddenly ceased to matter.

[Silverbeard]

hmmmm...you changed the chapter title...curious...and interesting :-). Rather than relating this chapter to it's location, you have tied it to the theft of The Key from Kelsia. After all, this chapter finds Kelsia alone (for the first time I believe), near death, and mentally in shambles with little hope! You go into exquisite detail as to what she feels, her changes in mood, and her surroundings...actually allowing your readers to walk in her shoes...NICE! Will she have the fortitude to crawl forward? Will she be able to sense the location of the staff? SO MANY questions! Thank you once again for this gripping story!

[Snowglare]

Gripping is right. This chapter teases an easy solution before delivering hard reality. Kelsia could escape and gain powerful, if temporary, allies, but there's no way she can abandon Seith. The worst part is, she has no idea where he is, so she can't be sure leaving him behind is the wrong thing to do.

Her attackers should be more easily dispatched than zombies in the Blood Moor, but surprise and experience allow them to overcome the power disparity. Everyone's down. Kelsia's barely conscious, Maeryn's locked up, and Shael, the only one who's not alone, is badly outnumbered. The next few chapters are either going to be very bright or lights out. It can scarcely get worse for anyone unless they die.


"Kalili, I have much to do before we—"

Should be Kalila.


She moved her legs, tugging and bracing in deliberate movements that she could normally have accomplished without thought, rolling her body into her stomach.

Should be rolling onto her stomach.

[tamrend]

Thanks for the edit points and compliments. Rolling into your own stomach sounds pretty painful, I admit. When I first posted, I didn't have a chapter title worked out, so I tossed one in there, intending to change it. The chapter titles have all been either the location or a reference to the most significant event that occurred. "Stolen" to me seemed like a more intriguing hook than my stand-in title.

Speaking of place names, one bit of trivia that I'm curious if anyone picked up on is the name "Burrows". There is a threefold meaning. To the inhabitants of the city in general, it refers to the fact that people knocked holes in the walls and "burrowed" back into the place. To many of the people that live there, it is a place of safety in a city full of people who would shun them, which is another way of thinking of a burrow. I also thought it sounded vaguely like "barrio". On a similar note, did people pick up on my description of the disease the woman at the beginning of the chapter had?

The next part is just about finished, and I may be able to post it tonight. It's somewhat of a departure from what has come before, as I switch viewpoint characters in mid-chapter not once, but twice, though Kelsia's arc is still at the heart of it. There will be a third part as well, and then on to chapter 22, and back to Shael.

[Snowglare]

I didn't catch any of that, sorry. Figured the woman was hurt in some war, maybe from a fire-based spell? Guess not. Leprosy? I was as eager to get away from her as Kelsia was.

[tamrend]

Snow: Yes, it was leprosy. I subjected myself to some pictures so I could describe it properly. Nasty, horrible stuff.

Chapter 21: Stolen

Part 2

Marius fought the urge to close his eyes against what he knew was coming. Adept Niravi came into view from his left side, dragging his staff behind him in the snow while speaking in a slow, forceful chant. In a moment, he disappeared from view again, coming around behind him and the others, closing the circle. Marius glanced to his left. Damek clenched and unclenched his jaw, clearly dreading what was to come. On his right, Tobias gave him a wan smile. They both looked so young, but they were good, honorable soldiers. Marius had chosen them personally from the keep's guards. They would die to complete their mission, if that's what it took, and would keep secret everything they saw, if for no other reason than that it was their duty.

He turned to look back. Masters Geir, Riordan and Lang appeared unfazed by the prospect of another jump. Maybe it didn't feel the same for wizards. Maybe it was their deep familiarity with the arcane. Who could know? Marius had served the Horadrim for nearly a decade, but they could still be damned enigmatic when they wanted to be.

The chanting grew more urgent, and the air began to crackle with the power of Niravi's conjuring. He and Lang had taken turns with the ritual throughout the day. It was one of the more difficult spells for a wizard to learn, and it greatly sapped the caster's strength. Niravi had been Lang's apprentice, and the two of them were masters of this particular type of magic, but to perform it while fatigued could be dangerous to all involved, perhaps even lethal.

The circle Niravi had drawn in the dirt began to glow white, the brightness increasing moment by moment. As Marius watched, the world all around appeared to ripple and smear, growing longer to the sides while squeezing together in front. There was a terrific lurch and a moment of intense agony, as Marius felt his body being pinched in a vise from all directions. The next instant, a different view of the world flashed into being, snow blown outward in a glittering cloud by the sudden displacement of air. It had happened the same way all that day, over and over, more times than he could count, each jump bringing them a few leagues closer to Rona.

Except that this time, something was wrong. Marius sensed it as a lingering of the pain and disorientation, even before he heard the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground. "Niravi!" Lang cried, falling to the knees and rolling the younger wizard onto his back. Clumps of snow clung to the man's short black beard. His eyes stared upward, unblinking. Lang put his ear close to the other's mouth and listened. "He's not breathing," he hissed. "He's not breathing!"

Thin-faced, frowning Master Riordan produced a silvery flask from his robes. "His mouth, Lang," the man said in an even tone, pulling the stopper loose. "Quickly."

Lang steadied Niravi's head with one hand and pulled down on his chin with the other. Riordan set the flask to the man's lips and tipped it, sending a measured stream of red liquid into his mouth. Keeping his eyes on Niravi's face, Riordan stoppered the flask and hid it away in whatever pocket it had come from.

"What's wrong with him?" Marius asked. He felt useless in situations such as this, and the look Riordan gave him didn't improve that feeling.

It was Lang who answered in a hoarse voice. "It was a warding of sorts. I could feel it as we started to jump, but it was too late to warn Niravi. If it had been me, maybe I could have stopped in time…"

"I think he's coming back to us," Riordan said, his deadpan tone masking whatever relief he may have felt.

Niravi gave a spasm, his eyes blinking, then opening wide. His body jerked again, and this time, he coughed streams of red liquid from his mouth and nose. Not blood, Marius realized, after an initial lurch of concern, just some of Riordan's potion. He spluttered once more and sucked down a ragged breath, his eyes darting about fearfully, as though the faces around him belonged to strangers.

"It's alright," Lang told him. "I'm here, boy. Your old master is here."

Geir pulled at Marius' elbow and gestured to Tobias and Damek. "Let's give them a moment to calm the lad down," he murmured.

Marius nodded his assent. Geir had been appointed leader of the mission, and Marius considered him a good choice. He was likely approaching his seventh decade, but since wizards aged more slowly than ordinary folks, he had the look of someone just entering his third decade, so he had both age and physical health on his side. And on a more personal level, Marius had fought at his side a dozen years ago against the lacuni, the cat people of the western desert, when the clever felines had begun staging nighttime raids against Tristram.

"Niravi will live," Geir said, "but I think it was a close thing. His magic was somehow warped, reshaped by this ward to strike back at him. We are fortunate that it did not affect all of us. The fact is that I've never seen magic like this, and certainly not on this scale. I don’t know the extent of this ward, but I sense that it works at the landing point of a jump. For something like that to be effective it would have to cover at least a few leagues, otherwise a traveler might jump right past it."

"Could this ward extend out all around the city?" Marius asked.

Geir looked to the west. Dusk had long since fallen and they were well on the way to night. There was nothing to see through the snow, of course, but they were still two jumps away from Rona, maybe six or eight leagues distant. He shook his head, "Such a thing would be…well, I won't call it impossible, but I doubt any wizard alive could do a thing like that."

Marius had spent enough time around wizards to understand the awe in which they held their forbears. Names like Tal Rasha were spoken only in quiet tones of reverence. He had often wondered whether it was that the mages were weakening in power, or that the legends just grew stronger with time.

"I wonder," Marius said, "if this ward means that our enemy knows we are coming. Or perhaps it was simply a means of cutting Rona off from any help while the demons held their siege." Even as he said it, a chill had begun to settle in at the small of his back. He had passed through this country once before, a bit to the south, slipping past the pickets and patrols that the demons kept to snare travelers into and out of the city.

Geir had begun to speak again, but Marius cut the wizard off in his haste. "We can't stay here," he said. "This land is infested with demons."

As if in answer to his remark, a chorus of ragged cries sounded in the distance. Marius turned to look, but nothing showed through the dim gray. He knew, though, that many demons could see even in total darkness. Had they been sighted? Or was it merely a hunting party out for food or sport? He drew his sword, feeling the hot flash of fire race down its blade even before it had cleared the scabbard. "Get him up," he said to Damek and Tobias, pointing at Niravi. The adept looked shaken, but was now sitting up on his own. "Carry him if you have to, but we have to move now."



Father Rehan took in the girl's drawn features and eyes that were vacant of expression. She was hurting deeply. "Are you Damali?"

The girl looked up from clearing off a table, and now her face was filled with a different expression: fear ."No, wait!" he said quickly, putting his palm out toward her. "Please don't go. Someone asked me to give this to Damali."

He fished in his tunic with the other hand and brought out Kalila's letter. Not that it was her real name, of course. The girl's accent was thick as mud on her tongue and her knowledge of Ronish culture and custom made his meager awareness seem vast by comparison. She was Kehjistani, that was certain. What he couldn't fathom was why she was here, or why she felt she needed to lie about where she came from. He would have questioned her story about her brother, except that her fear for him seemed so genuine.

The girl took the letter from him and untied the twine. She unfolded the parchment and stared hard at it. Frustration creased her forehead.

"Can you read?" Rehan said, careful not to let pity show in his tone.

"Some," the girl said. It was the first words he had heard her speak. "I think it is written in Kehjistani, though, and I only just learned to speak it."

"I can read it to you, if you like," he offered. "My name is Rehan, by the way."

"Mine is Damali, Damali Ganas," she said, with a hint of a smile. "I'm sorry for the way I was acting. Some things have happened…" she stopped and took a breath to compose herself. "Why don't we have a seat there while you read it?"

Father Rehan sat and spread the parchment out on the table. Dim orange lamp light cast dancing shadows from the sheet's ragged edges. The hand that had written the letter was spidery and unsteady.

"My dear Damali," he read in a clear voice, translating to Ronish. "I am so sorry for any trouble that we may have caused your family. I wanted to let you know that I am alright. I have been hiding in the Burrows. I lost Seith on that day the soldiers came for us and can only hope that he managed to get to safety. Marius should have reached Horadrim Keep—" He stopped. Damali had grabbed his wrist and was shaking her head.

"Not here," she said at a near-whisper, "someone might overhear. Come back to the kitchen with me."

Rehan stood, resignedly, and allowed himself to be led to the kitchen. It all sounded so fantastic that it could have been some game these girls were playing, but he truly believed that the girl who called herself Kalila was in some kind of trouble. And he was beginning to grow irritated by all of the hints that were being thrown his way without any explanation to make sense of it. "What is this all about?" he demanded, once he and Damali were safely ensconced in the kitchen.

Damali started to speak and then checked herself, frowning. "It is complicated," she said. "Would you mind finishing the letter first? Then I'll tell you all I know."

Rehan sighed and picked up where he left off. "Marius should have reached Horadrim Keep by now and will be returning with help. I don't know how long the journey back will take, but when he does arrive, I need you to tell him where I have gone. There is a place here called "Market" where I will watch for him each morning. Also, if you can possibly manage it, I want to see you. I can meet you at the southern wall tonight, near the blacksmith with the sign of a rearing horse. I will wait all night if I have to. Your friend, Kelsia."

Rehan sat back. "So that's her real name," he murmured in his native tongue. It was a Kehjistani name.

"Her real name?" Damali said, peering at him quizzically.

Rehan had forgotten that Damali could speak Kehjistani. "The girl who gave me the letter," he said, "used the name 'Kalila'. I would presume that this Seith she speaks of was the one she named 'Nielos' to me."

Damali's look of confusion lasted only a moment. "Kalila is my sister's name. Nielos is my—" Damali bit her lip, a wave of pain washing over her features. Her voice shook when she continued. "We'll speak of that later. She did give you false names, as you've already guessed. This girl, Kelsia, Seith of the Horadrim, and Marius, a bodyguard, I guess you could say, came to my family asking for our aid in keeping them hidden. They didn't tell us exactly who it was that was looking for them, but I did overhear a few things."

"What kinds of things?" Rehan prompted.

"Something about a key, and a sorcerer, and they mentioned demons a few times. But it was the king's soldiers that came for them, almost a week ago. I never knew if they got away in time. I'm glad that they did, but still I wish…" She looked down. "I'm ashamed for thinking it, but I wish they had never come here. They took my father away in chains for harboring criminals, and then there is Nielos. He came to warn us that the soldiers were coming and then he was sent to prison for deserting his post."

"Do you know where they are being held?"

Damali nodded. "At the stockade, down near the southern gate. I tried to see them there, but the guards wouldn't let me inside."

"It seems that this Kelsia and her cohorts have much to answer for," Father Rehan said with a rueful shake of his head. "So, are you going to meet her tonight?"

"No," Damali said flatly. At seeing Rehan's brows go up, she went on. "I don't know what they will do to my father, or to Nielos, or to me if I'm caught with her. I can't take the chance that things will come out even worse than they already have."

"A wise choice," Rehan said, nodding. "I'm sure she would understand if she knew what had happened to your father."

"Will you tell her for me?"

Rehan sighed inwardly. Running messages was not the sort of thing he was used to and he and his brother paladins needed to leave with the dawn, to carry word of this demon attack back to Kurast. The snow was worrisome, but they might have to push on in spite of it. If the Prime Evils were moving again in the world… He shuddered at that thought and covered it by pretending to shiver. "It's getting colder," he said. "I'd better go find your friend so that she can spend the night indoors." He raised his hand, "Go in peace, Damali-sota."

Outside, the street was nearly empty of travelers, the ruts of the last horses and wagons filling up before his eyes with snow. At least the wind isn't blowing, he thought, and gave thanks to the Light for that. He then gave thanks for the fact that the south entrance to the Burrows lay partially in the direction of the boardinghouse that the Church had purchased in the city to house its missionaries. He decided that he would try one more time to persuade Kelsia to go with them. From what Damali had told him, she was in more trouble than he could have guessed.

Rehan found the blacksmith that Kelsia had described. Across the street, an alley ran back to the end of two stone buildings and ended in a brick wall four paces high. This wall had been left intact, and instead, some engineering person, several perhaps, had piled rocks, crates and apparently whatever debris was at hand against the side of one building, and run wooden planks along the top to make a ramp that cleared the top of the wall. He carefully traversed the snow-covered ramp, stood at the top of the thick wall for a moment and began to descend the steeper ramp on the other side.

"Kalila?" he called, squinting to peer into the gray-lit night. His voice died away immediately, muffled by the snow. Rehan's heart pulsed in his ears as he waited. Had she opted to stay indoors after all? Grumbling a prayer for patience, Rehan brushed the snow from a fallen beam and settled in to wait.

[Silverbeard]

Indeed, the old and afflicted woman in the market sounds rather putrid. With that in mind, I tried to imagine that the majority of the people who frequented the market or worked there were accustomed to open sewage ditches, horse droppings, and all-around poor hygiene. It gave a very dark and somewhat ominous mood for that area of the city. Kelsia is in a VERY desperate situation and we can't help but want someone to help her. However, being able to recover from the attack will bolster her self confidence! Marius is on the way but what will happen when he finds that Kelsia and the staff have been separated? It sounds like he and the mages will have to fight their way into Rona...can't wait! :-D

[Snowglare]

I'm glad we get to see more of Rehan, he's my favorite new character in a while. Paladins rule. Seeing what some of the others are up to makes for a nice counter to Kelsia's isolation without resolving it outside her POV. Help is... around, but she'll probably need to help herself before anyone else can.


His body jerked again, and this time, he coughed streams of red liquid came from his mouth and nose.

Forgot to take came out.


Geir had been appointed leader of the mission, and Marius considered him a good choice.

I wonder. His respect for Geir doesn't stop him from "cut[ting] the wizard off" and barking an order without asking Geir's leave. Maybe he's just hotheaded.


Father Rehan took in the girl's drawn features and eyes that were vacant of expression.

I think this reads a bit awkwardly with the mixed ways of describing two parts of one person.


"I can read it to you, if you like," he offered.

I have a feeling his motivation here is not entirely altruistic. He can be forgiven some curiosity with all he's done.


"My dear Damali," he read in a clear voice, translating to Ronish.

This made me wonder how different Kehjistani is from Ronish, that he can translate on the fly. If the grammar's similar, I imagine that would be simple enough for someone who's fluent in both. If the sentence structure's markedly different, I guess he's really good at translating.

Also, I like how you noted he started off reading "in a clear voice." I didn't notice at first, so when Damali shushed him, I wondered how loudly he was speaking and why he didn't assume the letter's contents would need censoring before public release. Guess it's not in his nature, even once his suspicions have been raised.


Rehan sighed inwardly.

Heh. That's totally his catchphrase. If this were a massively popular novel, there'd be t-shirts and buttons, fanart featuring Rehan with an exasperated look on his face...


Had she opted to stay indoors after all? Grumbling a prayer for patience, Rehan brushed the snow from a fallen beam and settled in to wait.

"Opt?" Not exactly... I hope his patience turns to worry soon. I don't like the odds of her finding him, though it would be a good sign if she's able to work up the strength to walk anywhere.

[tamrend]

Quote:
Originally Posted by tamrend
Father Rehan took in the girl's drawn features and eyes that were vacant of expression.

I think this reads a bit awkwardly with the mixed ways of describing two parts of one person.

Yes, you're absolutely right. I puzzled over this description for a bit. The phrase "vacant eyes" often implies stupidity, so I was trying to avoid that. It seems like it just needs a rewrite here.


Quote:
Originally Posted by tamrend
"I can read it to you, if you like," he offered.

I have a feeling his motivation here is not entirely altruistic. He can be forgiven some curiosity with all he's done.

Heh, as this scenario was forming in my mind, I knew there was no way he was just going to deliver that letter and march blithely on his way.


This made me wonder how different Kehjistani is from Ronish, that he can translate on the fly. If the grammar's similar, I imagine that would be simple enough for someone who's fluent in both. If the sentence structure's markedly different, I guess he's really good at translating.

Yes, he's fluent in both languages and yes, they are similar as, say, English and German.

[tamrend]

Note: This last part's a bit shorter than I thought it would be, but if I stay with things in Rona, this chapter is going to go on for another 8000 words at least. I'm planning to break pattern again, though, and step away for only one chapter with Shael before returning.

Chapter 21: Stolen

Part 3

Kelsia shook with cold and exhaustion, her breath coming in gasps. Her arms might as well have ended in stumps just above her wrists. The feeling in her hands and fingers had disappeared completely, and they had begun to swell, impeding her forward progress. All of that was forgotten, though, at the sight before her. A long, flickering rectangle of light danced in the snow, firelight cast through a window, with slits of light further on that must be where the light passed through gaps between the slats of a door. Kelsia angled her head slowly to the right, until she caught sight of the door, only a few paces away.

She moved forward until her hand touched the doorframe. She could hear the occasional pop from the fire, and there was another sound. Humming? She raised her stiff, reddened hand to knock weakly on the slats of a door surprisingly clean and free of rot.

The humming stopped and long moments passed. A shadow broke the slivers of light and the door creaked slowly open. From her vantage point, Kelsia saw only the hem of a patched and stained dress and knobby toes. “Maysun!” a gravelly woman’s voice said in faintly accented Ronish. “What are you doing out there? You’ll catch your death, child.”

Kelsia did not attempt to correct the woman. She crawled through the open door and onto the dry, straw-covered floor. The heat of the fire beckoned her to come closer, but exhaustion overwhelmed all other considerations. As soon as she was through the door, her body gave way and she dropped to the floor, groaning as pain began to throb in her head and seemed to wash down through her body.

Above her, the woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Drunk again, aren’t you, Hilal? I should throw you back out in the street, I should.”

Despite the pain, the cold, the despair, Kelsia was taken aback. Did the woman just call her by yet another name? And who was she talking to now, facing towards the far wall? “Yes, yes, be patient, dear. The soup is almost ready.” With that, the woman seemed to forget all about Kelsia lying on her floor and went to stir a large kettle suspended over the fire. In a moment, she was humming again.

Kelsia felt content to lie where she was for the time being, but that was changing by the moment. Her face and ears burned as heat and life began to flow back, but much worse were her hands. They had begun to tingle, then to burn and throb, but their color, which had gone a pallid yellow, was gradually turning a healthier pink. She could feel each drop of blood as a tickling on her ear before it dripped into the straw with a faint rustle.

Gingerly, Kelsia lifted a swollen hand to touch the back of her head. The pain was immediate and intense, like fire searing a line across her skull. She clamped her teeth down hard to hold back a scream, but her mewling noises brought the old woman's attention back to her. "Lutfi!" she said sternly. "You stop hitting Maysun right this instant!" Then she went on in a gentler tone. "Now it's only a little bump, May. Wipe away those tears and come sit. I'll get you a nice warm bowl of soup."

Kelsia considered. Standing up was out of the question. Her head felt stuffed with wool and her legs were shaky and weak. The trickle of blood from the back of her head still flowed. If it were going to stop on its own, it would have happened by now. For all she knew, she might just keep bleeding until she died, and the old woman, in the grip of some madness, did not seem to have noticed.

"Please, I'm hurt," she said, the sob in her voice very real. "Help me."

"Oh, May!" the old woman said. She set down her long wooden spoon and came towards her. "What happened to you?"

Kelsia held out her hands to show the old woman the blood on her fingers. "It's my head," she explained.

The woman knelt and carefully brushed back her hair, stiff and matted with dried blood. Her intake of breath was a hiss. "Oh, dear, that is quite a scrape. It'll need sewing and a bandage. You stay right here, and I'll get you fixed up."

The woman bustled to the other side of the cottage and rummaged through a chest. She returned with a small wool blanket and various smaller implements. "Better get up on your hands and knees, dearie," she said as she dragged a chair over. "I can't reach down that low."

Kelsia forced her limbs to move against the pain and fatigue, gathering them under her and lifting. Her hands now throbbed more painfully than her head. When she had a moment to look at them, she could see that large blisters had began to form. Had the cold done that? she wondered.

"Come on over here," the woman said, now seated in her chair just a short distance in front of her. She stared at a needle as she threaded it. "That's it," she said, when Kelsia moved near. "Head down, dearie." She felt the woman's hand grasp the sides of her head and maneuver her so that she looked directly into the woman's dress. When she let go, the woman's knees gripped her with a force that was just short of uncomfortable.

"Now, this is going to hurt," she said. "I won't lie to you on that. But just keep still and it'll be over quickly."

Kelsia jumped and screamed in spite of the warning as the needle jabbed her skin. The woman's legs held her in place with a strength that seemed unnatural for such a thin, aged body. "Keep still, dearie," the woman repeated. "Here goes another."

She flinched the second time the needle went in, but did not jerk back or cry out again. Tears of pain beaded in her eyes and she sucked her breaths between clenched teeth. A few times, she felt her muscles start to go limp and her vision fade to gray, but she held on with sheer force of will. Just when it seemed like the agony would never end, the woman said, "There, that should hold it. Now sit up for me."

Kelsia raised her head, watching spots dance across her vision. The old woman wiped blood from her fingers onto the edge of the blanket, then tore a wide strip from the other end of it. This she wound around and around Kelsia's head and fastened with a pin. "Your lovely hair will be just a mess," she said, "blood dried in it and all. We'll leave the bandage on at least until morning, then maybe we can wash it out. You stay put and I'll make you a bed right here on the floor." With that, she stood and walked away.

Kelsia realized then that the woman had not called her "Maysun" in some time. Maybe the madness was lifting from her mind. She hoped it was so. She may well owe the woman her life and would like it if her thanks could be heard and understood.

Swaying suddenly, Kelsia put out a hand to keep herself from crashing to the floor. Kneeling was making her dizzy, and the floor, though covered in musty straw, felt blissfully comfortable as she lowered herself down. Lying there, the face of her attacker, the one with a scar that had cut her purse, loomed over her in her mind, the horrible moment returning to her, only now she knew him. It was one of the three young men she had seen in at Market earlier in the day, when she had met Father Rehan, when she had reached into her coin purse for the money to pay him.

"Stupid," she mumbled to herself.

"Eh, what's that?" the old woman said, returning laden with a pile of blankets. Kelsia didn't hear her, and she didn't wake even as the woman stripped off her wet clothing and labored to roll her onto the pallet she had made.

[DoomBoy]

I hope she gets her revenge! Thanks for the good read!

[Snowglare]

Kelsia did not attempt to correct the woman. She crawled through the open door and onto the dry, straw-covered floor. The heat of the fire beckoned her to come closer, but exhaustion overwhelmed all other considerations. As soon as she was through the door, her body gave way and she dropped to the floor, groaning as pain began to throb in her head and seemed to wash down through her body.

This scene reminded me of Frankenstein. Fire... good. Also good that the friend Kelsia makes isn't blind, and only a little crazy. I'm guessing she lost her family to demons, though it could as easily be disease. She doesn't seem sick so much as mired in denial, like something snapped when they were suddenly gone.


And blood still tickled across her scalp.

Did you mean trickled?


"Oh, May!" the old woman said, setting down her long wooden spoon and came towards her.

Your verbs don't match up.

[tamrend]

Quote:
Originally Posted by tamrend
And blood still tickled across her scalp.

Did you mean trickled?

That...was a bit of wordplay. Yeah, it does look a bit weird. I'll change it.

[Snowglare]

I thought it was intentional at first (well, second), but when I got to "The trickle of blood from the back of her head still flowed" a short while later, I wasn't sure. Now I'm not sure it needs changing.

[Silverbeard]

I'm just glad to see Kelsia has found a kind reception, a fire to warm her bones, and some medical attention. She has been able to fend off a dismal end and found the strength to persevere...building some much needed self confidence.

Now you mention that we are about to revisit Shael...this should be GOOD!!!

[tamrend]

I just had a message I wanted to share with you all.

Creating this story has been a tremendous process of growth and discovery for me as a writer. Looking back, I think that what consistently drew people in early on was the characters and the mysteries that I laid out in that opening chapter. Since then, I've learned a lot about describing scenes and characters, about carrying and pacing a narrative, making dialogue flow naturally, using voice, and more. Some of that came about from my own meandering observations, but I also owe a great deal of it to the readers who took the time to comment.

You've probably noticed that the story is approaching a climax, as Shael, Keiji, and the soldiers from Westmarch prepare to fight the demons in the swamp, and Kelsia and the Horadrim coming to find her perch on the edge of disaster. The conclusion of these immediate events will bring about somewhat of a lull in the tension. My best guess puts the story at 150,000 words at the end of these two chapters, somewhere between 350-400 pages if printed as a book. Given the length of the story so far, I would go so far as to say it will mark the end of Book I. Which of course leads to the obvious question. What about Book II?

Relax, I'm going to continue writing. Science fiction author Theodore Sturgeon, when asked why he writes, replied, "Because it's easier than not writing." I think you could apply that rationale to just about any creative human activity, engineers, architects, fillm directors, or fashion designers. Creation is an end in itself and is its own reward. Another author, David Gerrold, answered the question in a slightly different way. He said that we write the stories that we would like to read. Since they don't exist yet, we have to create them. Both sentiments aptly express how I feel about this project. I know in general terms how the story will play out, but, like you readers, I haven't read it yet and I need to know what will happen.

Having said that, when Book I is complete, I will begin the massive edit and rewrite that I have been promising myself I would do for, well, years now. There are a lot of issues, particularly in the opening chapters, a lot of grammar mistakes, typos, and poorly constructed sentences. Some characters underwent subtle changes in mannerism and demeanor after a few chapters and need their earlier selves rewritten. A few stray threads of plot need to be reeled in and woven more tightly to the whole.

I expect that this process will take a month, maybe longer, and I will re-publish the revised story here. I also intend to make a downloadable pdf and, motivation willing, am considering trying my hand at an audio podcast of The Key to build my name recognition for future published work, and to familiarize myself with the process of this newly emerging means of author self-promotion. Check out Scott Sigler and J. C. Hutchins for examples of published authors that make use of podcasting (and give their books a read, while you're at it).

Those bigger plans aside, I will begin work on Book II once I am happy with the rewrite, and I will publish it here. However, I have decided on one significant difference. I am also going to begin work on a new novel, a completely original work that I intend to publish in the traditional manner. It'll involve alternate history, quantum mechanics, and powers of the mind unleashed in a hellish new version of World War II. It should be one hell of a ride. I'm thinking that I'll write alternating chapters of these two stories, maybe toss in a short story or two I've been kicking around at some point. The Key will be kind of my reward for stepping out into much scarier territory.

In any case, I'll keep you all apprised of what I'm working on. At this time, I have no illusions of quitting my day job to write full-time. I make decent money and enjoy my work as a programmer/database developer, and I find that work is yet another source of anecdotes and ideas to use in writing. You might be surprised to know that the average advance for a first time writer of a fantasy or sci-fi novel is only about $6000. That's not to say that a novel won't sell well beyond that and more, but it often takes a lot of time and effort from the author to get to a place where publishers are willing to offer the kinds of advances that it takes to live off of writing alone. Still, the possiblity of several thousand extra bucks for doing something you love isn't such a bad thing. I would continue doing it for free if that were the only option I had.

Thanks all, and here's to seeing this place blossom back to its old liveliness as DIII gets closer.

- Scott Dysart (aka Tamrend)

P.S. Chapter 22 is going well. Look for a post by this weekend.

[Snowglare]

What about Book II?

Relax, I'm going to continue writing.

Phew. I got the impression you were stopping once the current rising action was resolved.


I am also going to begin work on a new novel, a completely original work that I intend to publish in the traditional manner. It'll involve alternate history, quantum mechanics, and powers of the mind unleashed in a hellish new version of World War II. It should be one hell of a ride.

When it's published, I'll buy it. Be sure to remind me.

[Silverbeard]

Yes, please!!! Let us know! The Key has been an excellent story and we look forward to your future creativity!

[tamrend]

Note: This chapter is a long one, but was a lot of fun to write. I hope it makes as good a read.

Chapter 22: Steel and Thunder

Part 1

The spongy ground was not conducive to stomping. Rather than a satisfying clop, Shael's boots were just as likely to slosh up to their ankles. She quickly moderated her footfalls, but the stubborn set of her jaw and the bristle that had crept into her back at hearing lieutenant Astin's pronouncement to her remained. No doubt Alain thought he was doing the noble thing. Arrogant prig.

The fog had begun to clear shortly after daybreak, though thin wisps still clung to the edges of trees and hovered over pools of brackish water. The day had passed uneventfully, the only attacks coming from the horde of biting insects that filled the air. Now, daylight was rapidly fading, and men hurried to put what little light remained to good use.

Shael walked the interior of the wall, ducking beneath the diagonal braces that sloped down from its top to sink into the earth behind it. The palisade, which yesterday had been flimsy and full of gaps, was now a complete enclosure, reinforced by a clever arrangement of horizontal beams and diagonal braces that were cut to fit neatly together. Alternating groups of longer and shorter branches provided holes at the top of the wall large enough to fire arrows through, while protecting the archer's head and body. Though the work was crude and the space inside only about thirty paces by fifty, it was a marvel what Alain's men had accomplished after only two days, using axes meant for clearing brush and knives meant for fighting. The main weakness in the structure was the lack of a working gate. Without nails or hinges, there was no way to create a structure that would swing or slide away, so a small gap had been left at the north end to allow scouts and foraging parties to come and go.

Shael had given some thought to trying to hunt herself, but it was probably for the best that she did not. Half a dozen men had come up missing through the course of the day, whether due to demons or to some natural predator of the swamps. Besides, it seemed that this land had already been scoured of any animals larger than rodents. What little food they were able to scavenge was in the form of edible plants and roots, and most of those tasted little better than the mud in which they grew.

In the shadow of the southernmost wall of the palisade, Shael came up against Keiji and his granddaughter Anaki asleep on the woven mats that they had brought in for themselves. The hulking form of the golem sat on the ground nearby, head drooping from hunched shoulders, tiny onyx eyes glittering but never blinking. Looking to the other side, Shael couldn't suppress a shudder. The four skeletons of the dead demons stood in a line and perfectly still. Shael had the unnerving feeling that despite their quite literally lifeless appearance, they would spring into lethal motion if she made any move against the sleeping humans at their feet.

Faced with this, Shael's anger gave way to common sense. She gave the group a wide berth, and her aura of righteous indignation was further spoiled when she had to dodge soldiers moving about their tasks who were also reluctant to get too close to the necromancer and his undead guards. That only got worse as she approached Alain's tent, which was a hub of frenetic activity. They all knew that their time was nearly up. The demons had waited out the day so that they could attack in darkness. That was the reason that Shael and many of the soldiers had slept as much as they were able throughout the day. Even if the attack, by some miracle, did not happen, they would have a long vigil until morning. They would need every body they had to watch for and fend off the demon attack. That thought brought the fire back to her resolve.

Alain resided in a large wedge tent, one of only a few that dotted the camp. Most of the tents had been left behind with the wagons near Shael's village, but a few had been brought to protect their store of munitions and horse feed from the weather. Shael guessed that his use of a tent was as much symbolic as for privacy. When she approached, six men were already lined up outside. Shael spared only a glance at them for all their protests as she slipped past and went in.

Syd and Alain sat on straw mats on the ground, speaking in low, urgent tones. Shael folded her arms, glaring silently at Alain's right side, letting the fury seethe. Syd was the first to look over, and Alain tracked his gaze to her. "Hello, Shael," the captain said guardedly, taking in her combative stance and expression.

"I'd better get the word out to the other officers, sir," Syd said, standing up and saluting with unusual formality. "Shael," he said, nodding to her as he brushed past.

Alain stared after his lieutenant with faint dismay. No doubt he guessed exactly why Shael had come, and now the only support at hand had just deserted him. "Listen, Shael—" was as far as he got.

"No, you listen," Shael said, punctuating each word with a stab of her finger towards him. She was quite proud of herself for not screaming at him. "I did not come all of this way to turn tail and run. Neither did Renn and Tarin. My family is from a long line of hunters and trackers. My brothers and I are as good with a bow as any of your men, and probably better than most." The boast probably sounded presumptuous to Alain, but Shael didn't make it lightly. She had been four when she had first picked up a bow, so she figured that she had been practicing longer than the main part of these men, most of whom looked no older than Tarin. The only place she couldn't match them was in draw strength, and there, Loric's bow more than made up the difference. "Turning us away from this battle is a poor decision and an insult."

"Be reasonable, Shael," Alain said, spreading his hands. "My men fight as a unit. They trust me to lead them, and I trust them to follow my orders to the letter. You and your brothers could be the best shots we have, but I would not send you into battle. You are not trained to be soldiers."

"And what about Edwin?" Shael asked, hoping she didn't sound petulant. "You saw fit to let him stay and fight."

By Alain's sigh, he had been hoping that she wouldn't make that argument. "Edwin was a guard for Graegor's estate. He's used to following orders without question, Shael."

"And you just assume that I won't follow your orders?" she demanded.

Alain grinned. "Think about that for just a moment, and what it is you are doing here right now."

Shael opened her mouth to spout an angry retort, but was dismayed to find she had none. Damn him, but he was right. He had given her orders and she was throwing them back in his face. She wondered ruefully if this had been a test, and she had failed it. No, Alain wouldn't go for something so devious. "It's not the same," she said lamely. "You don't even know how many demons we're going to be facing. You need everyone you can get to fight."

"Actually," Alain said, picking up a parchment from the ground in front of him, "We do know." He hesitated before going on. When he did, his voice was measurably lower. "I don't want the men to know this. Will you promise me your silence?"

"Of course. I swear it," Shael said at once.

Alain nodded his acceptance. "A team of scouts was able to get close enough to the demon encampment to get a count of what we're up against." He read from the parchment. "Five-hundred seventeen goatmen. Two-hundred forty-four slayers. Ninety-eight imps. Seventy-four succubi. Forty-two blunderbores." He looked up. "You probably call them maulers. Ten clan lords: blood lords, death lords and such. Assume that a handful of them are out scouting and we have at least a thousand demons."

"A thousand?" She was definitely going to need to get used to larger numbers. Things with which she were familiar that were too many to count, such as grains of wheat, generally lent themselves well to measuring by weight or by filling a container with them. "Is that much more than two hundred?"

"Five of them for every one of us," Alain explained. "It is impossible odds. I blame myself for the snare I've put us in. It was a grave tactical error to leave our arbalests and ballistae behind. The clan lords alone could probably wipe my men out, and they'll tear down that wall like it was made of silk. The bows and crossbows we carry will hardly pierce their hides. We've come here to die, Shael, and the reason I require your silence now is that the men may start to desert if they knew."

His words chilled her. He couldn't mean it. How could he face such a horrible fate with such calm, such detachment? "And are you sure they are coming for us tonight?"

"From the report we got, Syd thinks that they are preparing to march."

"So why send us away? And why keep Edwin here?"

Alain sighed. "You and your brothers will travel north with Syd. You'll get word to the lieutenant general back at our camp near Dunesmar, tell him of what we found here. It will be in his hands then. As for Edwin, if by some miracle, we survive, I need someone here who can talk to your people, someone they trust."

If what he said was true, it was a sensible plan, though she was certain he had chosen her to send as much out of misguided protectiveness as for any other reason. And yet, on a very basic level she could not accept that it had come to this, that there was no hope of surviving, let alone saving her people. There had to be some way.

"I know that look," Alain said suddenly. "What are you thinking, Shael?"

The memory of her last duel with Amaury a week ago had popped into her mind, and she wasn't sure at first what the connection was. She began to pace, trying to jog the thought loose, and then, in a flash of understanding, she had it. "Mongoose form," she blurted out, only realizing as she said it how inane that must sound. She went on quickly, ignoring his look of confusion. "Listen, we've spent two days digging in here, building up an amazing defensive wall given the lack of tools and materials. Those demons know it, and they'll be expecting to come here and find us hunkering down inside, waiting for them."

She paused for effect and Alain's brows rose. "Yes. But how does this help us?"

"So we do the unexpected," Shael went on, still moving back and forth. "We leave this, all this, behind, and we attack them."

Alain stood and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her movement. His tone carried condescension and, oddly, disappointment. "That's not a plan, Shael. It's utter madness. Here, at least we have the palisade to protect us. Out there, we'll be completely at their mercy."

"No, listen," Shael said, shaking the hand off. "They are going to send an army to attack us here, but we're not going to fight them. This camp will be a decoy. We'll…I don't know, circle around behind them. We'll move in on their camp. With any luck, they will only leave a token force to defend. We'll be able to dispatch them and free my people."

"And if that succeeds," Alain said, no longer sounding displeased, "what will we do when the attacking force returns to their camp? We can't outrun them."

"I don't know," Shael faltered, but quickly recovered herself. "We'll figure something out. But I do know that I would rather die trying to free those people than sit here and wait for them to come kill us."

Alain nodded slowly, looking past her. "As would I, Shael." His gaze refocused on her and he grimaced. "I know some of the men wouldn't like being told to leave all of this behind, not after all of the work they've put into it."

Shael knew that it wasn't a real objection, just an idle observation. He was mulling her idea over, imperfect though it was, and she allowed him to reflect in silence. Finally, he nodded. "Alright, you've won me over. As I said, it's madness, but maybe that's why it will work. You'll have to tell me sometime what mongoose form has to do with any of this."

"Ask Sergeant Amaury about it," Shael said, grinning secretively. "Now, about sending me away…."

Alain sighed and waved his hand irritably. "Fine, you can stay. Your brothers too, if that is their wish."

"Thank you, sir," Shael said, and imitated the salute that Syd had made on his way out. She made a jaunty bow to the men who still waited outside, brushing aside the dark looks she got. It was only after she was back at her own pallet that doubts began to creep into her thoughts, the full weight of it coming down on her. What if they failed to evade the approaching army? What if the defenses they left behind were too strong? Worst of all was the question she had been carefully avoiding for several days now. What if all her people were already dead?

Shael carefully pushed that last thought away. She could not give up on them. Not now. Not when they were so close. So she focused on what had to be done. Pack up her things. Feed her horse. Oil her sword and string her bow.

The order to pack up and prepare to march went out just as the sun began to sink below the tops of the trees. Shael led her horse to the edge of their island and mounted cautiously. There was some grumbling from the soldiers and plenty of questions from Edwin and from Shael's brothers, but she assured them that what they were doing was for the best. Keiji, Anaki, and their unnatural, silent companions followed the order without comment, as if they had expected it all along.

The last blush of twilight hung in the sky by the time the column of soldiers filed through the northern gate. Scouts cut wary paths outward and back as they marched southeast, careful to leave as little trail as possible. At times this was easy, the hungry marshes quickly devouring the evidence of their passing. At other times, it proved more of a challenge as boots left deep prints in the mud.

The air felt tense, though whether from fear or excitement, Shael could not tell. Both, she decided. They were tired, hungry, and had just left the only shelter they had behind, but there was a sense of pride in going out to face their enemies. Some strident voice up the line began belting out a cadence call that put a blaze of scarlet into Shael's ears, even as she listened in fascination. Surely two people would never do that…

Gradually, the lascivious marching song died away as an as-yet moonless night folded over them. Shael found herself straining to listen past the slosh of mud and rustle of reeds. Were demon's ears keener than a human's? Could they move with greater stealth?

No, Shael told herself, remembering the stupid, lumbering maulers that had come after her, Kelsia, Seith and Marius, that night she had become separated from all of them. They would drive their way through the swamp with all the subtlety of a charging bull. She was certain they would hear such a racket from far off.

After the passage of some indeterminable amount of time, a halt was called and the soldiers and riders relaxed marginally, taking their rest. Alain and Syd conferred, pointing up at the stars and sighting back along their path. Orders were barked to the lead elements of the column and they started away again, moving on a new course. Almost due south, if Shael's reckoning were true. Could the demon army even right now be moving past them on their right, trekking north toward the palisade? Shael tried not to think of that, or of what might happen if one of the scouts on that side were spotted. They were committed now, no going back.

The column forged south over the treacherously unsteady ground. If Edwin had been correct, it was about three leagues to the demon camp, traveling the most direct path. Figure in a bit more than that and it take at least half the night at the pace they were making. The waxing half moon had just begun to rise in the east when they came to a stop once more. Another rest and a course change?

But no, at least not yet. Alain and his officers rode to intercept returning scouts and gathered six of them together in one place. They were given some kind of instructions, whereupon they all dismounted and headed southwest on foot, quickly disappearing into the swamp.

"There's almost no wind tonight," Edwin said, coming up on Shael's right, his horse making faint squishing sounds in the muck. "That's good. Less chance for them to sniff us out."

Shael turned to him. "Do you think this is going to work?"

Edwin cocked his head slightly to regard her. "Alain seems to me a good leader, and smart. I think he knew what he was doing when he planned this."

Shael chose not to reveal her part in coming up with their plan. Best to not plague him with the same doubts she herself had. "Edwin?" she said softly. "If something happens to me, tell my mother I love her. Tell my family that I died for them, for all of them."

"That's not going to happen," Edwin said, sounding almost angry. "You and me, we've been through so much. There has to be a reason we've lived through it all."

"Yes," she said noncommittally. Did she believe in fate, in providence? She couldn't say. Why should such things have ever happened to someone so insignificant as her? Maybe Fate had a streak of perverse humor.

Edwin took her indistinct answer to mean she was done talking, and turned back along the column, probably to find her brothers. She should go to them, she knew, but she was afraid that if she did the roiling emotions she kept carefully in check would boil over. She had to stay focused.

The team of scouts appeared, slipping silently out of the darkness to give their reports to Alain. After several moments of quiet conversation among the officers, the captain gave the order for the column to move forward once more. This was it. The demon army must have marched out to attack their now empty entrenchments, just as she had hoped. They were going to make the final leg of the journey, and hopefully catch off guard whatever demons had been left behind to guard their prisoners.

Perhaps a hundred paces in, the order to halt was quietly passed down the line. New orders were sent, directing one of the four platoons, the one commanded by Victor, to break off from the main force and angle off to the left. Tarin and Renn went that way, while Edwin stayed. Keiji nodded at a whispered word from Syd and he and his grisly minions kept their place at the rear of the remaining force. Shael was puzzled by the new arrangement and resolved to watch carefully to see if she could determine the reasoning behind it.

After a bit of a wait, they proceeded forward again. Shael could now see smoke in the sky, lit from below by firelight. They were close now, perhaps close enough for their bows to reach out and begin to claim demon lives, but still they marched forward. Soon the fire itself came into view and she could see movement in the glint of light on metal weapons and armor. And she could see the shadows cast by the broken remains of walls and foundations and the skeletal shape of a wagon's remains.

Closer still and she could make out moving figures. She could also hear their voices. Tall, thin goatmen and hunched slayers bleated and howled around what was now plainly an enormous bonfire. A mauler sat nearby, gazing at the spectacle in a stupefied daze. It lifted a hunk of something to its stunted head and tore off a messy bite.

The soldiers continued moving forward as quietly as the gear and terrain would allow. Staring past the roaring fire, Shael could make out the corral now, a fence nearly twice the height of the one that Alain's men had built. Shael strained to peer between the slats, but could see only darkness there. She was so intent in her search that she had to snatch frantically at the reins and drew her horse up when the horse in front of her halted suddenly. The column opened outward, men peeling off to either side while those to the rear marched forward until they had formed a triple line, a single pace separating each man. Those on horseback fell in behind in a fourth, more widely spaced line. Those gaps must be for the heavy weapons, Shael thought.

She looked to the camp once more. They were still about a hundred paces out. Too far for the crossbows to be accurate, but Shael guessed that precise shots would not be called for here. The terrain was irregular, small islands interspersed between pools and narrow channels. The demons had not yet sighted them, still caught up in their strident display. Was this a celebration of their coming victory, perhaps? That would change quickly when the arrows and bolts began to fall from the sky. Shael allowed herself a crooked smile at that thought.

Her gaze fell back to the mauler, lowering its meal from another bloody bite. Her grin faded. Arms, legs, and a head with short black hair dangled from the demon's fist. The body surely looked small next to the mauler but--by the light, was that a child?

Seeing that, Shael turned and leaned out to empty her stomach, mindful of making a mess of her saddle and clothes. The acrid bile brought tears to her eyes, and Shael couldn't seem to catch her breath. Could that be Caelin, her little brother, or Mattias? "Merciful heaven," she whispered. Had they all been eaten? It was her fault. She had come too late. Shael closed her eyes, trying to banish the image of the half-eaten child.

"Bows at ready," came the order from Alain, spoken just above a whisper. All down the line came the rustling and quiet snicks of men bending their bows with belt claws. Shael breathed deep, struggling to master her fear and shame. She had to fight now. She thought of her brothers, and of Edwin, and the shadow on her soul lifted slightly. She would fight for their sakes, even if all else was lost.

"Take aim." Shael's eyes snapped open as the second order went out. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and spat. As she snatched the bow from her shoulder, she could feel the magic already beginning to tingle in her fingers. She flicked an arrow free from her quiver and fitted it to string in a smooth motion. It pulled easily back to her cheek. The tingle intensified and the air droned heavily with sound just on the edge of hearing.

"Loose!" This time the command was delivered in a shout, and the snap of a hundred fifty crossbows rent the night. Shael let her own arrow fly a moment later, and it arced upward, blazing brilliant blue across the stars.

The first arrows found their targets almost before the demons near the fire noticed the attack. The goatmen and slayers, more than a dozen in all, fell beneath the deadly rain. Shael's arrow, pulsing its eerie light, reached its zenith and plummeted downward. The mauler, who had paused in the act of lifting the dead child for another bite, stared upward in apparent wonder. In the next moment, it disappeared in a blaze of white as the arrow struck home and sent lightning sheeting and booming down out of a clear sky.

"Nicely done, Shael," Edwin said next to her. He was struggling to fit a borrowed wrought-iron goat's foot over the stock of his bow. "I think my shot went wide."

"Bows at ready!"

The soldiers on foot hooked their strings to belt claws while those on horseback slipped on their goat's hooves and peeled back the long lever to bend their bows. Shael took that moment to scan the camp for another target. One heartbeat, another, and then they appeared, quite literally, from nowhere. Fires blazed up and winked out all along this side of the demon camp, leaving behind a ragged line of squat, misshapen demons.

"Take aim!"

The smaller demons began chanting in a horrible, grating tongue. "Imps," one of the soldiers said, naming them. Sickly green fires leapt into their hands and grew. Shael picked a target at random and sighted on it. Movement pulled at her eyes, more demons pouring into the circle of firelight from other parts of the camp, but she ignored them, keeping her eyes on her target.

"Loose!"

Shael let fly at the same time as Alain's soldiers this time. The demons threw their magic at nearly the same instant. Arrows arced high into the sky, lit from below by the streaking balls of fire. The sight so transfixed Shael that she almost realized the danger too late. The double line of men threw themselves to the ground as the fireballs exploded all around and among them, sending great gouts of steam and mud into the air. Shael's mount reared and screamed when one of the hissing balls sailed past on her left side. She clung to the horse, fighting to keep him from bolting.

The gelding finally stopped bucking, but he kept his head craned high up and breathed rapidly in and out. Shael risked taking her attention off her mount for a moment to observe the effects of the violent exchange. One man had died, his face scorched down to the skull, and three had suffered burns that left them writhing in agony in the muck. A smattering of burns showed among the rest of the men, none apparently serious enough to take them out of the battle.

Shael looked across to the edge of the camp and blinked in confusion. Only two of the squat demons lay there, one securely pinned by the bolt piercing its torso. Behind them, more goatmen and slayers were streaming from all corners of the camp and orienting on the Westmarch bowmen. Where had the other imps gone? In answer to her wondering, a flash of light flared, reflected off of a narrow rivulet. Another flash at the corner of her vision. They were moving closer, blasting in and out of existence in auburn flares, using the water and vegetation for cover.

"Fall back!" Alain shouted, and the handful of men who were preparing to reload in anticipation of the order had to abandon their efforts. The dead and dying were left behind as men scrambled to comply. Shael turned her horse away from the demon camp but kept a tight check on his speed. Frightened as he was, he would break into a full gallop if she let him, which would be disastrous on this treacherous ground.

The flares were growing closer now, and then quite suddenly, they stopped. Shael glanced back at hearing a chorus of chanting and a smattering of angry hissing. Twenty paces back, the imps were once more drawing up their horrid green fire and would soon hurl it upon the fleeing men.

Alain's counterstroke took the imps completely by surprise, and Shael's mind faltered for a moment to explain it. In a hail of splashes and wet thuds, bolts fell in among the imps. In moments, perhaps thirty little, twisted bodies lay in the mud, some still, some feebly clawing at the thick, stubby rods that impaled them. Looking to her right, she could just see the attackers. The other platoon, led by Victor, had been lying in wait, concealed within a forest of reeds, for the right moment to strike.

Alain called a halt and ordered the men back into line. The imps had been all but wiped out, those few who had lived blinking rapidly back to their camp, but now a sizable force of slayers and goatmen was advancing on the humans. Two more maulers had appeared, and another demon, just as tall, but with a furry, muscular torso and the huge head of a bull. It hefted a pair of ponderous double-bladed axes. That must be the clan lord, Shael thought. A crossbow bolt would be little more than a pinprick to that monster.

Shael stared at the clan lord as Alain gave the order to aim. She would take it down first, then go after the maulers. At the order to loose, she sighted on the massive creature and let the arrow fly. She hoped that one shot would be enough to kill it.

The demons were running at them now, screaming their fury, and death leaped down from the sky, opening gaps in their ranks. Those that remained standing never slowed, trampling the shrieking wounded underfoot. Shael's glowing arrow sailed true and took the clan lord high on its shoulder, where no armor covered it. It never slowed in its steady forward stride. But…where was the lightning?

Shael hurriedly notched another arrow and released it, no longer keeping pace with the much slower crossbows. This one hit the massive demon on its right thigh but bounced harmlessly off the armor there, the glow winking out without effect. "Damn it," she muttered, her grip tightening on her bow. Its magic had never failed her before.

The demons had already covered fifty paces when Alain's men raised their crossbows and took aim for another shot. This volley was fired directly into them rather than in a high arc, cutting down a wide swath at the front of the charging mass. At least half of their number had fallen now, and another hail from Victor's group brought more down, but Shael could see that there would not be time for them to reload. She readied another arrow and loosed it at one of the pair of maulers. The arrow leapt across the short distance and buried it in the creatures blubbery flesh, the lightning falling upon it in a concussion of heat and sound. Shael let out the breath she had been holding as the demon staggered and went down.

"Closing formation!" Alain called. "Third and fourth, shoot at will."

"Second platoon!" Marcel bellowed, as soon as Alain finished. "Chu-ke nu at ready!"

At hearing this order, the soldiers in the second line hung their crossbows to their belts on the right hip and reached to their left sides to unhook the smaller crossbows with a thin, rectangular box fixed over where the bolt channel should be, and a handle whose double lever arms protruded up over the top of the box. They held these strange devices at their hips, pointing out towards the rapidly closing demons.

"First platoon, swords at ready," Astin drawled. "Take position." At hearing the order, the men stowed crossbows and drew swords from their left hips. They stepped back and left, giving the second row a clear shot.

"It's time," Keiji said, his soft voice carrying from the right. Shael spared a glance to see the old man, eyes closed and chanting, while his granddaughter held him steady. The golem and skeletons heaved themselves forward, running past the edge of the line of soldiers coming at the charging demons in a curving path that would keep them out of the line of fire.

Shael was ready with her next shot. Better be the other mauler. Bolts already jutted from its barrel chest and massive arms. One had even pierced clear through its neck, but only thin trickles of black blood stained its skin. Shael sent a crackling arrow into its chest and it went down so hard the ground trembled slightly.

The demons had taken so many losses now that Alain's men outnumbered them at least two to one, but they never slowed, must never have even considered retreat. Still, Shael worried what would happen when that maddened horde plowed into the lightly armored bowmen.

"Second platoon!" Marcel called. "Attack!"

All down the second line, the soldiers pushed the handles of their bows quickly forward and back, a bolt flying out each time the motion completed. The air between the demons and humans filled with whizzing missiles. Though weaker and less accurate than a normal crossbow, the devices made up for both shortcomings with sheer quantity of bolts launched. In the time it took for the third and fourth lines to reload, the second platoon had cut down nearly all of the remaining demons. Now they stooped over their weapons, feeding stubby bolts into the top of the box, reloading the feeding mechanism.

Bolts began to fly out again as the third platoon and the horsemen fired, most of them aimed at the clan lord. Those bolts that didn't bounce off its thick armor embedded in its hide with little effect. But now the necromancer's creatures had reached it. The skeletons split and ringed the creature as the golem lowered one shoulder and hurled its bulk directly into it from the side. The demon staggered, stopping its forward motion, but did not go down from the impact. One axe came down in a wild swing that nevertheless took the golem's head and one arm off. Jags of lightning leapt from the blades as they sliced through, sending a gout of steam up from the earthen construct.

Two of the skeletons darted in at that moment to strike at the backs of the demon's legs. From the furious roar it gave, at least one of them must have gotten a blade through its armor. It spun and brought down an axe. Bone exploded outward from the impact, and Shael heard Keiji's tortured groan. The handful of remaining demons, four goatmen and seven slayers, rushed headlong into the first line of soldiers. Steel clashed on steel as their weapons met the defenders' swords, punctuated by a piercing scream as one blade slammed home into a man's chest. The other swordsmen quickly closed in around the attackers, hacking at them from all sides.

Twenty paces away, the clan lord swung its axes in a blur of movement at the skeletons, forcing them to retreat. Without warning, the beast roared and leapt forward, advancing on one of the skeletons, who ducked and weaved in a dance that no human could have managed. But the clan lord's axes were faster still. The skeleton leapt right to dodge one descending axe and went right into the path of the other. Bone and armor parted and shattered beneath the heavy blade, the axe continuing right on into the ground, sparks flying outward at the point of impact. Keiji gave another pained cry.

Shael blew out a breath, notched an arrow and drew, but held the string tensed near her jaw, waiting. The thing wielded lightning, she had seen. Was it also somehow immune to lightning magic? The golem, which had remained where it stood since being cut in two, moved now, stepping back out of range of the clan lord's axes. Ripples appeared across its surface, then dust shook free as a new head and arm grew--it looked more it was pushed up--out of its body.

The closer fight was nearly over. Another of the men had been run through the neck, but the last of the demons was quickly succumbing to the flurry of blows coming from every side. Shael's gaze flicked back to the clan lord and she saw her chance. The golem had somehow gotten in unnoticed and wrapped its arms around the clan lord's neck from behind. The demon flailed, reaching back with its axes to try and dislodge it. Shael's heart leapt into her throat as she let her arrow fly.

The arrow crossed the distance in an eye blink, striking the demon just below the armpit and biting so deeply into its flesh that only the fletched end remained visible. The creature roared in rage and pain, its head swinging over in her direction as it sought the source of the attack. Bellowing, it finally managed to cut one of the golem's arms away and threw itself at the lines of soldiers, taking one step, two. At the third step, the demon's legs buckled and it fell. It crashed full on into the swamp and remained, face buried in the muck. Just as she had hoped, Shael's arrow had gone through its side, slid past its ribcage and buried itself in the demon's heart.

For several heartbeats, nobody moved. No one spoke. The only sound was the distant croaking of frogs. And then, all at once, a cheer went up, growing louder and more jubilant by the moment. Shael had to focus to make her fingers release her bow so that she could hang it from her shoulder once more. She drew a trembling breath and joined her own cry of victory to the others as tears poured freely down her cheeks. They had won. By the light, they had won.

[Snowglare]

Alain and his officers road to intercept returning scouts and gathered six of them together in one place.

Should be rode.


"That's not going to happen," Edwin said, sounding almost angry. "You and me, we've been through so much. There has to be a reason we've lived through it all."

Shael, yes. You? Not so much. Nice knowing you, Ed.


The demons had taken so many losses now that Alain's men outnumbered them at least two to one, but they never slowed, must never have even considered retreat. Still, Shael worried what happened when that maddened horde plowed into the lightly armored bowmen.

I'm confused by the last sentence here. Did the two groups meet and Shael couldn't see what happened to them, or did you mean to say she worried what would happen when they did? She seems pretty observant aside from this, so I wonder how she missed it.


Two of the skeletons darted in at that moment to strike at the backs of the demon's legs. From the furious roar it gave, at least one of them must have gotten a blade through its armor. It spun and brought down an axe. Bone exploded outward from the impact, and Shael heard Keiji's tortured groan.

Ooh, psychic feedback. Interesting way to limit the necromancer's power. I take it that's part of why he isn't spamming Raise Skeleton on the demon corpses. He also seems to be puppeting his minions.


They had won. By the light, they had won.

For now. Two questions remain. What have they won? And how will they deal with the remaining demons? I want to be happier for them, but the odds of survival are still long, and they don't seem to have rescued anyone yet.

Great chapter. I was reluctant to sit tight for an extra long helping, but I much prefer getting the whole first battle to stopping at, say, the point where they reach the demon camp. Tense buildup with a satisfying, but not relaxing, payoff.

[Silverbeard]

Excellent! Shael's aid in planning AND fighting this battle has garnered the humans a victory! Her role as a leader seems to be developing. She is still trying to understand the magic in the bow...though Loric has attempted to instruct her. Once she becomes acutely aware of what it can do, I hope it brings both the Lightning and the Thunder!

It's interesting that Keiji is affected when his skele's take damage. As snowglare said, it would definitely keep the necro from resurrecting too many. He would eventually pass out from the pain if all were taking damage at once.

I hope Part 2 will include the rescue of what is left of the townspeople and see what happens when the demons return to the camp!

[tamrend]

Quote:
Originally Posted by tamrend
"That's not going to happen," Edwin said, sounding almost angry. "You and me, we've been through so much. There has to be a reason we've lived through it all."

Shael, yes. You? Not so much. Nice knowing you, Ed.

Bad Snowglare, bad! Spoiling my foreshadowing, honestly. You know, I recently read this book where, I kid you not, this "bestselling" author actually wrote, "But she couldn't know that the worst was yet to come." It's nice to see that I'm approaching that level of subtlety and finesse.

Regarding Edwin, I'm not yet sure if he's going to make it. I know who definitely has to live and who definitely has to die. The rest are still in contract negotiations.


Quote:
Originally Posted by tamrend
The demons had taken so many losses now that Alain's men outnumbered them at least two to one, but they never slowed, must never have even considered retreat. Still, Shael worried what happened when that maddened horde plowed into the lightly armored bowmen.

I'm confused by the last sentence here. Did the two groups meet and Shael couldn't see what happened to them, or did you mean to say she worried what would happen when they did? She seems pretty observant aside from this, so I wonder how she missed it.

Should have read "Shael worried what would happen when...." I fixed it in the text.


Ooh, psychic feedback. Interesting way to limit the necromancer's power. I take it that's part of why he isn't spamming Raise Skeleton on the demon corpses. He also seems to be puppeting his minions.

Yeah, sometimes I throw something in there because it's interesting or feels right and run with it. You're not totally in the right here, but not off either. The next part will shed some more light on Keiji's capabilities and limitations, and on Necromancers in general.


What have they won? And how will they deal with the remaining demons?

I try not to let my characters off easy. I'm actually a bit worried about having two long (in terms of word length) battles so close together. I didn't intend for this one to take up so much room.


Shael's aid in planning AND fighting this battle has garnered the humans a victory! Her role as a leader seems to be developing.

I'm really anxious about the line I'm walking here. On the one hand, you are right about the direction Shael's story arc is taking her in, and she'll need to keep developing steadily in that vein. On the other hand, I need to make sure that other characters don't act unrealistically and do things just because I need them to for the sake of the story. Third-person limited viewpoint can make this a challenge at times. How do I get across that Alain was so focused on his immediate problems of maintaining the defensive stance he had adopted that he wasn't thinking of the obvious strategy of a counterattack? That's what revision is for, I suppose.

[Snowglare]

For what it's worth, I got the impression that Shael had a half-formed idea that was better than noble suicide (which must have sounded more reasonable around the time the scouts brought back the "5 to 1" news), and Alain molded it into a proper battle plan. Even so, it is and was a gamble. What if they'd sent their forces in waves? or only committed what they thought necessary to wipe out the modest human army - say, half their force, 500 strong. If your opponent is simpleminded, as I imagine most demons are, they might only use simple plans (zerg rush!), or they might do crazy things that should never work and luck into an advantage against a superior planner. Or they could attack tomorrow. Why not?

Early on, it seemed like Alain had every intention of attacking, but the numbers made that seem foolhardy. I think retreat was the next plan. I vaguely recall some mention of that not being possible. Alain says in this chapter that they can't outrun the demons. If speed and tracking ability mean they can't run away from or around the demons for long distances, they have to fight. But how can they fight? I don't envy their morale officer.

[Silverbeard]

I've got to mention something else here...the reality of what Shael saw the mauler eating. She was so shocked and horrified that she hurled! Could it have been a family member??? She felt so guilty! Now, she has to add this to the payback she already has planned from being whipped chapters earlier. Come on Shael!!! Kick some major butt!!!

[DoomBoy]

I liked how Shael had to analyze her shots and working out a new game plan for attacking the blood lord. Good way to end the chapter! It would have been disastrous if the monster had two hearts though.

[Silverbeard]

Wouldn't it be cool if our necro resurrects the blood lord....heh heh heh!!! :-D

[tamrend]

Note: I intended to post all of chapter 22 in one lump, but it's really running too long and it's been months since I posted. So, here's what I have so far. Hopefully I'll wrap it up soon so I can start on the last chapter.

Chapter 22: Steel and Thunder
Part 2

The cheers rose to a crescendo and gradually began to die away. Edwin, Tarin and Renn surrounded Shael, alternately congratulating each other and patting her on the back. She grinned and wiped at her eyes, embarrassed that the tears had not stopped. Only now, with the immediate danger past, did she realize just how terrified she had been. Did it ever get any easier to face death?

"Shael!" Syd's gravelly voice cut through the babble of voices. Shael twisted in the saddle to scan the faces of those all around. The elation of victory was beginning to evaporate as order was restored to the ranks. A pair of medicians checked over the men who had fallen to the imp's fireballs. Beyond them, a troupe of scouts on horseback began to pick their way around the pools and channels, looking for any demons that may have fled the battle and hidden in the muck.

"Shael, get over here!" Syd called again, and this time she caught sight of him, standing in the saddle and waving her over.

"I have to go," she told the others, bringing her mount about. She pressed her legs against his sides, urging him forward. Syd's horse stood shoulder to shoulder with Alain's, facing the opposite direction so that they could talk comfortably. "I'm here," Shael said, coming to a halt next to Syd.

"No way to tell," Syd said, responding to the question Alain had just spoken. "Could be a few hours, could be they'll be on us at any moment. Whatever we are going to do here, we'd best do it quickly."

"Then let's waste no time," Alain nodded. "Signal Astin. Have the first platoon escort us. Shael, you come too. We're going to get your people out."

Shael nodded her understanding. The time had come to face whatever lay behind the slatted walls of the structure that stood in the center of the demon camp. Would her people welcome her, after all the horror they had gone through, after she had failed to protect them? But she had no more time to consider the matter. Those soldiers of first platoon who were not tending to wounds were already assembling in front and behind them. Alain waited for Lieutenant Astin to signal that his men were ready and ordered the march forward.

Coming close now to where the bonfire still raged, Shael began to hear them, voices crying out to them from behind the demon's cage, pleading to be set free. Here and there, arms thrust through the spaces between the slats, grasping feebly toward them.

"So many," Syd said, and looked sharply at Shael. "How many did you say were taken from your village?"

"About seventy," Shael said, realizing that Syd was right. The structure, now revealed more fully to them, was both wide and deep, and looked to be assembled from the scavenged pieces of wagons and building walls. They were standing on the edge of a large island of high, flat ground, and groupings of thick wooden poles standing near the remains of steps hinted that this place had once been a village, perhaps even a small town.

They approached what appeared to be the gate to the structure, a pair of thick doors held tight by a thick, open loop of metal whose ends had been twisted together. The pleading from the prisoners inside rose in volume and urgency, but Shael recognized none of the voices, some of whom spoke in a language she couldn't understand.

"Think we can break that?" Alain said, pointing to the metal loop that hung well out of reach of even a man on horseback.

Astin, seated on a dusky gelding to Alain's left, shook his head. "We don't have the tools. We'd have better luck taking axes to the door itself."

"I agree." Alain raised his voice to be heard above the clamor. "Listen to me! We are going to get you out, but I need you to step back away from the gate so we can break through." He had to repeat his order a few more times before the gates were cleared, just in time for the men who had gone to fetch their axes to return. It took little time to hack through the thick planks and open a hole large enough for men to pass through.

They were still working to enlarge the gap when the mass of people began to surge forward, pushing and clawing at one another in their haste to get out. Astin's men were forced back, and his shouted orders and warnings, drowned out by the crowd's own babble of frenzied need, did nothing to slow them. Finally, he gave up the fight and ordered his own men to pull back, well clear of the mob, who poured out of the gap and spread out in all directions, forced to move by the pressure of those behind. Shael saw haggard faces and haunted eyes, bruises and cuts, and skin and clothing of every form and color. Some suffered from illness, but most appeared well-fed and healthy. Like cattle, Shael thought, swallowing back a queasy lump.

One man, standing a head taller than those around him and clutching two young children firmly to his chest, struggled to break free of the mass that jostled him at every step. Finally, he elbowed his way into the open and stumbled towards them. He had a build to match his height, with a thick bull neck broad, powerful arms and shoulders. His skin was a hairy, sun baked brown. "You--you saved us!" he cried in clear Kehjistani, straining to make his voice heard above the din. "Thank you, my lords." At reaching the line of armed soldiers, he fell to his knees, ignoring the frightened squalls of the twin boys in his arms. "We owe you our lives."

Alain gave a command and a pair of men rushed forward to help the man to his feet. The captain dismounted smoothly and strode out to meet him, prompting Shael to edge her mount forward to get a better look. "I am Alain," he said, "soldier of Westmarch and commander of these men."

"Erich," the man gasped. "From Dunesmar." This brought mutterings from the men all around. "My whole family was taken from our farm in a raid weeks ago."

Shael moved closer still and called out to the man. "Do you know of anyone from a village near Sandon? I think some people call it Moorsedge."

"Yes," the man said nodding emphatically at her. "The demons brought in a group from there a few days back. Some folks from Sandon were already here when I was brought in, but…" his face clouded over, and he went on in a rush, "there's people here from all over, maybe a hundred leagues in every direction."

A few more people had wandered over to offer their thanks and to ask questions about what was going on in the world. Alain forestalled them with promises of information once they were all out of danger. He tried to keep them focused on his own questions, and gradually, they began to get a picture of what had happened here.

The camp had been established a month or more back, built from the remains of the Southlander village the demons had destroyed. Some of the people had fled into the swamps, but most of those had been hunted down and captured. From then on, there had been a steady stream of people brought into the camp. They were well fed; wagonloads of grains and vegetables were brought in every day, often right along with the people whose farms they had been taken from. The hellspawn delighted in the pain of their human prisoners, and the captives quickly learned to hide their children when demons approached the gates. Their torture might go on for hours before they finally began to eat their victims, sometimes dead, sometimes struggling weakly to live.

"They took my wife," the first man choked through a throat constricted in grief. Sympathetic murmurs of shared experience rippled through the crowd, which had quieted considerably now that the initial, mad rush for freedom was past.

"Most no be eaten 'ere, dere many more dat be missin'," one stout, toothless woman said. Shael could barely understand the words through her thick accent. "Dey take dem outside, march dem into de swamp, dere." She pointed south. "Don't know where dey go, but dey no come back."

"Syd," Alain said over his shoulder. "Take a few men to investigate. See if you can figure out where they took those people." He addressed the still growing crowd. "How many of you are there?"

"Over three thousand," a trembling, rail-thin bald man said. "They brought in a few hundred most days, and took out a hundred or so every two days. I—I thought I should keep count."

"Can any of you fight?" Alain shouted, looking over the nearest faces in the crowd. Only downcast eyes met his inspection. He tried again, "Are any of you necromancers, perhaps? The demons will soon return. If we run, they'll track us down and slaughter anyone they can't drag back here. Can any of you hold a weapon and stand with us?"

A voice from far back called loudly, "We'll fight with you!"

Shael looked over, startled. "Papa!" she called. She leapt from the saddle and ran into the crowd, which grudgingly parted to let her through. She ran headlong into her father's embrace, pushing him back a step with a startled grunt that altered at once to laughter. He lifted her off the ground slightly and passed her quickly to her mother, who shook when her arms went around her.

"Shael, you did bring help," Maron said wonderingly, patting her shoulder. His young wife stood behind him, bouncing a somewhat cranky Eilis. Dallin and Cailen pushed in beside her, vying for their own hugs.

"What about the others?" Shael asked. "Did everyone else make it?"

Her father spoke softly. "Master Gale was killed when they came for us. They took Mistress Elsha yesterday. We don't know where Edwin or Renn and Tarin have gone."

"They're with us," Shael said, at once relieved that the casualties had been few while feeling a pang of loss for Elsha.

"Thank the Light," Shael's mother breathed, clutching at her husband as if her knees had given out.

"Father, come with me," Shael said, disengaging and pulling him after her. "We need to speak to captain Alain about getting you weapons. Come on."

Alain was already on his way over and met them almost before they began. Shael introduced her family to him.

"You're the one who said you will fight?" Alain asked.

"We will," her father nodded. "The demons took our bows, but I saw them stowing the weapons they plunder in a hut we passed on the way in. Can you find it in the dark, Cailen?"

"I think so," the boy said.

"Thierry, Adreen, Remi!" Alain barked.

"Sir!" came the three nearly simultaneous answers.

"Go with this boy and see if you can find any weapons. Bows, clubs, knives—I don't care, whatever you can scrounge."

While they had been talking, most of the prisoners nearby had moved away to mill about in the lee of the paddock's wall, but some had crowded in closer. Inspired, or shamed perhaps, by the pledge Shael's father had given, they came to offer their help in fighting the demons. They numbered a bit under four hundred altogether. Most were men, but there were several women and a few who could not have been older than twelve. Alain found Amaury and put the sergeant in charge of making some kind of fighting force out of them. Shael knew that they would have little time to organize, maybe no time at all.

With those preparations made, Alain re-mounted. "Coming, Shael?" he asked. Shael quickly took leave of her family and climbed her horse to follow.

Alain stopped short of the main mass of his force, near where a small group of soldiers were working to lay out the bodies of the dead demons in neat rows in the mud. Shael halted near his left flank. Keiji was there, with Anaki and at least two dozen of his ghoulish, skeletal followers. The old man stooped to sprinkle powder over a body, the girl pushing his weight back upright again. He waved his wand and chanted, bringing another skeleton into his ranks.

"Gilles!" Alain hailed the dour old man. "Send for Victor and Marcel. I want everyone to assemble at the demon camp. And I want you to gather any weapons that Keiji's skeletons leave behind."

"Sir?" Gilles called, trotting toward them. "Did I hear you right? Won't the rest of those monsters be back any time?"

"We can't flee," he said. "Even if we could outrun them, there were thousands of people penned up in there. We have to make a stand here."

"Yes, sir," Gilles said, doubt replaced by grim acceptance. "I have a count of the dead, as you ordered: one-hundred forty-eight.”

“That leaves a good eight-hundred fifty still out there,” Alain said, nodding grimly.

“Should I leave a few men to continue helping our friend there?" Gilles indicated Keiji with a jerk of his head.

"Three men," he agreed. "Now pass word to the others and get your people moving."

Gilles saluted and hurried off.

Keiji had been oblivious to the entire exchange, though Shael had seen Anaki turn her head in interest a few times. "How goes your work, necromancer?" Alain asked him, as the man moved toward the next body.

Keiji blinked at him and barked a hoarse laugh. "It goes well, captain. More than half the corpses are intact and usable," he said. "I'll have eighty skeletons for you, maybe more. I thought the imps would serve us better if I brought them back with their bodies and magic intact. I'll get to them soon. All told you might have a hundred by the time I've finished."

"That is good news," Alain said. "I had hoped to find more of your kind to help with your work, but none would answer when I asked. Can you raise so many on your own?"

"Of course I can," Keiji said, sounding almost petulant. He looked down suddenly at Anaki pulling on his sleeve and shaking her head vigorously. "Naki, I'll be fine," he said, patting her hand. He looked up again. "I can handle it, captain."

"Good. I'm going to move all of our forces into the enemy camp. I want your skeletons there at the north side, ready to meet the enemy and hold them back from my bowmen. I need them to hold against a force many times their size. Are they up to that?"

"My servants do not know fear, or pain, or fatigue. They will hold, captain. They must, as long as I will it. Now, you will excuse me…" He turned his back and began the grisly work of extracting another skeleton from a demon corpse.

"Do not tarry here too long," Alain warned. "Our enemies will be upon us soon." If the necromancer heard, he gave no sign of it, still fully engrossed in his work.

"Ah, there they are," Alain said suddenly, pointing. Edwin, Tarin and Renn were hurrying carefully towards them on horseback, her brothers doubled up on their horse. "Take a moment to give them the good news about your people, and then we must be away again."

Shael did her best to keep her explanation brief, but she needn't have worried. As soon as she told them that most of the villagers had survived, both of her brothers wanted to go at once to see them. "Would it be alright with you, sir?" Edwin asked of Alain.

"We've much to do," Alain reminded them. "Go and see your families, but I need the three of you and as many other bowmen as we can find to fight." Edwin looked hurt by the implication that he would shirk his duty, and Shael's brothers assured Alain that they would keep their reunion short.

By now, the three platoons were moving towards the demon camp in orderly rows. Alain acknowledged Marcel and Victor with a wave and then wheeled his horse around. Back at the demon camp, Amaury was drilling his recruits in basic tactics and battle commands. A steady stream of men carried weapons in, no doubt from the cache Cailen had led them to, and other men sorted though them. Shael's father and brothers had their bows once more, and a mishmash of bows, swords, spears and axes were being handed out to the recruits almost as quickly as they came in.

"How will they fare?" Alain asked the sergeant when he had drawn close enough to speak without being overheard.

"Well they might not run screaming at the first sight of hellspawn, at least," the soldier said wryly. "These people are here because they want revenge. Most have had enough time around those beasts to take off the edge from their fear." He turned his head and spat. "A few know how to hold a weapon, but most are just simple country folk. If it comes to a battle, we're going to have a lot of dead farmers on our hands."

"Do what you can with them," Alain said, nodding. "Make them look like they know what they're doing, if nothing else. Oh, and congratulations."

Amaury blinked. "Sir?"

Alain's lips quirked. "On your temporary field promotion, lieutenant. I don't have any officers to spare for this lot. If we make it back alive, I'll see about making it permanent."

"And what if we all die out here?" Amaury asked dryly.

Alain shrugged. “The way I see it, if word of what we do here gets back to the general maybe you’ll make captain. So it’s a win for you either way.”

“You’ll forgive me, sir, if I don’t shout for joy,” Amaury said drolly.

Just then, the sound of a commotion drew Shael's attention. A soldier on horseback weaved through the throng of milling people, drawing cries of surprise when he came close to colliding with those in his way. He slumped over in the saddle, one hand balled into a fist that gripped his horse's mane as though it were the only thing keeping his seat.

"He's hurt!" someone shouted.

It took only moments for Alain's men to converge on the scout. Shael tried to approach but found her way blocked. Some of the men offered to help him down, but he waved them away. "Please!" he called out. "Please I need to see the captain!"

"I'm here," Alain said, and the cluster of men parted instantly to let him through. "What happened to you, man? Where's the rest of your team?"

"Succubi," the soldier gasped, trying to pull himself straighter. The movement caused the moonlight to glisten wetly off his back and shoulders. "Just to the north. There were too many. I—I tried to fight them but…" His right arm, which he had held tightly against his chest, he now extended, showing where it ended in ragged bone and torn flesh just above the wrist.

"Get him down!" Alain shouted. "Someone fetch the medicians!" He turned to address the crowd as the soldiers rushed to obey his orders. "All of you, unless you intend to fight, either get back in that pen or get the hell out of the way." The crowd roared with emotion at this pronouncement, some outraged, most terrified. Alain had to shout his words to be heard over the tumult. "Astin! Marcel! Victor! Gilles! Get your men in formation now! Where is that blasted necromancer?"

"Still at work, last I saw, sir!" Astin called out.

"Send someone to get him, damn it! We need those skeletons here now."

"Hey," a voice behind Shael said. She turned and saw Syd riding up to her. "How are you doing, kid?"

"I'm fine," Shael said, swallowing back her revulsion at the scout's terrible wounds.

"Damn," he said softly, taking in the scene. "Jerome's a good man. Smart, dependable. He's a tough kid, probably live for all that, but…damn."

It was at that moment that the crowd, which had begun to move reluctantly back toward the prison they had just left, suddenly broke out in screams and wails of terror. Keiji's skeletons advanced on their position quietly and deliberately, marching in a single-file line directly at the crowd. The Southlanders, no doubt accustomed to the presence, or at least the idea of undead, were easy to pick out by their unalarmed, even excited reactions, but most of them were swept along just the same by the rapidly retreating throng. At a distance of thirty paces or so away, the line of skeletons stopped in the recently emptied space, regarded Alain for a moment, then turned in perfect unison to the north and stood motionless, weapons at the ready.

"Form ranks!" Alain shouted, his command repeated by the lieutenants. "Come on," Syd said to Shael, steering his horse to the back row of the three-row formation. Before they could get settled into place, a series of piercing feminine shrieks sounded from the north, seeming to come from somewhere high above the ground.

"They're out of range," Syd growled. "Five, maybe six of them. Probably sent ahead to confirm our position." Shael followed his gaze and could just see them, a cloud of flitting shadows hovering in the air to the north, blotting out the stars. And there was something else, too, a rumble just on the edge of hearing.

"Lieutenant Amaury!" Alain called. "I want your people protecting our flanks."

"Hellfire, captain, I'll do what I can," the newly-promoted officer called back, "but half that lot threw down their weapons and ran with the others when the bloody undead showed up."

"Probably for the best," Marcel said scornfully. "Better they run now than when the real fighting starts."

"Listen," Shael said softly, tapping her ear. Somehow, the import of her words and the gesture spread to those around, and quiet quickly fell. Shael could hear it more clearly now, the drumming of feet, the clink and squeal of armor and the rustle of greenery being shoved aside and trampled underfoot. From out of the brush and clinging mist, the first of them came into view. A terrible bleating cry rose up from the goatmen in the lead as they caught sight of the humans and undead who now occupied their camp. A pang of cold dread pierced Shael’s heart as she finally realized the full import of the numbers that had meant nothing to her in the abstract.

“Nasty odds, I’d say,” Syd said beside her. He slipped his goat’s foot onto his crossbow and levered it back. “Nothing for it but to kill as many of the bastards as we can.”

Shael swallowed and nodded weakly, not trusting her own voice.

[Silverbeard]

Shael's advice has garnered the humans a victory! Though it may be short and sweet, a victory just the same. The captain has now accepted Shael into his inner circle so she is now receiving his respect along with several of the ranked members of the troop. Is this role of responsibility foreshadowing something that will be happening soon??? She is really developing nicely and I can't wait to see where she goes from here! Once again, very nice read Tamrend!

[Snowglare]

He had a build to match his height, with a thick bull neck broad, powerful arms and shoulders.

This is a bit jumbled.


Shael looked over, startled. "Papa!" she called. She leapt from the saddle and ran into the crowd, which grudgingly parted to let her through. She ran headlong into her father's embrace, pushing him back a step with a startled grunt that altered at once to laughter. He lifted her off the ground slightly and passed her quickly to her mother, who shook when her arms went around her.

:D


Keiji blinked at him and barked a hoarse laugh. "It goes well, captain. More than half the corpses are intact and usable," he said. "I'll have eighty skeletons for you, maybe more. I thought the imps would serve us better if I brought them back with their bodies and magic intact. I'll get to them soon. All told you might have a hundred by the time I've finished."

Well, there goes my theory that he was a neophyte necro. Keiji must have a necklace full of pre-1.10 +skill charms. ;)


Alain shrugged. “The way I see it, if word of what we do here gets back to the general maybe you’ll make captain. So it’s a win for you either way.”

“You’ll forgive me, sir, if I don’t shout for joy,” Amaury said drolly.

Hah! Gallows humor. Good ol' Alain.

Great setup. Now comes the real battle, the biggest in the story yet.

[tamrend]

Notes:


Well, there goes my theory that he was a neophyte necro. Keiji must have a necklace full of pre-1.10 +skill charms.

I always did like the enormous army of skeletons you could amass in the earlier patches, even if the new system worked a whole hell of a lot better. I hope that the narrative made it clear that he's pushing the limits here, probably overextending himself by quite a bit.

As for the current chapter. I'm not sure if I like the title. It fits, but it is a bit of of style from previous chapter headings. I may change it later.

I'm coming to the home stretch now. One more part should do it for Shael.

Chapter 23: The Other Side of Despair

Part 1

"Steady," Alain barked, holding up one hand. "Bows to ready, take aim and hold."

Shael notched an arrow and waited while the crossbowmen labored to load their weapons. Facing them across the broken terrain, the goatmen fanned out and moved forward, making room for those behind. Slayers began to join them, hunched beetle-like in their armor, and then the towering figures of maulers. Last came the clan lords, roaring words of command in the harsh demon tongue.

"Here they come," Syd said, as a massive cry went up from the demons. Their rage seemed to boil the very air as they marched forward.

"Steady," Alain cried again. Shael tightened her fingers on her weapon. The lead demons were nearly in range of the crossbows, and well within reach of her enchanted bow. Still, they did not break into a run, as the demons in the camp had done, but kept to an orderly rank and a steady pace.

As the demons advanced, several dozen of Amaury’s farmers filed out from behind to cover the bowmen’s flanks, forming two short, ragged lines. Shael absently wondered what had become of the rest of them, if they, too, had fled the battle.

Staccato blasts erupted from the ground as a horde of tiny, gnarled demons flashed into view halfway between the two armies. Sparks appeared and grew into guttering balls of green flame in the little creatures' hands. The fires launched forward in a flood of sickly jade, eclipsed only briefly by the brighter flashes of the imps blinking away to safety once more.

Shael clenched her teeth against the imminent impact of the destructive orbs. The skeletons stood their ground, some even leaping right into the path of the fireballs. Amazingly, though heat and light flashed at each impact, the powerful magic seemed to wash over and through the undead, leaving little effect but soot-stained bone and the stench of seared marrow.

"Loose!" Alain cried at last, and the flight of arrows seemed almost exultant as they leapt out, catching and felling dozens of goatmen from the front of the pack. Shael's arrow arced high, trailing blue sparks as it fell and pierced the belly of a mauler near the back of the formation. Lightning struck the massive creature and the concussion knocked it to the ground, crushing a slayer beneath its bulk.

The Westmarch soldiers were in the midst of reloading when a cry of alarm went up from Victor. A flurry of dark shapes plummeted into the formation's right side, throwing dozens of men to the ground. Her horse bucked once and reared back wildly, throwing her to the ground with a jarring bump. It dashed away, leaping over men and demons alike.

"Stupid horse," Shael groaned, tasting blood. She stood, gathering her bow, and froze. One of the soldiers had come to rest on the ground only a few paces from her, his torso concealed beneath a tempest of beating bat's wings. The shape above him reared back and Shael caught a flash of soft, delicate facial features twisted into a snarl of hateful pleasure. A clawed hand shot down and into the man's chest. Shael fitted an arrow and pulled it only three quarters before releasing it into the thing, but not before it had torn the man's heart from his chest in a great gout of blood and a cry of exultation. It shuddered in pain but raked furrows across the man's face and neck in the instant before the lightning ended its life.

A few had been more fortunate, and managed to roll away from their attackers' deadly embrace and draw swords to defend themselves. Even so, the frightful speed of the succubi's attacks, paired with their disregard for their own lives, gave them an advantage in hand-to-hand combat. One man lunged forward to stab his attacker, only have the demon, neatly impaled, lean forward and sink her fangs deep into his neck to rip his throat out.

Shael sighted on another of the creatures, who was biting and clawing at a screaming, bloody mess of a soldier. Her shot pierced its heart, halting its brutal attack mid-slash. Now, bowstrings sang out all around as men finally managed to bring their weapons to bear, killing the beautiful, vicious creatures in droves. Sword blows rained down upon those that survived. In moments, that last of them fell, fetid black blood streaming from the cuts in her smooth, pink flesh.

As briefly as it had lasted, the attack had been devastating. Dozens of men lay dead or dying on the ground. Others dripped blood from ragged gashes on their faces, arms, and shoulders. She almost missed him among the others, his clothing so bloodied as to be nearly unrecognizable and his face contorted in a rictus of pain. Victor. He lay on his back, blood pooling in his mouth. A terrible rent stretched from his throat to his groin. Shael stared, unable to tear her gaze from his body, no matter how much she wanted to. A strangled moaning filled her senses, and only after a moment did she realize that it was coming from her own throat.

Nearby, Alain was screaming to be heard above the din, but Shael was only dimly aware of what he was saying. Had he been giving orders all along? With an effort of will, she tore her eyes away from Victor and looked through the screen of soldiers standing in line in front of her. What she saw chilled her, but it also snapped her back to her senses. While they had been occupied with the succubi, the main force of demons had broken into a charge. They were quickly closing on Keiji's skeletons.

"Take aim!" came Alain's strident cry, and those who could still hold their bows lifted them nearly in unison, the front ranks dropping to one knee so that those behind had a clear shot to level on the approaching horde. Shael surveyed her targets and made her choice, sighting on one of the clan lords that waded in among the smaller demons. She released early with a furious cry, letting the glowing, crackling missile lead the hail of smaller quarrels. The shot struck the helmet of the massive demon with a ping, sparks spraying off in a brilliant shower, but the giant scarcely reeled in response.

The first of the goatmen reached the line of undead, hacking with axes and stabbing with spears, and the undead met them with astonishing agility and strength. Shael saw one of the skeletons leap straight up to evade a spear thrust, only to come down with both bony feet on the haft of the weapon, unbalancing its wielder as the thing stabbed downward with its sword, driving the blade right through the demon's bony forehead, ending its life in an instant. Similar scenes played out all down the line as the goatmen surged forward and were hacked down by blades or bludgeoned by maces. Those behind never slowed, trampling the bodies of the fallen in their haste to throw themselves at the necromancer's minions.

It seemed for a moment that the skeletons were all but invincible, some taking blows that glanced off of them with no apparent harm, but that illusion vanished in a spray of white powder and bone fragments as a demon-wielded battleaxe cleaved through a ribcage and spine. Another and another fell in quick succession as the sheer weight of demon numbers pressing in proved too much for them to avoid. Alain's bowmen sent another volley into the demons, careful to pitch the missiles over the heads of the undead holding the line. Holes opened in the ranks of the demons where they struck, but they quickly closed as those behind pressed forward. Worse, Shael could see that the demons were fanning out, seeking to flank them.

Gritting