144: Wrath (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Lacien’s wings had already regained much of their sheen. It was amazing what freedom could do to mend a man’s spirit. He stood on a plateau over-looking the sea; its rolling waves beating a gentle rhythm against the rocky beach below. On his back was a quiver full of long arrows, and he held his heirloom bow in his right hand. The bow was made of ash wood, stained black and embellished with a plume of white eagle feathers at each end. The nock was carved to resemble an eagle’s eye, and an intricate, striated pattern wove its way around each end of the shaft.

"I don’t know what good I can be," he said. "Even if my name were already restored, it would be difficult to rally my people. The Melaci were all but destroyed by Exandercrast a millennium ago."

Matthew the Blue sat on a small boulder chewing on a pashle stick. His eyes were red and had dark circles beneath them, but still held within them a spark of light. His boots and trousers were dirty and worn, and his beard needed a good brushing.

Baden looked completely haggard as though he had been running without rest for the last two days. It had been two days since the Archons declined his offer, and the rejection still hung heavily around his neck. The powerful muscles in his hoofed legs twitched involuntarily under the strain of supporting his tired body.

"I must say that I am disgusted with the Archons," Baden grumbled. "The cowards do nothing for the people save to take alms into their coffers and turn a blind eye to the true stirrings of Leindul."

"Rest easy, friend. Rest easy," Matthew said. "The Archons have long wavered between Leindul’s will and their own will for Leindul’s followers. It was a narrow mark to call on them in the first place."

Lacian ran his thumb along the plume on his bow, looked up to the clouds, and tried to stir his heart toward optimism.

Matthew stood and climbed down from the boulder. "Well, there are still many faithful people in the world. The Melaci will be difficult to persuade, but I have every confidence that you will do your best in bringing them to our aid. I will go to the Dairbun in Arulon and then to the Hollow Mountains to seek the help of the Faldred."

"And what of me?" Baden asked. "Shall I ride into the hereafter to bring those who once believed back to fight for our cause?"

"Take heart, my friend," Matthew replied. "If your hope is so easily lost, why do you expect it to be simple to win others toward it? You should go to the Dorokti. The clans of fire, wind, earth, and the moon should be rallied to battle. Under a united banner, they would bring great strength to our cause."

Lacien scoffed. "You wish to bring the Fallen into battle so that they might hide or run in fear? You are the historian here, Matthew. You know how they betrayed the Light by hiding and watching Exandercrast slay Leindul at Mount Tesevara. You know how they refused to send even a single warrior into the battle of
Eena Grolah
."

"Yes, my friend, I do," Matthew said. "But I have spent years among these four clans, and I know the strength of their hearts. This is the call their people have long awaited."

"You might as well send me to recover the Horn of the Field Lords and rally the Yarsac to battle," Baden said with a laugh. "I think I might have more luck with that
kensin’s
task."

"I only ask that you run into the plains of Kinos Klayfurren," Matthew said. "It is not so far from here, and if I am wrong about them we will not have lost more than a day of travel."

"Is there nowhere else you could send me? What about Thalry? Or perhaps Orovin?"

Matthew shook his head. "Orovin is too far for even you, and Thalry would take weeks to decide if they should call in the four kings to be consulted. This is where real good can be done. This is where you are needed."

"Like I was needed with the Sontauchs?"

Lacien stifled a laugh.

"Very well," Baden agreed. "I am becoming quite adept at drawing out rejection like poison from an asp’s bite. Perhaps soon I will develop immunity to its burn."

Lacien smiled. "Good luck. My task almost seems easy in light of yours."

"Let those who are willing know that they may join us here in four weeks’ time," Matthew said. "May the Light of Hope guide you both."

"Good luck, Matthew," Lacien said as he leaped into the sky. His dark wings glimmered under the light of the broken moons.

"May Leindul watch over you, Matthew," Baden said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Polas wrestled with dark dreams once again that night. His hands clung to his fur blanket as though letting go would cast him into an abyss. Sweat dotted his brow and soaked his hair. Deep in his mind, memories fought against sanity and years of despair. Beneath their lids, his eyes danced, trying to make sense of all they saw.

~ 1000 years ago ~

Polas lay on his back, strapped down to a cold metal table. He was in a small, stone room with a single torch that cast flickering shadows along the walls and ceiling. The air was heavy with the smell of burning tar and decaying flesh. The sound of wailing drifted through the open door.

Two Narculds leaned over Polas’s lower body. They were stooped and bent at awkward angles due to self-mutilation, and they had skin-break piercings though their cheeks, wrists, and necks. Their eyes were swollen, and their faces looked like wet paper drawn tightly over knobby stones.

One made small incisions along Polas’s legs; the other closed them with sutures. Each cut felt like veins of acid trickling up his legs as the thin knife tore through shallow flesh and nerve endings. The stitches poked through raw and haggard tissue, inflaming and re-doubling the pain. The tugging and tying was excruciating, and it took all of the discipline Polas could muster to keep from crying out in agony.

When they had finished, his legs were numb and covered in oozing track marks that looked like a well-traveled map. In the next room, he heard a ferocious growl silenced by a sickening snap. Moments later a man entered the room clothed in pure white. His dark hair was pulled back, clamped with a bone-latch, and allowed to lay flat against his back. He was a regal picture of Peltin perfection.

"Exandercrast," Polas said. He struggled to turn his head to the side and spat upon the ground.

The God of Fear, in his mortal form, wiped crimson stains from his hands with a black cloth. His white dressing suit remained immaculate, without a single drop of blood tainting its surface.

"General Kas Dorian," Exandercrast said, "it’s good to see you today. Are you still enjoying the accommodations? I’m sorry that I haven’t been able to give you my full attention yet. Your Eryntaph friend proved to be quite spirited. Truly impressive. He was a credit to all mortals. I have a feeling you will be much softer."

He leaned over Polas and ran his fingers along the sutures, pressing in a few times to draw a pained wince from the beaten man. When his hand reached the top of Polas’s thigh, he ripped a single stitch from the general’s legs. The tattered flesh ripped open and seeped blood and puss. Polas tensed, but did not cry out.

Exandercrast raised his eyebrows and smiled. "It looks like this might be a bit more fun than I expected. What do you say we start these games in earnest?"

Exandercrast pulled up a stool and sat. One of the Narculd attendants offered him a pair of gloves, but he waved them away. As the God of Fear began his work, pain became Polas's every breath. He screamed and writhed as much as his chains would allow, the manacles digging deep marks into his wrists.

The shadows swelled and swirled, drawing Polas deeper into the cold embrace of surrender. A light broke through the ceiling and grew in intensity until Polas had to close his eyes.

Dawn tore Polas from his nightmare. His body was sore and his muscles tight. Ages ago, he would have greeted the dawn with prayers of thanksgiving and praise to Leindul, the God of Hope. Today, and every day since awakening to this lurid reality, he simply awoke, whispered Exandercrast's name, and spat upon the ground. He ran his fingers through his peppered hair and checked his reflection in a dagger’s blade to make sure his face showed no signs of infection.

Outside his tent, the village buzzed with voices even at this early hour. The remaining fangtooth meat was dried for jerky or cooked for the morning’s breakfast. Vor made his way from tent to tent, said goodbyes, and wished the warriors skill and favor in their hunts.

Xandra and Flint had already prepared their horses for travel and busied themselves in conversation about what might lay on the road ahead of them. Flint had stuffed his pockets with jerky and added an extra bag filled with the dry snacks to the packhorse’s load as well.

Polas put on the leather armor he had been given by the tribe. It was a pressed-hide version of a breastplate that provided adequate defense from most direct and glancing hits and allowed for greater mobility than a normal suit of armor. It had ridges of bone at the collar and along the sides and spine to provide extra protection to those vital areas.

When Vor saw him, he waved and said one last goodbye to the warrior with whom he was talking.

"Kas Dorian, I trust you slept well," Vor said.

Polas gave a simple nod.

"I will ask you one more time to reconsider my offer. The combined might of four Dorokti tribes would cause even the great Exandercrast pause."

"No, friend," Polas replied. "No more armies or legions to throw themselves on the sword before the God of Fear. This battle will be won or lost without any more needless sacrifices."

Vor motioned for Kertyah to join them. He was busy giving charges to the next shift of guards, a pair of feline Dorokti with matching black stripes across their shoulders. He handed one of them a small bit of cloth that held within it an aurochs’ horn and walked over to his lord’s side.

"If you have need of any last items, please let my
Kei'ensah
know, and he will provide them for you."

"There’s truly nothing else I desire to take from your people," Polas said. "I was reluctant to come here at all even to ask your help. However, I did not want to dishonor Ve by ignoring his oath. And if you are half the warrior he was, I would do well to have you by my side for the road ahead of me."

"For many generations my people have waited for this day, Kas Dorian," Vor said. "Had you not come, we would have continued to wait until the end of all times. It is good you came, or else we would be waiting for that which has already passed."

As the group walked toward Flint and Xandra, a young Dorokti girl with the features of a hare brought Polas his horse. Her long ears and large feet made her stand out even among the great variety of appearances that made up the Ginakti clan. She also carried a small sack of bread and dried fruits, which she presented to him with averted eyes.

Polas thanked the girl and climbed atop his horse. Somewhere deep inside it felt good to be back in the saddle leading others to battle. He shook the feeling away. His days of being a general were long behind him. These others were not his concern, and if possible, he would leave the children and the Faldred scholar behind at the port.

Polas looked around for a moment. "Where’s Kiff?" he asked Xandra and Flint.

Flint shook his head and shrugged.

"I haven’t seen him since last night, Master Kas Dorian," Xandra said. She bit her lip and added, "Neither of us has."

  "Good riddance to the pup," Vor said as he mounted his own horse. "The boy is an adder in our sleepsack, best to leave him to his own demise."

"We’re not actually going to leave without him, are we, Master Kas Dorian?" Xandra asked.

"We can’t wait around for him to show up," Polas said. "If his road has led him elsewhere, then so be it."

Xandra shifted uncomfortably and surveyed the busy village.

"His tent was never occupied, if you are looking for him somewhere within my camp," Vor said.

Kertyah inclined his head to Vor, "I saw a shadow against the stars last night. I can only assume now that it was the dark one leaving us. I’m sorry I did not tell you of this sooner."

"At least we know that he has gone," Polas said. "He is likely better off along a safer path."

Xandra continued to chew on her lip and looked out over the plains, but said nothing.

Vor grinned. "Daylight is burning. We should away."

Flint rubbed his eyes and ate a quick after-breakfast snack to prepare himself for the long ride ahead of them. He had remembered to wear his extra thick breeches to help with his saddle chafe and made sure that plenty of water and snacks were within reach in his horse’s saddlebags. The fangtooth jerky was less salty than he preferred, but it had a healthy chew to it and plenty of meaty flavor. He had even managed to trade a few of his trinkets for a loaf of sweetbread and two sacks of wine that he hoped would keep him warm over the coming nights.

Kertyah fetched Vor’s axe for him and presented it with due reverence. Vor pulled him aside and spoke to him in hushed tones, using the language of the Dorokti to discourage eavesdropping among the others.