Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) (26 page)

“He’s there—go!” Erguile assured him. Peren righted himself, quickly signaled his legion, then charged back up the hill, trailed by twelve other druids.

Peren sat aghast once he summited the crest, seeing the attack: a relentless barrage of incineration arcing down from a flying red orb, grounding the effort of the archers; it was clear now to him why the arrow rain had ceased.

“Lend me your strength!” Peren commanded of the druids that pursued him up the hill. Erguile followed after, guarding against any trolls that might try to disrupt whatever it was they were attempting.

From Peren’s arms, his jade aura extended high into the sky; several of the druids nearby, from atop their gloss-armored horses, cast emerald webs of light against the azure sky—the energy of the druids pooled together above them. The Unicorporas took quiet notice, halting his barrage against the troops beneath him. He turned to the anomaly of green energy in the sky. Moments passed, the druids strengthening their collective power, the Unicorporas watching intently. Finally, no longer an acceptable peculiarity to him, the lightning that had struck against the troops was released anew, redirected toward the pooling green. 

A tremendous throb of gravity rocked Erguile to the ground; rolling onto his back he saw no sky—all was pitch black. Light returned in flashes; Peren’s magic was contending directly with the Unicorporas’s. Tremors shook the hills, and panic overtook the Hemlin army.

“Back to the city! Retreat—mount the walls! Send word—it is the Unicorporas!” Peren stammered, his voice somehow audible over the energy thunder-clashing above his head. Erguile didn’t know if anyone else had heard, but he certainly had—word had been sent to retreat; it seemed impossible after how well they had beaten into the northerly Feral lines. Peren fell silent, focusing, as more druids joined his plight, sending their arms up, offering their power to aid the growing calamity in the sky, a brown-rimmed void spraying luminous dust in each direction, lighting the otherwise blackened hill and sky that had only moments ago been clear blue against green. The Unicorporas poured his might into the steady bolt that, reacting with the druid energy, had formed an ovular void, slowly consuming light farther and farther away into the distance. Erguile finally wrested himself from the sight; he reiterated Peren’s order to all who would hear it:

“By order of Peren Flowerpath, retreat!” Erguile called. Over and over again he made his call, scalded more than once by errant shards of energy, his armor smoking at spots. Weakhoof whinnied ferociously as electric sparks snapped down like daggers into her soft skin. After enough men had heard the command, and the tide of the Hemlin force had started south, Weakhoof descended the crest toward Wallstrong, which in the black horizon could scarcely be seen. He rode past the struggle, the dying, the smoldered ruins of his comrades, knowing he could contribute nothing in what had become a battle of energy and magic. Looking up briefly, attention drawn by the sight of a new form, he saw something gliding in thin air next to the glowing red of the Unicorporas—it appeared to be a floating dwarf; he decided the energy had disoriented him, causing him to hallucinate the dwarf, who, in the strange vision, appeared to be channeling energy into the Unicorporas, aiding the dark sorcerer’s push against the might of the druids.

The sky lightened the farther south they reached. Erguile questioned how long Peren would hold out, despite all the strongest druids aiding him. The great Hemlin Army marched for the city of Wallstrong, scattered and unmanaged, as most of the generals had been slain; the remaining semblance of leadership rode forth lifelessly, depleted of heart, consumed by the feeling that their retreat merely forestalled ultimate doom. Time went coldly by; Erguile felt a numbness come on—an inexorable roll of darkness and gloom, unending death, and overwhelming helplessness. Glancing frequently back, the blackness seemed its own world, covering a great span of the waved hills, through which nothing could be seen—Erguile nor anyone else could tell what was happening within the light-stricken duel—if Peren was winning, if he was dying…

Wallstrong opened its gates. The citizens openly wept. Erguile strode in along with the rest; ignoring the empathy he felt for the women and children that stood tearfully around them, he began to issue orders, assuming what command he could, rallying what spirit was left, and organizing a defense of the impending siege of the city—to fortify the walls as Peren had commanded him to, with the time Peren had paid his life to secure.

XVII: TEMPERN

“How many hours have I been at this?” Adacon mumbled, doubting he would ever find the right way. He had rediscovered his own tracks in the snow twice already. The sun was setting and a cankerous hunger turned his stomach upon itself, yet still the landscape looked unchanged; he couldn’t tell if he’d made any progress at all in the frozen white sea.

At the start of the morning he had decided he would simply climb up until he found signs of his missing friends. That hope had ended fast as the trail descended, ascended, then curved steeply up, then became impassable. He’d struggled for hours to find alternate routes, but each proved as unyielding as the first. “Perhaps I need to take a nap,” Adacon wearily thought aloud. He was very close to completely numb. Frostbitten hands braced his fall as he dropped doll-like into knee-deep snow along a high ridge pass he’d surely crossed before.

“This is nice.”

A warmth suddenly came into his chest, and he wondered how it had happened—he decided he must be losing feeling inside his chest, the final stage of freezing to death; or maybe it was merely a delusion, all of it. Closing his eyes, a deep peace came into the former slave’s heart: he suddenly thought of Krem’s palace in the Solun Desert; there it was warm, safe. Adacon remembered first seeing Krem’s marvelous pool, crystal clear down to the grey stone basin, and the amazing stalactites that glittered above as a starry night—Adacon’s mind wandered further: he remembered radiant flowers, warm seclusion beneath the forest, soothing hot water—what was it called? What was she called? Calan—Adacon focused all his thought on his love; quietly his mind began to finally turn off. He smelled her rose-scented hair; he felt her soft skin; he heard her tell him she loved him; he heard himself say it back to her; he felt her warm embrace; he felt himself falling asleep by her side.

*            *             *

“Up! Come on! Inside!” came a boisterous, rude voice. Adacon awoke to notice first that he was sweating profusely—yet he was still lying in the snow. Puddles of melted ice sogged his clothes, but somehow he wanted the cold of the snow to return—it was too hot. Looking up for the voice, wondering if he’d imagined it, Adacon saw a little man, smaller than even Krem, staring down at him. The little man was bald, wearing no cap; he had thick white eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a tiny white beard that seemed to be made of ice and snow. He wore ivory-white furs, blending him into the backdrop of snow-covered mountains. Holding out one hand, standing erect yet only to the height of Adacon who now squatted, the middle-aged man jarred him once more:

“Come on! The Enox is back already, we should be heading on now,” came the brusque voice again.

“T—Tempern?” Adacon said, fog rolling from his mossy consciousness.

“Yes indeed, and you will be Adacon,” said Tempern, gripping Adacon’s arm, tugging him upright with surprising strength.

“Yea—did you keep me warm?” Adacon asked, standing up and wiping his brow.

“Of course, but let us head inside anyway,” Tempern replied. He raced off toward a winding trail that Adacon had twice surveyed; both times he’d thought it too treacherous to attempt.

“Up there?” Adacon gaped, watching the tiny man disappear against the snow, racing up a steep icy ridge, split by a deep crevasse.

“I’ll help, come on—ask all the questions you want once we’re home—for now, just follow fast—the tide has turned against us in the West, and we must get you back as soon as possible,” Tempern called in his energetic voice. Adacon followed up the slippery tract of ice, staring at it fearfully, wondering how the little man had made it up, and then how he would follow. Suddenly, Tempern lowered his hand from high above, twisted his fist—Adacon rose through the air, as if by an invisible lift, and after a moment plunked down next to Tempern.

“Wow!” Adacon exclaimed.

“This might be easier, hold still,” Tempern ordered. Again he balled his hands into fists, and at once they floated together up the mountain side, through a thin cave high on the pass, landing together in a bare-walled expanse of snow, dominated by towering peaks.

“Incredible, Krem couldn’t do that—he couldn’t use any Vapoury up here!” Suddenly, before he could gather his thoughts, the ground beneath Adacon began to shake, and he threw his arms wide to try to keep his balance. Snow sprayed in spasms all around him. Tempern kept perfectly still as a huge snow-covered mass erupted from the ground beneath them: the whole icy plain upon which they stood extruded from the surface of the mountain; snow avalanched in all directions, and Adacon beheld emerging scarlet, stark against the pure white—the form of the giant hawk was rising from beneath them.

“Tempern!” Adacon shouted. The ground shifted, causing him to tumble and roll to his side; the red mass slanted to a descending slope. Suddenly, the movement settled, and he kneeled perfectly still on a patch of man-sized luminous feathers. Tempern walked over to him, smiling—Adacon couldn’t believe what was happening. The bird flapped its enormous wings several times, and they were instantly set adrift above the mountains, riding a southerly current. Packets of snow dispersed with each flap as the hawk cleared its wings; Adacon watched them drift down into the enormous depression from which the bird had risen.

“Adacon, meet Enox.”

“H—Hi, Enox,” Adacon replied, digesting a flood of adrenaline. The great hawk flapped its wings once more, and soon the mountains became specks below. The avian giant soared effortlessly through the dusking sky. They sat in the middle of the creature’s back; he looked to either side and saw a mile-long span of glittering red feathers, arcing away from the mass upon which they sat. “This is… incredible.”

“One moment,” Tempern said. He placed a finger to his temple, followed by his other hand to his forehead: a glow manifested around his tiny head, then he vanished entirely.

“Tempern!” Adacon cried. He did not want to be alone again, especially while atop a giant, possibly unaware, hawk.

“I’m back,” came the familiar voice, only the man standing before Adacon now looked nothing like the one who’d disappeared: Tempern had grown to a full height, slightly taller than Adacon; he had long silk-black hair, raven eyes, and wore a sapphire jacket to his knees, where baggy grey leggings protruded down, beneath which a pair of russet boots clamped him to the scarlet feathers of the bird.

“What—what…” Adacon didn’t have any words to express himself; he wasn’t sure why the old, bearded, gnome-looking thing had turned into the handsome young man before him, but he was amazed by the transformation anyway, and curious: “How did you do that?”

“Vapoury of course,” Tempern replied. “I like to remain small and inconspicuous on the mountain.”

“Isn’t your home on the mountain?”

“No, my home is there,” he said, pointing. His long black hair flapped wildly in the wind. In the distance, Adacon saw a gulch, fertile green—he rubbed his eyes, checked again. “Yep, that’s grass alright.”

“I haven’t seen any grass in the whole country,” said Adacon, perplexedly surveying a tiny meadow of grass nestled into the surrounding snow.

“No, there is no grass in the country at all—that’s Vapoury you see there,” explained Tempern.

“What do you mean?”

“A secret portal, one I’ve made visible to you; it’s a tract of land from an entirely different continent, far, far away from here,” Tempern explained.

“You mean you don’t even live on Nethvale?”

“Nope—well—some of the time, anyway.”

The giant hawk descended toward the green speck, its speed increasing by such a degree that Adacon could no longer discern his whereabouts; he thought in fear that the hawk was hurtling directly into the earth. A flash of white brilliance overtook him as they flew through the portal. Suddenly, they were gliding gently again, several hundred yards above an endless sea of high, wavy grass, bright green under a midday sun. Skirting the grass plains below were moss-covered hills, some cutting skyward in pressure ridge plateaus. After a command from Tempern, the Enox shifted his giant wings, setting into a turbulence-free stop atop one of the highest grass plateaus. Adacon ran off the bird, eager to find solid, iceless earth beneath his feet for the first time in weeks. Tempern chuckled, watching his passenger grasp the verdant turf in his fists.

“Nice place, isn’t it?” Tempern asked. Adacon didn’t respond; he was too busy lying down among high stalks of grass, immersing himself in the blank blue of the sky, registering a cool breeze that touched his cheek. The sun beat down, warm but not hot, through a constancy of fragrant wind, comforting him to the point of sleepiness.

“This is the most peaceful place I’ve ever been,” Adacon said. He looked up, noticing that the great Enox was flying away, generating strong winds of cool air with each flap. A shade passed over them; the hawk had briefly blotted out the sun with its wide silhouette. “And that is surely the largest creature I have ever seen, or that has ever been born!” he declared.

“The Sleeping Enox?” Tempern replied, walking over to where Adacon lay. “She was a person once.”

“A person?” Adacon exclaimed, lifting his head to peer around: the plateau was uniform green as far as the eye could see—in the distance shimmered a waterfall, wide, cascading brilliantly from an even higher plateau. Trees spread away from the top of the fall, nearly hidden by sparkling mist that rose from the water crashing at the bottom. “Beautiful…” He stared, mesmerized by the living channel, forgetting already that he’d just been told that the biggest bird he’d ever seen was actually a person.