Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (37 page)

              The others dropped their equipment also. Dawn drew upon the ley energies in the area. She could feel an immense crossroads of ley lines a few days to the west, but the lines were strong enough here. The air grew thick as she brought in mist and fog to blanket the area and give her friends cover.

              Cite dropped a mental shield in front of them just as more arrows flew in with a precision that would have injured or killed more of their small group. Cyril called upon the power of his God. Being so close to the Holy City of Jonath added to his ability to touch his god, and he used that to his full advantage. A bright silver flash lit the pre-dawn dark.

The sound of whistling began in the mage’s head again. Cite rubbed at his ears, and looked at his friends. No one else noticed the noise. He guessed that it was exclusive to him, and related to something about him. He expanded his awareness while keeping the telekinetic shield in place.

Gruedo lowered Sergeant Michaelson to the ground, considered the situation, and drew a dagger as she reached into her bag with her other hand. She drew out glass balls with a milky white substance inside. She threw these as far as she could, each one igniting in a flash of brilliant white light that coated the trees or ground where it struck.

Rogen did not surprise the Dasism he had spotted. He threw his hand axe to lead the way in so his enemy could not draw their arrows to shoot. The Dasism stepped backwards as the axe flew at him and embedded itself deep into the tree beside the lithe being. The stout man drew up short and stared at the place he had thrown the weapon. The Dasism had stepped into the tree and disappeared.

Rogen swung around and raised his hammer just in time to deflect the blow that would have cleaved his head in two. The same warrior stood behind him, slim curved blade in hand. The sword snaked its way in again and again, keeping the bearded warrior on the defensive. The hammer was a clumsy way to block and Rogen began using his open palm to slap the flat of the blade coming at him, causing it to fly wide. He dropped his hammer and reached over his shoulder to grab his battle-axe with a grim look of determination.

Cyril’s spear glittered and grew three individual tines at the end, becoming a trident, the weapon of Jonath. He stepped forward with confidence, and his eyes swept across the line of trees and growing fog. He saw the slim forms in the brush and ran towards them, calling out his God’s name.

Dawn felt for the fiery power of the heat lines and drew in their energy, and fired off a series of flaming orbs that arced across the space between her and the enemy. They found their targets. A lithesome form lit up with magical fire. No sound came forth as the creature stepped into a tree and disappeared. Seeing the being do this was not as unnerving to the wizardess as the fact that it didn’t show any notice of pain from the fire.

Cite sought out the source of the whistle. He felt the supple minds of dozens of the enemy. Then he found the source, a mind that blended and disappeared. He could only find it when he did not look for it directly. Instead, he focused on the mind next to it. An odd mind, seeming to have no stable line of faith or belief, this mind was supple like the Dasism’s, but also rough like a human’s. Never having experienced any other species minds, except for Rogen’s stony one, Cite had never realized how different the thoughts of other races felt.

Gruedo had gathered many herbs and minerals along the journey, and with good reason. Last night was no different. Though she was tired from no sleep, she had taken the time to prepare extra items during the night she had thought would be useful. She drew out a series of glass vials from her satchel of many pockets; three extended out from between her fingers. She dodged behind the underbrush, circling wide around the enemy.

Rogen swung his axe in precise side-to-side sweeps, blocking the incoming blade of the two warriors in front of him. A third circled behind him; thankfully, he was too close to its cohorts for it to use its bow. Rogen knew it was an unwise move to separate from his friends. He mentally reached behind him and snapped the sixth and seventh energy node in the Dasism’s body behind him, stunning it. With a vicious swipe of his huge blade he knocked the other two back for a moment, and turned and ran towards the sound of his companions.

Cyril saw Rogen burst from the growth with two of the forest Dasism right behind him. Rogen dropped and rolled, coming up on his knees and facing them. His axe shot out and shattered one of the knees of the approaching enemies. Cyril ran forward to help, but drew up short as another four fae-kin stepped from the trees and encircled him.

Dawn saw her friends outnumbered in front of her, and she drew her cutlass. Fire ran up the blade as she channeled energy. She leapt over the small bushes in front of her and ran to join the fray, hoping to even the odds of two against six. She didn’t slow when she saw four more step from the fog-lined trees and come towards her, bringing the odds to three against ten. Flaming darts led her charge into the waiting battle.

Gruedo came closer to the two forest dwellers, unnoticed. She smiled at her skill, able to approach beings that were in their element with a ground covered with dead leaves. She had prepared her boots with an ointment to help, but her skill was paramount. She was within striking distance when the tree above her groaned, and a branch came crashing down. She was crushed underneath its mighty limb as the two Dasism turned and saw her for the first time.

Cite stood beside the mouth of the cave they had exited, their guide dead at his feet. The mage dropped the mental barrier that stopped the first barrage of arrows, since his friends were too far away to benefit from it. He still probed at this strange mind when he felt the arrow tear through his arm. He returned to his current reality. Six beings had swept past his friends and circled behind him. Without a thought, the milky ethereal daggers appeared in his hand and flew out of their own volition. Two of the beings went down and lay twitching on the cold earth. He reached out with his mind and snapped the bonds of control that kept them answering the commands of their enslaver. The other four drew their bowstrings back, and four arrows launched at Cite’s chest.

Rogen and Cyril joined together and stood back to back. They saw Dawn coming towards them, and more Dasism step in between them and her. The five uninjured warriors encircled the two men. A sheet of earth shot up on each side of the companions creating a corridor from Cite to Rogen, with Cyril and Dawn in between. Four of the enemy were also in this trough of stone and mud. One on the far side of the two men, two between the men and Dawn, one facing each, and one on the far side of the pirate captain. The three friends flew into action; axe, trident, and sword whirling, jabbing, and spinning. Two of the Dasism fell in unison as Dawn’s sword and Cyril’s trident found their marks. A third soon followed as Rogen charged it, and knocked it into the wall and slashed it across the belly, disemboweling it. The fourth bent at the knees and jumped straight up, landing on the wall that towered ten feet above the combatant’s heads. When they looked up, they saw a dozen others had joined him; all had their bows in hand, arrows nocked and drawn.

Cite heard the arrows shatter on the stone wall. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He could try to sever the ties to the person controlling these creatures one at a time, but he didn’t think he would survive long enough. He sent his mind out again finding the double mind that he had noticed earlier. It was easier this time, following the mental thread that went into each of the Dasism. It was a minuscule connection. Cite plucked at it, finding it the same way a child finds a single strand of a spider web crossing between two trees.

It led back to the dual mind, rugged but supple. Cite graced the mind, caressing it, trying to coax information from it. It was Kala the Black. The mind mage could see the bundle of gossamer lines entering the aura of the half-breed. His internal vision was interrupted as something attacked him from inside his head. It was as if a thousand ants had been released in his head, the subtle tickle of countless minute feet teamed with the sharp, stinging bite of venomous mandibles.

The volume of the whistle became a shriek as his connection with the Troöd became clear. It was she who sent the attack back down his mental pathway. He attacked back without thinking, and slammed walls around his attacker as his mind focused on her psyche. Essude found herself visible mentally and physically, and blocked from all of her mental powers. Cite felt her adoration for the man beside her, and her hate. The bard could feel the constant undertow of emotion from her, the driving urge to go home, and stop the humans from following. But she would miss this one man, and was torn by her feelings and her duty.

All this took mere seconds. The Dasism only had time to draw their bowstrings back and sight down the arrows before Cite’s scream shattered the blooming dawn. All turned to look at the man who was clutching his head as he fell to his knees. It was the distraction that Dawn needed; she extended the walls upward another six inches, embedding the supernatural creatures’ feet in the hardened earth. She released the walls and pushed outwards with air. The walls let go of each other at the corners and fell outward at the wind’s insistence. The enemies atop the wall were thrown against the ground, knocking the breath from them and breaking bones. Cyril and Rogen leapt to action, ran across the now prone wall, and kicked weapons away from the fallen ones and looked at the trees for others.

Cite felt the vicious intrusion end. The whistling was a faint noise in his head, though he still felt that the mind that generated it close by. He focused on the first mind again. He felt the psychic abilities of a mind mage - like his own or the Troöd he had just put out of action - but also a second magic that he could not touch. Without further hesitation, he did what he could.

The three friends saw dozens of other Dasism in the woods; their bows rose towards the companions now that the other warriors were on the ground and wouldn’t be caught in crossfire. The bows then lowered. The odd forest beings acted confused or perhaps, as if their heads had cleared for the first time in a long time. Some looked to others and exchanged a word or two, then ran their swords through each other. Others shook their heads and turned back into the woods. A few approached the companions.

“We do not have much time,” one said, its voice a light, musical, tinkling noise. “We are freed from our enslaver’s control. Release our companions, so they may go.”

Dawn looked at Rogen and Cyril, unsure how to take this. Both men stood with weapons at ready. Rogen nodded and Dawn altered the flow of earth around the feet of the trapped fae.

“No, not that way,” the fae that spoke before said, “the way you released our other companions two nights ago. We felt them leave this world and return to the other.”

“You want me to banish them?” Rogen asked and the slim spokesman nodded.

“All of us, if you can. Our time here is finished. We may release ourselves of course, but it takes time, and many of us do not want to risk being captured and controlled again.”

“How can you know what the others want? You haven’t spoken with all of them,” Dawn said.

“We speak with the movement of the trees, the breath of the wind, and the spirit of woods. We wish to leave.” As he said this, Gruedo wandered into the small clearing with a Dasism on either side of her. Cite walked towards the others also, clutching his arm as blood seeped through his fingers.

“I blocked Kala the Black from using his mental abilities,” the mind mage said. “I don’t know how long it will hold, it may be permanent, or it may only last a few minutes. I think it depends on his skill and if he can undo what I did. They are safe from his control, at least for the moment.”

“We were the weapons of this forest for too long, we are now ready for it to become our graveyard. Our time here is finished,” the fae-kin said. “Thank you for your help, it will not be forgotten.”

“Funny thing to say,” Gruedo said, “considering you are all about to leave this world in the fastest way possible. Shouldn’t you add, ‘as long as I shall live’ to that?”

The woods erupted in deep purplish energy that matched the darker part of the morning sky. Trees splintered under the magical force. The companions scattered, taking cover anywhere it was offered. The Dasism calmly turned and looked towards the source of the attack, their weapons at ready.

“We will handle this and release ourselves. Go your way and know that this forest will remember you for all time.” Without another word the slim beings dashed into the trees and disappeared. The sound of another magical blast was heard, but was hidden amongst the trees.

“We should go,” Rogen said as he came from behind the fallen rock wall that he had hidden behind. He pointed at the wounded man’s arm. “Cite, can you travel with that if we just wrap it?”

Cite nodded. Everyone reached down to retrieve their bags, Gruedo and Dawn each took one of Cite’s bags so he could bind his arm on the move.

“What about Michaelson?” Cite asked as they shouldered their burdens. Rogen shook his head and sighed.

“We do not have time, son. He knew it might happen; he died protecting what he loved. His body is just a shell now and we do not have time to bury him or return him to the city.” Cyril said a blessing over their guide’s dead body and they headed west, away from the sounds of the battle, the rising sun, and towards their final destination.

Chapter 21: Broken Homes

“You do not relocate rats out of compassion. You kill them as a lesson to others.”

Chengeist the Warlord

5854 – Ault – Quebal – Therin

The Dasism winked in and out of trees as they closed on the man who enslaved them for decades. Kala watched them approach as he tried to reach out and force their minds to do his will. They came at him in a unified wave of blades, unaffected by his commands. Something had blocked him and dozens of the freed fae-kin were now hunting him. Kala drew his sword, and the ivory blade glowed in his hand as he focused on the presence of these beings that would dare to attack him.

He moved without effort, his blade one with his body. It flicked out and knocked other blades away without exerting itself or its wielder.  The blade snaked under the defenses of a Dasism and drew a line of blood across her throat. It spun, as if in slow motion though it would be a blur to anyone watching, and slipped between the ribs and pierced the heart of another attacker. Kala moved like the autumn wind, chill with an undertone of death. He touched each being as he moved past them. Fourteen Dasism fell to the forest floor in a matter of seconds, never to rise again.

Kala the Black, blademaster and once chosen of the Goddess of Light, now chosen of the God of the Dark, reached out and gripped a male Dasism by the throat as the fae-kin’s curved blade tore into the flesh of the priest’s arm. He felt the radiant life within his enemy, and rage and anger surged in Kala. How dare they have such beauty in them after the years he spent stripping it away! He flooded the man with hatred of betrayal and unlocked hidden things from deep within the Dasism. The enemy fell and dropped his sword to the soft earth, and screamed. Kala stopped moving and balanced on the balls of his feet. Dasism swept in, their swords flickered like raindrops in the moonlight. He parried every blade without looking. He watched the fae-kin that was bent over, face against the ground, his back arched. He rose, a distorted and crazed look in his eyes. Kala had triggered a change, when he unlocked hidden deep within the makeup of this being. It became taller and gangly. That was where the similarities to other Dasism ended. His face was not smooth, but wrinkled and contorted with rage, pain, and anger. The creature tore his hair out in chunks, leaving bare scalp that healed as it was damaged. The fae-beast tore off a branch from a tree, desecrating the forest that its people held in high regard, and gripped it like a weapon. It kicked at the sword it dropped, seeming to loathe the perfection of the blade. The gentle umber skin was now darker brown as blood flooded his face and his empty claw-like hand flexed.

‘Taksas’
Kala realized. This was the being that had once existed that the Aeifain had eradicated from their bloodline. A primitive creature that was fed by the things that the Aeifain reviled. Taksas was the male of the species. The female would be Taksini. Kala smiled. He would give birth to the extinct race and lead them. He would no longer need the Dasism, nor would his new slaves be bound to the wood.

Kala realized that his sword still deflected the weapons of his attackers with a mind of its own. He changed his tactics and dropped his defense, and left an opening for his enemies. A Dasism darted in closer, and Kala grabbed her by the throat and pumped the same raw emotions into her that he had the other. The first Taksini was born. The overwhelming odds against the one who had enslaved an entire race shifted as his new servants rose to defend him and destroy their friends. First the meddling humans and their pet Rokairn would die, then Kala would retake the power he given to the Troöds.

5854 – Ault – Quebal – Dunwith

The County of Trism was the third most powerful house in the Kingdom of Humbrey. The House Trism had come to power more than three centuries ago after fending off a horde of reptilian men from the Lost Swamp to the west, raising the fifth noble house in the Kingdom. The Count of that time quickly opened trade with the city of wizards, Pantageas, to the southeast and allowed them access to the Weird River that had been dammed. Five generations ago that Count helped establish the Duchy of Velent, seating the final noble house in the Kingdom, giving a crown prince his own lands and a debt of honor to Trism. The two noble houses had been allies since.

The latest Count of Trism, Yearl Marshlord, had opened trade agreements with the Kingdom of Trysteria to the south and east, including the Duchy of Malvor. His house had flourished under this trade agreement, and he had been knighted for his efforts. There was even talk of the marriage of his son and a royal princess, which would make Trism a Duchy. Count Marshlord was a moral man who always saw to his duties, and tended to his people and trade agreements without hesitation. He wanted to bring his house honor and glory without having to fight a war.

A light snow dusted the sprawling streets of Trism. The metropolis’s stone buildings were a picture of serenity. The setting sun gave way to chill winds and moonlight reflections, making folks want to be inside with a mug of hot mulled cider and good company. Music and laughter spilled out onto the snow-sprinkled avenues from pubs and taverns, along with the amber light of oil lamps.

In an alley, an undernourished dog sniffed at the back door of a pub. The door opened and a sweaty man in a stained apron emptied a bucket of kitchen scraps across the cobblestones. Hands on his hips, the fat cook drew a deep breath of air that wasn’t heavy with smoke, enjoying the crisp bite of autumn. The animal crouched, growling, as its hackles rose. The man looked down, seeing the dog for the first time. He shouted at the cur to scare it away. The mutt crept forward, showing its teeth through foam-flecked lips. The unnerved man retreated inside, and slammed the door.

Grenedal glanced down the alley as the dog began nosing through the scraps. The cur glanced his way, whimpered, and slunk behind a barrel as the man trudged through the slush, leaving shallow boot prints that would be covered soon enough. Dragonblood had been in Trism almost three weeks and had learned a lord was raising a resistance to stage a coup from the within the court of Trism; that lord had gone missing; and the local criminal syndicate had been infiltrated and was under the control of an unknown crime lord. Grenedal knew who it was though; it was the same man that compromised the loyalty and honor of a kingdom that was legendary for those traits. Duke Malvornick.

Grenedal had never been good at digging up information, but Kaht had a way of digging up things that he couldn’t. Whether by intimidation or by bribe, Grenedal always pushed too hard. He was an expert at putting information to work, though. He had sent his companion back to Everyway, tasked to find Hue Blueaxe and bring him here to Trism. The giant man would be more prone to get along with the men here than Grenedal. The dragonkin believed in being more flexible with the law and rules than the people who lived in this country. Hue would feel that the law is sacred, just as the locals do.

Grenedal walked along with his cloak pulled around his wings. He slouched to hide them, still unused to them and not wanting to attract attention. His family name was Dragonblood, but he had never thought it was literal, until his ‘awakening’. Since that moment he had changed every day, not just physically, but in other ways also. He could feel the magical force lines that were tapped by wizards; he could use the magic of his own mind like the mages; and even the art of sorcerers and alchemists were not out of his grasp. He found himself sensing other things - communications flying through the air. It was as if someone was sending messages and he was receiving not only those, but the responses from the other party. He couldn’t recognize the language, but it was familiar.

He made his way to the appointed place where he had instructed Kaht to send Hue. It was an hour after sunset and he was at the statue of the realm’s greatest hero, Trism the Bold. It had been five days since he sent her. It was two hundred kilometers to Everyway and would take about twelve days to reach it on horseback, but Kaht had other ways to travel, and she may have made it in two days, then three days for Hue to travel back. Pantageas, the city of magic, was due south. The right amount of coin, and you can be transported almost anywhere, but the right amount was a lot. It should be possible that Hue was here; he also had other ways to travel.

Grenedal stood in the growing snowdrift in front of the statue, watching stragglers hurry home. The sky lost its remaining light as the sun set, and dusk turned into night. He saw Blueaxe approaching from a long way away. The man had an unmistakable stride, bold and confident, and the double bladed axe strapped to his back jutted out past his broad shoulders. He was a giant of a man and his pale blue skin glowed in the dim light.

Grenedal remembered when Hue had been a blind beggar man, nicknamed Smiles, for obvious reasons. The man was always happy, even though he had been on the bottom rung of the social food chain. When the Talisman had appeared in the sky, abominations had crawled from unknown places. The dead rose up and walked the streets. The elderly and young that were caught outside were exposed to the magical emanations and were transformed into mutated horrors, and Smiles had become one of them. Grenedal and Kaht had found him in a room of living dead, recognizing him as one of their street informers. They had slain the rotting monsters and brought Smiles back to a safe haven. Finding a sorcerer to help had not been easy, but Grenedal’s sense of duty drove him. Drawing upon the energies of another realm, the sorcerer had healed Smiles. When the homeless man had awoken days later, he was changed. He was in his prime once again, and took a name from that time in his life when he had been a gladiator. Hue Blueaxe returned, but he had been changed by the powers that touched him. Grenedal guessed that the Gods decided to help equip the world with people who would have a chance to face the Talisman and all it brought.

Hue smiled at Grenedal as he walked up. The blue-skinned man stood a few centimeters shorter than the dragonkin, but was more than a hand span wider. He wore a sleeveless tunic and wool pants. It was hard to find boots in his size, so the man had made a pair of simple sandals. The cold didn’t seem to affect him.

“My friend,” the blue skinned man said, “Kaht said it was urgent. What is it?”

The taller, thinner man began to explain in hushed whispers all he had learned. Grenedal explained that there were men gathering to face Duke Malvornick and break his hidden hold on the Kingdom of Humbrey. He gave his axe-wielding friend the names and secret meeting places, and imparted the urgency to him.

“Gather allies; lead them north, warning of Malvornick and his plans. You have to organize them if we are to survive the darkness of the Talisman and the horrors it brings.”

As they stood talking, their heads bent close for secrecy, the sounds of rapid hoof beats and a crier was heard approaching. He charged straight through the square, shouting his message, and kicking snow up behind his mount.

“Velent has fallen!” the crier yelled. “Demon bugs attacked from the Lost Swamp! Prepare! Beware! They come this way!”

Velent was a day ride south; less if you changed horses on the way. Magic could have been used to send the news quicker. It was a few hours east of the Lost Swamp, and Trism was about twice the distance from the Lost Swamp. Hue and Grenedal looked at each other.

The mangy cur from the alley crept out of the shadows, hackles up, and its snout twisted in a snarl. The two men turned to look at it. It stood on its hind legs, and began to warp and change. In a moment, Nomed stood where the beast had been. The demon half breed smiled at the two men.

“Gentlemen,” Nomed said, nodding to each of them in turn, “did you plan a meeting of half breeds without including me, your brother in this odd triangle of fate?”

“Nomed,” Grenedal muttered acknowledgement, “we don’t have time for you and your games.”

“Nomed!” Hue took a large stride towards the demon spawn, grabbed his hand in greeting, and pumped it up and down while slapping him on the shoulder with the other hand. Nomed stumbled under the power of the greeting. “You’re always welcome if you come to help, my dark friend. Don’t pay any mind to Grenedal, he is forgets hope and happiness when he’s under pressure. Always gets too serious and forgets the small things.”

“Yes, good to see you also, Blueaxe,” Nomed said, straightening his leather cape over his bare chest. “I am here to help, Dragonblood. Don’t be so snotty. I can be of great help. I witnessed what happened in Velent, it wasn’t pretty. And it is coming this way. In fact, it should be here in just a few minutes.”

“Then we don’t have time for the simple things, like idle conversation,” Grenedal said to them both. Turning to Hue he continued, “Go to the people I told you about and gather them, I will check into this new menace. I will find you again.”

“Godspeed, Grenedal, and be careful.” Smiling, Hue slapped the taller man on the shoulder. Grenedal threw his cloak from his shoulders, and it settled down the middle of his back. His leathery wings unfurled and he launched himself into the cold night air.

Nomed grinned as the two disappeared into the night. As he turned, a dog stood where the man had been a moment before, and loped into an alley.