Into the Fray: Volume 1 of The Sorcerers of Jhanvia Series (3 page)

As Tromm backed away from the table of food, his work complete, two women entered the room with purpose. They were apprentices that had been chosen to stand in support of Kulon for the gathering. One of them carried the temple sword, which was believed to be an ancient magical relic. The cruciform-style blade had been found buried under the main entrance to the building during renovation work some one hundred and fifty years ago. Its presence defied all explanation, as it was recovered intact without any rust. Inscriptions on the blade apparently carried a message, but the language in which they were written was lost long ago.

Kulon saw their approach and turned, stepping up the three steps to the marble platform. There she took her place standing in front of a high-back wooden chair, carved in startling detail with interwoven ivy and floral patterns, and finished with plush purple cushions on the back and seat. The apprentices took their places on either side of her.

Facing those gathered, the master spoke boldly, “My sisters and brothers, we come together this night to celebrate the third cycle of the Moon of Talera. It is a time of new beginnings, a time of growth through action. I encourage all of you to reflect on the knowledge gained during the last few moons of introspection and take steps to bring that growth into the physical realm.” She looked to the table at the back of the room and continued, “Once again, Tromm has done a wonderful job in preparing a bountiful feast for us. Please, everyone, enjoy.”

The matriarch sat in the chair as one of her attendants leaned over and whispered in her ear. Some of the assembled made their way toward the food table while others chose to mingle. The mood became quite lighthearted as food, drink and conversation began to flow.

Just then, a gruff male voice resounded from the back of the room, “Such a pretty ritual, Kulon. I hate to interrupt.” From out of the
darkness and into the torchlight, Dakal stepped forward on the second floor overlook, flanked on his right by his best archer. He was one of the leaders of the Rutalan Clan, who were widely known for their brutal mercenary ventures.

“How dare you enter this place, Dakal! What is your business here?” the Nashil demanded as she stood.

“
So
hostile,” he laughed. “It is possible we are here just to visit. After all, I haven’t seen you in…what’s it been...ten years? Age has treated you well, Kulon.” The clan leader, some thirty years of age, posed the compliment while shining a sardonic smile through his handsomely unkempt black beard. He stood tall and muscular and was prepared for battle with his leathers and chain mail and two-handed sword. From the looks of his hair and the mud stains he carried, he probably had not bathed in over a week. His flippant remarks demonstrated his confidence as his men, some fifty in number, began to appear, filtering into the background on the first and second levels of the temple. They were armed with all sorts of weaponry, from axes and crossbows to swords and maces. They exhibited the manner and discipline consistent with the tales of their daring exploits.

Kulon firmly restated her question. “Your sort do not ‘just visit.’ Why have you desecrated our temple with your presence?”

“Very well, if you must know, we have been hired by the high priest of the Temple of Kajaki to rid this land of your existence,” Dakal explained.

“We pose no threat to him.”

“He seems to think you do.” He continued off-handedly, “You know me. I’m not a religious person, and quite honestly, I don’t think you’re a threat to anyone, but we’ve been hired to do a job and the money is quite substantial. It’s important to me that we earn it, as we have a reputation to uphold. I don’t suppose you’ll just voluntarily disband?”

The members of the temple exhibited a fearful restlessness as the Nashil stood quietly defiant.

Dakal paused momentarily, waiting for a response, but none was forthcoming. He smiled nefariously and said, “No…I didn’t think so. You are courageous, Kulon, and I must admit, I will always have great respect for you.” He motioned with his hand toward one of his men and commanded, “Nilak!”

The warrior fired an arrow with great precision at the woman’s heart.

Kulon held up her hand and the arrow stopped in its flight a foot away. It fell harmlessly to the floor.

“Surely you realize that your fates have been sealed,” Dakal taunted.

“Your over-confidence will lead to your undoing,” responded Kulon.

“Shall we test that theory?” he taunted, and then he called out to one of his lieutenants, “Gorl!”

The soldier was huge and he had Kaitra by the arm. He exhibited almost no effort in bringing the struggling girl to the center of the room, where she finished on her knees. She was still wearing the same green woolen robe from earlier in the evening.

“I found this Dhoyan lurking behind a pillar watching you,” Dakal explained. “Where did you find one of these so far from home? Is she your pet?” he asked scornfully.

Without losing focus on Dakal, Kulon spoke softly to Kaitra, “I told you to leave.”

“I am
so
sorry,” Kaitra apologized tearfully. Her first act of disobedience in this place had such an overwhelming sense of finality to it.

“You’re a disgusting creature, Dakal,” Kulon concluded.

“Maybe,” he responded matter-of-factly. “Maybe I should just take her head.” He motioned to Gorl, who smiled as he started toward the girl while drawing his sword.

The apprentices flanking Kulon directed their magics in defense of Kaitra, their bright green energies flinging the oversized clansman backward through the air and into the stone wall. It would be several minutes before he regained his composure.

Kulon focused her energies on Dakal. He winced in pain as the bright red light of her magics surrounded his heart and began crushing it. He fell back a step in searing pain, but his archer stood firm in deep concentration, waiting for the smallest weakness to appear in their adversary.

One of Dakal’s minions saw an opportunity and made a run at Kaitra. The young mage looked over her shoulder to see a sword descending on her. With only instinct, she threw up her hand and a bright green flash from her magics sent the soldier flying backward, crashing through the food table.

Kaitra’s actions caused Kulon’s eyes to waver ever so slightly, barely a flutter in her concentration. The warlord’s prized archer seized on the opportunity and fired an arrow that found its mark, striking the Nashil in the chest. It was immediately followed by two more arrows that came from different directions in rapid succession, both finding their target. Defensive magics lose their potency when offensive magics are invoked. The elder fell backward into her chair. Death was instantaneous, and it was beginning to spread like wind-driven fire.

Kaitra’s scream of grief resounded through the walls and into the forest. She reached up with her hand and said softly through her now flowing tears, “Kulon…no. I am so sorry.”

With her magics gone, Dakal had recovered enough to issue orders, but none were needed. Chaos ruled the moment. The apprentices that had protected Kaitra had been attacked from behind and killed. As she died, the apprentice holding the temple sword released her grip, and it loudly bounced down the marble steps. Members of the temple made efforts to fight the onslaught, but with little success. They were significantly outnumbered. The clansmen were killing most everyone, but carrying a select few off to unknown fates. Blood was everywhere and fires were being set throughout the building.

Dakal called out to one of his older soldiers below, “Kaas, bring me that Dhoyan alive!”

“Yes, my lord!” he acknowledged loudly.

Kaitra stayed on her knees, transfixed on the blood-soaked image of her dead mentor, oblivious to the screaming and death happening all around. That was, until a young woman grabbed her by the shoulders, bringing her out of her light state of shock.

“You must get out, my lady,” she pleaded. At that moment, the blade of a sword projected from the woman’s chest. As blood began to seep from her mouth, she spoke with her last breath. “Go…please.”

The woman’s incarnate life ended and her body fell to the side, revealing her killer to the traumatized princess. An old brutish creature with bloody sword in hand, he looked into Kaitra’s eyes and smiled nefariously, exposing his rotted teeth. She could only think of one thing—run! She grabbed the temple sword from the floor in front of her and quickly ran through a door leading to an outside courtyard. The clansman motioned to one of his comrades, and the two of them followed.

The open courtyard was illuminated by five burning torches in ornately-designed iron sconces attached to the walls of the building. Stones had been masterfully laid to form a circular patio, with the lighter-colored stones appearing to spiral towards its center. As Kaitra reached the focal point of the stones, she realized there was nowhere to run. The clansmen would never let her escape. She stopped, closed her eyes and pleaded, “Dear Mother, please help us.”

“Too late, woman,” the old man seemed overly pleased with his words.

As she opened her eyes, two clansmen with swords drawn stood six paces in front of her. A chaotic mix of emotions began to fill her—grief, anger, fear…mostly fear. In desperation she concluded that she must kill or be killed. She took a firm grip on the hilt with both hands and raised the sword to an attack position over her right shoulder. She had seen this technique used by those in her father’s service, but regrettably, she had never wielded such a weapon. In her mind she realized the futility of this exercise, but her stubbornness would not allow her to go down without a fight. She started forward and was unexpectedly pulled back by an unseen force. She grunted as she tugged on the
sword with all her strength, but it would not move from its suspended location. It was as if someone were holding it back.

Upon seeing her predicament, the clansmen leered confidently. The older one raised his sword and scoffed, “Now let’s see your Goddess save you.”

“She’s not really dressed for a fight,” a firm, feminine voice commented from the shadows of the courtyard. From the smoke into the firelight a cloaked figure emerged confidently striding toward them. She unbuckled her cloak and let it fall, taking a position between the sorceress and the mercenaries. She was young, in her twenty-second year, and quite tall, close to six feet, three inches. Her long blonde hair had been tied back with cord. Her short-sleeved woolen shirt, dyed deep green with hints of black in random patterns, was tucked neatly into her black leather pants. A wide, black leather belt with silver rings lay comfortably on her hips. Her muscles were more pronounced than those of most women and the leather bracers on each of her arms showed significant wear. Her manner exuded overwhelming confidence. She drew her sword and spoke sarcastically, “Now, you weren’t really going to kill this beautiful, defenseless woman,
were you
?”

With the threat diminished for the moment, Kaitra realized that she was once again in control of the temple sword.

The younger clansman noticed the rounded ‘v’ shape of the tiny blonde hairs which started at the top of her nose and gracefully swept over her eyes to her hairline. Then he saw the three crossed silver arrows that were embroidered on her shirt. “She’s Valtyr!” he exclaimed. “Dakal has offered a bonus for killing one of her kind.”

The older clansman leaned slightly forward for a better look. “So she is. This will be a profitable evening for both of us.”

The young warrior looked over her shoulder and cautioned Kaitra, “Stay well behind me.” The terrified mage complied and retrieved her defender’s cloak.

As the older clansman approached, the Valtyr blocked his sword with hers and kicked him in the stomach. He became airborne
momentarily and then fell backward, sprawling onto the stone floor, wincing as the pain of his age was multiplied by the hard surface. It would be several moments before the old man could gather himself.

Meanwhile, the younger clansman came at her from the opposite direction. They exchanged blows, their swords coming together with the bright ring of quality steel. The young man was strong and agile, exhibiting talents of someone much older and experienced. With each thrust and parry, a respect between warriors began to develop. In the end it was life experience he lacked. With a flash of sparks, the blades came together and the opportunity for the powerful female came. With her left hand, she grabbed the wrist of her opponent’s sword hand. Her retractable claws extended and dug into his skin, ripping at his tendons as he screamed in agony. His sword crashed to the courtyard. With her body, she pushed him back against the temple wall with such force it stunned him briefly. She used her claws to rip at his throat, tearing a gaping wound and destroying the arteries to his brain. His last breath was silent as his body collapsed in death.

Kaitra stood awestruck at the enormity of the devastation before her. Flames had begun to leap from the windows of the upper floor. Haunting screams echoed from the surrounding hills and cascaded down from the open-air rooms above. In the swirling smoke, she saw the spirits of her sisters and brothers dancing about the walls of the temple. She felt their trauma at having their lives cut short, but she would most remember the image of the surrounding trees that seemed to be sobbing, grieving at the great loss taking place before them.

The older clansman, having somewhat recovered from his first encounter, saw a possibility of success in attacking the distracted mage. The Valtyr sensed his plan and would have none of it. He started his move. As his sword descended on the mesmerized sorceress, the young warrior blocked him handily with her sword. She spun him around and the two stood facing each other. The Valtyr held out her arms and smiled, inviting the old man to attack. As he lunged toward her she finished him, stepping forward and blocking his sword hand with
her left arm and pushing the point of her blade decisively through his heart. He stood briefly, his mouth gaping from surprise, then slowly keeled over backward, falling off the bloody steel.

The warrior sheathed her sword, grabbed Kaitra by the arm and commanded, “Come, we must leave.”