The Legend of Asahiel: Book 03 - The Divine Talisman (47 page)

Too long without Marisha’s touch, her voice, to lend him strength and purpose.

He surveyed his surroundings, turning his head slowly, thinking he might find her. He hadn’t seen her since their quarrel, some sixteen hours past. Already, it felt like days. His tongue grew thick as he recalled the words he had uttered, and his heart began to boil. Perhaps he needn’t have spoken at all. Clearly, she meant to punish him, but that only made him angrier. His feelings had not been groundless, his fears not without merit. If she expected him to seek her out to offer an apology, she stood to be sorely disappointed.

A pair of arms seized him about the waist.
Marisha
, he thought,
Marisha
,
I’m so sorry…

With a yank, the arms drew him to his feet, and held him while he swayed unsteadily. He turned to find not Marisha, but one of his fellow bowmen: Tevarian.

“Come,” the lad bade him, slapping him on the chest. “It’s a long crawl on hands and knees.”

Allion could only wince in response. The struggle no longer seemed to matter. Not when he had already thrown away that which was most precious to him—for fear of its eventual loss.

Then a horn sounded. Its moaning blast was followed hard upon by another.

“What’s this, now?” Tevarian wondered aloud.

Allion had no answer. Soldiers looked to be charging now in both directions, north and south. The horn sounded again, and this time there were others to echo its signal. Two stern blasts. An advance. But had they not just been signaling a retreat?

“Our command is unraveling,” Tevarian muttered. “Are we coming or going?”

Others seemed to share his uncertainty. Wherever Allion looked, soldiers caked with blood and soot milled in evident confusion. Half were still trying to flee. Half were spoiling to fight. None seemed to know what their true orders were.

But the horns sounded again. And then again. Bit by bit, shattered ranks began to form up. A cavalry squad thundered past, riding for the blockade line they had just abandoned. One of them stopped to bellow at a pack of retreating swordsmen to turn about and follow.

Another rider came up behind that one, pale hair blown by the wind. “Bows! I need bows!” Troy shouted. When Allion raised his arm, the high commander spotted them and galloped toward their position. “Where is your unit? I need advance fire. We ride to recapture our line.”

“We were ordered to fall back,” Tevarian said.

“Are you wounded?” Troy asked.

Allion felt himself shaking his head. “What’s happened?”

“Lookouts signal that the enemy rush has slackened.”

“Slackened?”

“Something has drawn the reavers’ attention. I know not how long it may last. I go to press our advantage.” He noticed then the sprawl of arrows littering the ground. “I would have your bows, if you are able.”

Allion immediately bent to gather up the quarrels. The abrupt motion made him light-headed, but his shame was enough to drive away his stupor.

Troy merely smiled. Even in this, the high commander appeared to be enjoying himself, as if he knew something Allion did not. “See you at the front.”

The soldier’s steed left them choking on a curtain of dust. Tevarian helped him to collect a few more arrows, then clutched his arm and drew him again to his feet.

“That’s enough,” the lad said. “There will be barrels where we left them.”

Allion nodded and shouldered the quiver. Several of his platoon members, whom he had been chasing south, were returning, and caught sight of him. He motioned for them to hurry.

“False alarm, was it?” one of them asked.

“Else this one is,” Tevarian replied, clapping the man’s shoulder as they fell into formation.

Allion kept pace alongside. The first few steps were the worst; after that, he found his stride. While he did not share Tevarian’s zest, he wasn’t so blind or wasted as to misrecognize a ray of hope. Slight as it might prove, it would seem better than succumbing to the cold and the darkness—like a streamer of daylight to guide a drowning man to the surface.

If only
she
had been there to help pull him free.

He resisted the urge to look, hardened by his pride, focused on his duty.
Draw
,
aim
,
loose. Draw
,
aim
,
loose.
His only task, until this nightmare gave way to oblivion.

If Marisha wished to claim her apology, she would have to find him before then.

T
ORIN MARCHED IN A COCOON
of silence. Annleia strolled beside him, but he paid her no notice. His eyes were locked upon the moist earth, where a glistening layer of dampness steamed beneath the warmth of the sun’s rays. Within the resulting mist danced images of Dyanne. Memories, fantasies, he savored them all, fearing each to be the last picture he would ever have of the woman he so cherished.

It had taken hours of reflection to grasp the consequences of all else. But he had understood immediately the simple fact that Dyanne was gone. Two days ago, he had stood before her and accepted her farewell, walking away without any reason to hope he might see her again.

He still wasn’t sure how he had let it happen.

She had eluded the pages he’d sent to notify her of his departure. She had then eluded
him
as he made his own rounds through Lorre’s citadel. The keep had been cold and quiet, with many having just settled down after a long night of celebrating. Saena, who had woken him, had complained of causing a stir, but had surrendered to his wishes and led him in his search.

He had all but given up hope, venturing down to the stables…where they had found her waiting for him. A yawning Holly stood with her, the pair of them come to wish him well.

Torin had refused, at first, to say good-bye. He had not finished savoring her company. He doubted that he ever could. But how to bring himself to tell her so?
How can you not?
an inner voice had demanded. This was his last chance, his final opportunity to admit how much he ached to hold and to soothe her. He understood it instinctively. Surrender now, and he would lose her forever. Remain silent, and he would have to live with that emptiness for the rest of his life.

“It’s not too late to join us,” he had said. “Wherever we end up, I’m sure we could use your skills.”

Dyanne had laughed. “Of that, I have no doubt. But your companion tells me you are most likely bound for your homeland.”

Homeland.
Once upon a time, perhaps. Pentania had been the birthplace of his life, his dreams, his first love…everything he was or had wanted to be. But this was where he now belonged. She and Holly and Jaik and Bardik and so many others had shown him that. Their unanticipated acceptance of him the night before had shown him the shadows of possibility, of the experiences he could have enjoyed, of the delights that might yet be his.

Annleia had approached them, then, else he might have raised any number
of feeble arguments about how nothing was certain. The breach he must find a way to seal lay upon Pentania’s shores, yes. And he had indeed left those realms in much more dire straits than these. But his fiendish actions made him every bit as responsible for this land as that.
Ask me to do so
, he had thought,
and I will stay.

“Pentania is too far away,” she had remarked instead. “
My
people,
my
fight, is here.

“But take this,” she had added, before he could summon a protest. “A token of esteem, lest you forget us altogether.” Draped from her fingers upon a thin, vine-woven necklace was a pendant of black amber. “I had it made for Jaik,” she admitted, and, for a moment, her eyes had lowered along with the gemstone. “But I’d rather you take it, since I can fashion him another.”

He hadn’t anything to say to that, and so had bowed low enough to let her slip the ornament around his neck. When she had finished, and he saw her smiling at the way the polished jet hung in place, he had wanted nothing more than to reach out and seize her in his arms. The time had come to amend his childish silence and allow the decision regarding their relationship to lie with her. Fear and hesitation had cost him everything before. He would not let them cheat him again.

Even in that moment, however, he had realized how unfair that would be: to bid her choose between him and Jaik when he had nothing to offer her. And so he had faltered, thinking not about what he stood to lose with his persistent silence, only how grateful he was that she should bestow upon him this small symbol of her regard.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

The coaxing words, though softly spoken, pulled Torin from his reverie. When he looked up, he half expected Dyanne to still be standing there in front of him. Instead, his gaze found Annleia’s as she strolled alongside, peering over at him with gentle concern.

“About what?”

“You’ve done nothing but brood since before we left. Makes me worry that there’s something you’ve not told me.”

Her visage was one of impatience, as though she had grown tired of his sullen silence. Yet there was no hardness in her countenance, no accusation in the soft furrows of her brow. Though unswayed by reproach, he found her imploring gaze much more difficult to ignore.

But what might he tell her? Would she hear of that first morning following his reunion with those at Neak-Thur? How he had awakened with pierced chest and flaming lungs, seething in private anguish over what he had lost? How, without the balm of Dyanne’s physical presence, he had been left with only the raw, stinging truth of the fact that he had returned too late? Would she hear of how he had tossed and turned, cursing his many wasted opportunities and wishing, pleading—to the light and to the darkness, whichever might answer—for but one chance to go back and reshape his destiny?

Or perhaps he might tell her of the agony he had endured since. How
more than two days’ march had done nothing to dull his torment. How each morning, he awoke with a surge of emotion he didn’t think his heart could contain. How he wished it would simply rupture, that he might feel no more of the empty ache that choked him from within. Raked by bitterness during the day, beset each night by the demons of what could have been, he fought a constant struggle to memorize Dyanne’s words, her sweet touch. All the simple moments she had granted him, all the meaningless gestures…Now that they were behind him, only the pain seemed real.

Annleia did not need to hear any of that. Such feelings were petty and selfish, and meant less than nothing in the larger scheme of what lay ahead. He would not be mocked or chided for having them. Nor would he seek sympathy or solace where none could be found.

“Are your wounds troubling you?” his companion prodded.

His knee, though heavily wrapped for support, throbbed with every step. Invisible nails held his shoulder in its socket—and even they failed now and then to keep it in place. His heart thumped sickly within his chest, twisting and contorting through a series of involuntary convulsions.

“My wounds,” he grumbled, “are better than I deserve.”

“If you’re hurting, we can rest. Else, I can mix you something for the pain.”

I need the pain
, he realized. His travels were leading him away from Yawacor and the dreams he had hoped to realize here. Grief was his strongest reminder of those he had left behind, a consort to his memories. When one faded, he feared, so too would the other.

“I would sooner have my wits on these trails,” he replied. “These paths can be treacherous.”

When preparing to leave Neak-Thur, Annleia had asked to be shown the nearest pass east through the mountains. A strange course, Torin had thought, until realizing that they couldn’t bloody well summon Ravar upon the western shore, where every seaside villager within fifty leagues might see Him. So they had ridden south and east with a lone guide, having declined any further assistance. Torin sensed that, had Annleia requested it, Lorre might have sent half his army to accompany them. Tempting as that notion had been, even Torin understood what little good a show of such force would ultimately do them.

Upon reaching the foot of a pass carved by the Tanir River, their guide had warned them one last time that it led only to an inaccessible cove. Unless they had a vessel awaiting them there, they would do better to continue south, through the Dragonscale Cleft and on to Razorport. Annleia had thanked the man for his counsel, and bid him a safe return, leaving them to venture up the pass alone.

Torin had questioned that decision, also, remembering all too well how unforgiving this mountain range could be. Yet the map they had been provided was well drawn, and the snows that had made this stretch of the Dragontails impassable months before were all but melted. They had encountered no blizzards, and no avalanches, just high-rushing streams amid vales and
meadows of verdant green. Earlier that morning, they had found the headwaters of the Tanir as it tumbled down out of the cliffs, and had soon thereafter slipped across the pass’s summit. Strong winds had assailed them, whistling down off the adjacent peaks, and for a time, the paths had indeed grown steep and narrow, with startling glimpses of deep-throated chasms to either side. But the worst of that, even, appeared to be behind them. For as their winding course resettled amid the treeline, the slope softened, boulders and rockslides ceased to threaten, and the winds tapered off amid the rising forests.

“I’ve led you this far,” Annleia reminded him. “I won’t let any ill befall you now.”

Her smile was wasted on him, and faded quickly. Her gaze, however, refused to let go.

He turned away from it, reaching reflexively for the jet pendant hung high upon his chest. Dyanne’s unexpected gift to him. A tangible memento, for which he was grateful—though even
it
seemed but a searing reminder of the joy that had so briefly been his.

“I hope this is not about
her
.”

Torin felt a flush crawl up his cheeks. Embarrassment, that she should see right through him. Anger, that she should consider it any business of hers. He let go of the pendant, and tightened his grip on the Sword, making sure to keep his eyes on the path ahead. “It feels wrong,” he said, “leaving with so much unfinished.”

“The best way to serve your friends is to see the Illysp seal restored. Whatever debts remain thereafter must be settled later—just like those you owe
my
people.”

She may as well have slapped him in the face. He would rather she had done so, for when he looked, he found that she had made the comment with more pity than accusation. She still saw him as a victim in this—how, he wasn’t sure. But the ease with which she had apparently forgiven him only sharpened his own sense of guilt. He thought back to her comment, her fear that he was withholding something from her. Which of course he was. Something she deserved to know. Something he could not quite bring himself to tell her.

“We could go in search of them, you know,” he offered. “Your people. The ones who…the ones who survived. I could help you find them.”

“The best
I
can do for
them
is to finish what I was sent here to do, making certain you succeed in your quest.” Her depthless gaze seemed to swallow him whole. “Our paths are the same now, yours and mine, until the end is decided.”

Once again, she left him speechless, uncertain how to respond to such focused intensity. “Will you know where to find them?” he managed finally.

“I will know where to look. Part of me would sooner do so now, I assure you. But you cannot summon Ravar on your own. He may choose to present Himself to you, or He may not. Only I can make sure, and I mean to do so.”

“Is it some enchantment, then? Some spell your people hold over Him?”

One of her hands moved within her cloak, coming to rest on the handle of a longknife sheathed at her waist. “A pact, as I understand it, between Him and the Vandari, made ages ago at the close of the Dragon Wars. In accordance with the one He made with the Ceilhigh to safeguard this world from outside threat.”

Torin scowled. “Then what makes you think you can contain Him?”

“Contain Him? He is in no way my thrall, if that’s what you are thinking. I know only that He must answer my summons, just as He must honor His divine charge, else face the fires of oblivion.”

Torin could think of few things she might have said that would have been less reassuring. All this time, he had assumed the creature was somehow beholden to her will. As difficult as that had been to fathom, he could not comprehend taking the risk otherwise. If Ravar’s Olirian peers would not stop Him from scouring this earth with the ocean’s waters, why should they prevent Him from butchering a pair of insignificant mortals beforehand? Would it not give the Dragon God special pleasure to drag the last known Sword of Asahiel into the ocean depths?

On the other hand, he had sailed across the sea safely not once, but twice before. Ravar had let him pass in peace on the voyage west, and had ignored him altogether on the voyage east. By that reckoning, the creature was not his enemy.

Of course, he had not forgotten his last encounter, aboard Killangrathor’s back. If the leviathan believed him to still be an Illychar…

He closed his mind to the thought, remembering well the cavernous gullet that had loomed up beneath him like a gateway to the Abyss. Their path was set. They had no other. There was no one else they might turn to for the answers they so desperately needed. Had it been otherwise, they would not have come this far.

“If Ravar can aid us,” Annleia insisted, “we shall make him do so.”

Though she hid it well, Torin read the fearful veneration in her features.

As you say
,
my lady.

He remained silent after that, and Annleia let him be, seeming to focus her attention on the path ahead. With the river behind them, their route had become much less clear. There were no roads or signs, only meltwater gullies and narrow game trails. Torin left it to his companion to set the pace and determine their course. Though she knew this region no better than he, she showed no great difficulty in navigating it. She seldom hesitated, rarely consulted their map, and never did she ask his input. Yet somehow she maintained an easterly tack over a winding and oft-splintered series of slopes and footpaths and streams, while skirting all dangers or any obstacles that might cause them to backtrack or divert. At times, Torin wondered how she managed it, only to remind himself that she had been raised a Finlorian, and was possessed of skills he did not understand. Likely as not, she simply asked the trees.