The Legend of Asahiel: Book 03 - The Divine Talisman (67 page)

“Hrothgari work,” Vashen muttered. “Was a team of ours helped craft that exit.”

Exit.
Of course. It was not for intruders like himself that the opening had been widened and a ramp laid, but for those creatures trapped within to more quickly and easily reach the surface. How else would trolls and ogres or even elves have clambered free? Flown up from below by goblins?

He knew not why the truth should bother him, except that it reminded him of how poorly he had thought this through. He had envisioned scurrying down by rope as before. He had envisioned stealing silently through the ruined depths on U’uyen’s heels. He understood now that this was to be nothing like last time. Though he might try otherwise, he had absolutely no idea what to expect.

U’uyen spoke.

“He asks if we are to go down now, tonight,” Annleia whispered.

Torin swallowed.
For one to press forward
,
the rest must be consumed.

“As I recall, it’s another three hours’ march to the catacombs,” he said, “and that’s without surprise or incident.” He looked to the sky. He still had a couple of hours before midnight, but they’d been on the march now since the Vulture’s Hour, well before dawn. As precious as time had become, and as badly as he wanted this to be over, it seemed foolish to proceed without at least
some
rest.

“At dawn, I’m thinking,” said Vashen. She eyed him critically, trying to determine, Torin thought, if he appeared up to the challenge. “We’ll sleep close—though not
too
close—and double the watch. We enter at first light.”

The members of their company glanced at one another. No one raised any objections. It seemed the decision had been made.

They retreated farther up the slopes, spreading themselves amid a smattering of scrub and boulders. They divided into threes: U’uyen with his clansmen, Torin with Crag and Annleia, and the surviving Hrothgari as three separate trios. Each group was to stay tightly knit, yet apart from the others, so that if one fell under attack, the rest might still get away. No fires would be lit this night. They were to become as still and silent as the rocks themselves.

There were a few arguments this time as to which strategy made the best sense, but they were quickly put to rest. Torin himself had little feeling one way or the other. And even if he had, he would have been hesitant to trust it.

So he settled down with Crag and Annleia as Vashen wished, saying little to either, praying for
and
dreading the coming of dawn.

“A
RE THEY DOWN THERE?”
M
ARISHA
asked.

From their overlook near the crest of the mountain pass, Allion continued to scan the coastal valley below, squinting in the near darkness. “Hard to say. I don’t see any fires.”

Then again, considering the remains of the skirmish he and Marisha had come across that morning, it was altogether likely that Torin’s company would elect
not
to draw such attention to themselves again.

“Would they have entered the ruins already? It seems they’re long overdue for a rest.”

Allion could only shake his head, uncertain. The pyres he had encountered shortly after dawn had marked the last campsite set down by Torin’s company. After eighteen more hours, or near enough, he and Marisha had found no other—and Torin and his escorts had been on the move even longer than that. Surely, now that they had reached the coast, they would take what rest they could, so as to enter the ruins fresh.

On the other hand, their company had maintained a punishing pace since leaving the Gaperon. In moving so swiftly, they had done nothing to disguise their trail, making it easy for Allion and Marisha to chase along at full stride. Even so, the pair had failed to gain any real ground in their pursuit. A lead of roughly seven or eight hours had been whittled down to two, if Torin was encamped somewhere below. If he had decided to press on to the finish, his lead might be closer to four or five—long enough to have reached the catacombs, perhaps.

“Perhaps we’re too late,” Marisha said, as if sharing his thoughts.

Allion glanced at the dim gathering of stars overhead. How were they to know? They’d seen or heard nothing to indicate a change of any sort in the universal fabric of things. Whatever sorcery was to suck the Illychar back into their hole had either happened invisibly, or not at all.

“We won’t learn the truth by sitting here,” he determined finally. It would take them another hour or two just to descend to the beach below. If they were to have any hope of catching Torin before he entered the ruins, they would have to make that descent tonight, and hope for the best.

Marisha gave him a lingering look of concern.

“We did not come all this way to hesitate now,” he said.

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He could almost feel the strength and stamina coursing through her veins. Some of that was the Pendant, he
knew, though he was no longer certain as to how much came from the talisman and how much from her own iron will.

He flashed her a reassuring smile, then turned from the overlook, back toward the main path.

He took but two steps before halting in confusion. Where the mouth of the pass had been, he saw only a pinnacle of stone. He glanced about to regain his bearings. The defile they had passed through was still there, but the cut leading down to the beach had been plugged as if by a giant boulder shaped to fill the breach. What could have possibly—

Beside him, Marisha gasped. Allion turned, and forgot to breathe as he saw them. Two, four, half a dozen, their brown robes blending into the darkness.

He shifted, retreating a step, until Marisha gave him a warning tug. Daring to take his eyes off the first group, he found a second at his back. Seven, this time. Thirteen in all. Too many.

A flurry of questions came to mind, but his tongue would not respond. His instincts told him that it didn’t matter. He knew without asking that he and Marisha would be permitted to travel no farther. He could tell by their rigid stance and predatory gazes.

The hunters had become the prey.

With deceptively slow movement, the newcomers formed a ring around him. He had long forgotten most of their names, but knew they shouldn’t be here. He realized then that his eyes had become fixed on those of their leader. When he tried to reach for his bow, he found his muscles unresponsive. Too late to hide. Too late to flee.

He could not even voice a challenge as their circle closed, chilling eyes aglow.

T
ORIN WAS STILL AWAKE, STARING
skyward, when Annleia sat up from her bedroll.

“Are you sleeping?” she whispered.

He had to turn to make sure she was addressing him, rather than Crag.

“No,” he answered.

“Will you walk with me?”

Crag, seated against a nearby boulder, shifted attentively. “Ain’t ya walked enough today?”

“I need to speak with Torin,” she explained. “Alone.”

The Tuthari leaned forward, moonlight revealing his scowl. “Vashen said not to separate. I’m thinking she’s right. Least of all you two.”

“Please,” she said, then looked back to Torin. “I don’t think this can wait any longer.”

Torin felt a nervous flutter in his stomach, exhilaration tempered by a strange sense of foreboding. He leaned up on an elbow, returning her stare for a moment. “All right.”

“I don’t like it, Lei,” Crag grumbled.

“I don’t expect you to like it,” she said, rising, “only to trust me.”

The Tuthari’s scowl settled upon Torin as he, too, threw his blankets aside. Though he understood the dwarf’s concern, Torin was much too curious to deny Annleia’s request.

“Don’t go far,” Crag practically growled. “And don’t be gone long.”

“You have my word,” Annleia said, then took Torin by the arm and led him away.

She drew him north and west, down toward the jagged shore. She said nothing as they walked, and Torin let her keep to her silence. He couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that whatever lay behind this was not something he wished to hear.

After straying several hundred paces from their encampment, Torin glanced back, certain that Crag would not approve. Before he could say as much, Annleia began to hum—a soft, slow tune he did not recognize. Torin stopped, peering at his companion in surprise. Instead of pulling away, she turned in to him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders in a loose embrace.

For a moment, he did not know how to respond. When she began to circle, he did so with her, putting his arms about her waist. She leaned closer, and so did he, until their foreheads touched. Her hair, soft and feathery, brushed his face. Her song echoed tenderly in his ear. They swayed and turned to its melody, dancing as if alone in all the world. A warmth spread through Torin’s veins as he savored every soothing sensation. Nothing mattered beyond her sweet sound, her fresh scent, the serenity of her touch. Had he the power to make a single moment last forever, he would have done so then and there.

All too soon, her voice trailed into silence. She slowed, and Torin, though reluctant to do so, relaxed his arms, allowing her to pull back a half step.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Torin, transfixed by the heartfelt intensity in her eyes, could only shake his head in wonder. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Annleia looked at her feet. Once again, Torin feared he had said something wrong, destroying the moment. “I’m not sure that I do, either.” She took his left hand with both of hers. One held his fingers. The other lightly traced the lines on his palm. “What is it you want?” she asked, her gaze lifting.

He’d been wanting to ask her the same question. Having it turned upon him caught him off guard—as did the vulnerable, beseeching look in her eyes. Torin found himself blinking in response.
Want?
What did anyone want? Peace. Freedom from obligation and strife. A chance to bring joy to the lives of others, and perhaps even find some himself.
Someone to care for
, he thought, and who would care for him in turn. A chance to love and be loved.

But he could not bring himself to say any of that. It all seemed selfish and unimportant, undeserving of his consideration given the larger issues at stake.

“I wish I could remember,” he said finally, glancing away.

Annleia seemed to sag with disappointment. “You know that I care for you,” she said, and Torin’s gaze flew back to her in surprise. “Your passion…
it’s daunting at times, yet easy to admire. I see all you have achieved, and can only imagine what more you are capable of. Yet you must understand…my mother, and my people…”

Torin closed his eyes and nodded. He did not need to hear her say it.

“When this is over,” she pressed, “I mean to find them—those who are left. I must do that before I can even consider what else the future might hold…for me…for us.”

Torin’s emotions could scarcely keep pace with her words. As she had all that week, she seemed to be opening up and withdrawing from him at the same time. “So let me join you. We’ll find them together. I owe you that and more.”

“I’m not sure it would do to be accompanied by…by—”

“He who slaughtered them.”

Her look tightened, becoming somewhat stern. “By one who is lost himself. You said it already. You don’t know
what
you want…or who.”

Torin’s reply lodged in his throat. Returning with her would mean returning to Yawacor. Annleia’s conflicted feelings about him stemmed not only from what he had done to her people, but from the fact that he had not yet let go—not fully—of Dyanne.
If
, somehow, someway, a choice were presented, which would he make?

He stood silent for a moment, listening to the crashing of waves and wondering if this admission of hers could be the cause of her erratic behavior over the past week. He did not believe so. It simply wasn’t important enough. Whatever she might or might not feel for him, whatever he might or might not feel for her, what did it matter when measured against what they had come here to do?

“Surely we could have held this discussion for tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky with suspicion. “By then, it may not matter.”

Annleia looked at the ground, suddenly evasive. “It’s a lie, Torin.”

“What is?”

“The magic to siphon the Illysp and to rebuild the seal is beyond me,” she confessed, forcing herself to meet his stunned gaze. “It is beyond anything I might learn in the time allotted us.”

“But…then why…?”

“That was why Ravar insisted the Illysp must be destroyed—they and their portal. But you refused to believe it could be done, that the Sword’s power could be unlocked. So He gave me this other charge, one He knew I could not complete, to compel you along the path you seemed so reluctant to follow.”

Torin felt himself shaking. His hand fell upon the Sword’s hilt, but drew no comfort. His thoughts were a maelstrom of disbelief.

Annleia went on. “I was to continue the lie until the last moment, when nothing would remain but need—a sense of urgency powerful enough, perhaps, to force your hand.” She glanced at where his palm gripped the hilt, then pressed her gaze upon him. “But I no longer wish to deceive you. It did not seem fair that I should—”

“Fair,” Torin echoed hollowly.

“Know that I believe in you, and that I will be at your side when it comes time to do what you must.”

Torin scoffed at the words, cruel understanding dawning at last. All her encouragement, all her probing behavior, all her gestures of faith and support…a lie. What he had mistaken for signs of affection were merely a part of her ploy, an effort to help him find the confidence required to gain true command of the Sword. How could he have thought otherwise? She had forgiven him when he could not forgive himself, urging him instead to focus only on the path ahead. She had plied him constantly with affirmations he did not deserve. At long last, it all made sense.

He shook his head, bitter, angry, frightened at the truth. They had come all this way…allowed Brokk and the others to give their lives…for what? To lay it all upon his shoulders as before. To see him attempt something they already knew could not be done.

“You still don’t see it,” he hissed accusingly. “I’m not some kind of chosen one. You’re playing games with people’s lives.”

“I’ve done as Ravar bade me.”

“Ravar,” he blurted in exasperation. “And why not? The creature cares so much for us, after all. Why
wouldn’t
we trust His every word?”

Annleia frowned, displeased by his mockery. “I did as I felt was right. Do not ask me to bemoan my choice, as you so often do yours. I have wrestled with it long enough already.”

“And what would you have
me
do, Annleia? You say you don’t have the power to rebuild the seal. You’re telling me now that you never did. And I’m telling
you
that the power of the Sword is beyond me. That much, I warned you from the beginning.”

“Necanicum believed otherwise. So does Ravar. So do I.”

Torin could have plunged a pair of daggers into his ears, so tired was he of listening to such baseless prattle. “Yet no one can tell me how,” he growled.

“A secret since the Dragon Wars and the time of the first Vandari. Seven thousand years, Annleia. I am no elf, no wizard, no avatar. I am nothing but a man, and at times scarcely that. How can you put this in my hands and trust that a few gentle words will enable me to overcome the impossible?”

“Because it seems your greatest adversary is your own self-doubt, and I see no cause for it. What is it you’re afraid of?”

And in that moment, he knew. With her standing so close, her soulful gaze studying him as if she meant to devour him, it became clear to him just why his insides were tearing.

He swallowed and shook his head, burying the truth within. Once again, it made no difference to their struggle, and thus didn’t matter. “You’re telling me the world will drown if I fail,” he offered instead, shaking his head at the inherent absurdity. “I should think my fears would be obvious.”

“Nothing about you is obvious,” Annleia huffed. “You sulk and you brood and you live inside yourself, keeping all else at arm’s length. I can’t
decide which frightens you more: the hurt you might do others, or the hurt you might receive. Either way, you must learn to trust in the strength of those around you. You must learn to trust in your
own
strength. That you have survived what you have without doing so is a testament to your potential.”

Torin looked away, up to where he sensed movement amid a cluster of broken rocks. He welcomed the distraction. “I think Crag’s up there, watching us.”