Spirit Past (Book 8) (20 page)

"No! There has to be a way to stop it."

Klusac agreed, but in a forceful voice, he revealed his own belief.

"There will be, and
we
will find it! The giant has had his turn, now let us have ours! Stay back!"

Klusac expected the delver to follow his command without further objection, and he turned his attention to his soldiers.

"Platoon leaders! Coordinate the attack. Keep the monster reeling and go for the legs!"

Every soldier understood exactly what the captain wanted, as if Klusac's intentions had been imprinted in their minds. Sergeants and corporals helped direct each platoon, and the soldiers moved gallantly toward their immense foe.

With uncanny timing, the three separate companies moved in concert. When one unit occupied the attention of the thrastil, the other two groups rushed in to attack. When all three backed away to regroup, archers at the wall sent a barrage of arrows down upon the beast to keep it from lunging forward.

Individual swords and maces did little to no damage, but in total, the hard metal began to take its toll on the plates protecting the creature's body and legs. New cracks began to form and several joints began to sag and wobble. The weapons were swung with astonishing precision and the clang of impact rang out like mammoth cymbals smashed together incessantly. 

Even more amazing, the guards managed to dodge every parry offered by the thrastil. Just before the monster struck, they could almost sense it, as if someone whispered a warning into their ears. They leapt to open ground, dodged below a swinging tail or claw. They didn't know how or why, but they knew exactly when to move. Those who failed to recognize imminent danger with their eyes or ears felt a cold wind press them to safety. They fought as if possessed, and Captain Klusac urged them on.

"That's it! Two legs are about to collapse, another is severely wounded. It won't be long now!"

The extent of the assault enraged the thrastil and it finally considered the surrounding soldiers more than just obscure pests. Roaring and chomping at the same time, groans rumbled out of the monster in waves of wrath. Wounded and damaged, its legs skittered about more unevenly than when it first appeared from the forest, but in one concerted effort, it managed to set itself before it rushed toward the town wall.

The company of soldiers in front of the beast held their ground. They knew that most of them would be trampled to death. Those that were not crushed by the body and legs would no doubt be caught in the massive jaws. There was little they could do other than run. But not one even considered the option.  As the massive creature bore down upon them, the truth became clear. They would not be able to halt the thrastil, but they would not break.

Just before the first soldier fell, a flash of bright light stunned the monster and brought it to an immediate halt. A sparkling apparition holding a gleaming broadsword appeared between the soldiers and the thrastil. The ghostly figure floated so close to the beast that not a single soldier could see its luminous face.

The thrastil made no attempt to attack, even began to back away as if frightened by the glistening spirit. It became silent as its jaws closed shut. It lost its fury in the face of the apparition and actually tried to turn back to the forest.

The ghostly image would not allow the beast to retreat. It would not leave the thrastil as a possible threat, would not give it the chance to attack Burbon in the future.

Floating forward to maintain its position, the spirit lifted its long shimmering weapon up high. It appeared to fly forward as it brought down the sword. The edge of the blade crashed through the top of the creature's head, right between its eyes.

Another flash of light exploded... as did the creature. Broken portions of its body were flung backward with such force, they landed far into the forest, nearly out of sight.

With the monster gone, Ryson got his first clear look at the face of the apparition. He had seen other spirits; elves that had died and returned to the land with the help of magic. The elf sorceress, Shayed, returned to
Sanctum Mountain to help the races of Uton defeat Ingar's sphere. A very close friend, Lief Woodson, had once returned to the spot in the desert where he had perished. Yes, Ryson had seen the dead return to Uton. It should not have surprised him to see another spirit with a familiar face, but he never expected to see the recognizable features before him.

Ryson found the strength to race over to the specter. He looked into the eyes of the spirit. It was so obvious, but he had to be sure.

"Sy?"

The ghost bowed its head slightly but said nothing.

"Won't you talk to me?" Ryson asked.

The ghost just smiled. It then turned suddenly, and like a brisk wind, moved to Captain Klusac. The spirit held out its arm and placed an ethereal hand on the captain's shoulder. Sy nodded again, this time much deeper, and then disappeared.

All of the soldiers were stunned. Few moved at all and none said a word. They knew Captain Sy Fenden had returned to defend Burbon.

Ryson ran over to Klusac. He wanted so much to believe that what he had seen was true; that it was no illusion, no trick of magic. He felt tremendous joy, but also confusion. He had seen spirits before, but they had spoken to him. Sy remained silent, and though just seeing his friend brought a wave of sheer exultation across his own soul, Ryson longed to know more.

"What happened?" the delver asked of Klusac.

"Sy came back."

"It was really him?"

"I'm sure of it. I could hear his voice in my head. He told me as long as Burbon's guard remained strong, he would never let the town fall. He would always be here to protect it."

"You heard him?"

Again, the news was both joyous and baffling. There was more proof of Sy's return, but the delver could not help but wonder why he had not heard the voice of his friend, why he had to doubt the certainty of the incident. Despite everything he had seen, including the absolute destruction of the undead thrastil, he wanted it to be more real, more solid.

"It's actually more than that," the captain revealed. "I could feel him... even before he appeared. It wasn't just me that told you to fall back. I was thinking it, but he made me say it."

Ryson looked about the clearing, but there was no further sign of the apparition, other than the acceptance he could see in the face of every soldier. They beamed with both joy and confidence. He sensed that each one had felt the presence of Sy Fenden, urging them on to protect their home. It was Sy who kept them safe when they were in danger. And by a soldier's intuition, they knew it without the slightest whisper of doubt.

That unmistakable exuberance was magnified in the voice of Captain Klusac as he reached out a hand and placed it on Ryson's shoulder.

"I want to thank you," Klusac stated, his voice almost cracking with emotion.

"Thank me?" Ryson questioned.

"Yes. If it wasn't for you, I would have thrown Neltus out of here a long time ago. If I did, I don't think Sy would have come back, or if he did, I don't think he would have let me remain in charge."

Events had transpired so quickly, tragedy turned to triumph so suddenly, the delver found himself at a loss for both answers and questions. It was not doubt that filled his mind, but swirling confusion. His eyes had seen certain absolutes, but his mind could not place them in orderly context.

Burbon had been saved, the thrastil destroyed. A spirit of great power had come to the aid of the guard... and the town. And yet, there was something of enormous value waiting for him to discover; something bigger than the victory of the moment, something greater than the defeat of the thrastil. He knew it was there, but he could not take hold of it. Almost in frustration, he blurted out a simple admission.

"I don't understand."

"I didn't want to have to deal with the wizard or with Reiculf," the captain admitted, focusing on the importance of his own revelation. "I was just worried about myself."

"No, you were worried about the town... about the people," Ryson offered, but his thoughts remained scattered, his mind still reeling from what he had seen.

"No, I was more concerned about what they thought of me, and I wanted to take the easy way out. You kept me from doing that."

Klusac looked back toward the town. The clearing was littered with undead corpses, but the wall was intact and the town had been saved. It wasn't pride in his own accomplishments that brought bliss to his heart, it was an understanding of what the future held for him. Eagerly, he revealed what he knew to be an unquestionable truth.

"I was worried about the town ever feeling safe again with me as their captain; afraid I might fail, afraid they might never accept me as their leader. I don't have to worry about that anymore. All I have to do is stay strong, and Captain Fenden will make sure I never fail. Burbon will always be protected."

"It is most certainly the work of a draevol," Ansas declared as the sorcerer quickly examined several elf guards stricken by the plague.

The sorcerer jabbed and poked at the diseased elves as if they were nothing more than stone statues. There was no compassion in his touch, even as their stiffened condition and open sores revealed obvious suffering. He was not interested in their pain. He looked only for the magic hidden within their sickness.

Shantree did not appreciate the manner in which the sorcerer handled the suffering members of her camp, and though Enin assured her that Ansas was there to help, she did not hesitate in admonishing the sorcerer.

"Treat them with greater care!" the elder insisted.

"They can't feel anything I do," Ansas replied without really caring whether his actions caused pain to the fallen elves or not. He was more interested in identifying the magic that caused the plague. "The disease is numbing them to external effects just as it stiffens their joints. The purpose of the spell was to leave them completely helpless. The pain they feel is from their own bodies tightening, not from anything I do. The sores were probably thrown in by the draevol simply for amusement."

The casual manner in which the sorcerer described the affliction dismayed all those who heard the sorcerer's heartless tone, and the arrogance of Ansas' words angered the wizard who had managed to restrict the plague's advance.

"How can you be so sure it's from a draevol?" Jure challenged. "With Reiculf able to reach out from Demonspawn, a spell of sickness could have come directly from him. If Scheff is out there, like you've claimed, he could have easily used the daokiln's power to cast a spell of plague on his own."

Ansas cast a surprised look over to where the elder wizard stood.

"You really don't believe that, do you?"

"Do I think it's probable? No." Jure admitted. "It's only a possibility, but I don't think it's one that should be totally dismissed. And that's not the point. I just want to know how you can be so
sure
it's a draevol."

"I can see the remnants of pure brown magic in the folds of their skin."

"There's a flow of many types of magic," Jure countered. "I can sense them better than you. And that's exactly what I'm talking about. Reiculf's magic is colorless. Scheff could have used it and altered it into brown plague energy. There's no way to be sure."

"You are only partially correct. Of course there are many flows. The elf spell caster utilizes violet magic and his energy is indeed evident. Scheff is using the swell of light winds to contain the plague to this section of the forest. Reiculf's magic is also surging through the elf, adding both raw power and extreme control to the spell."

"Then how can you be sure the plague came from a draevol?"

"Because brown magic doesn't simply fall from the sky," Ansas answered with belligerence. He believed the question was absurd as he described what, to him, was beyond obvious. "Before you question me further, remember that I
have always appreciated the purity of magic. Draevols are demons, but they are also plague mages. They understand the strength in unspoiled energy. A sickness sprung from pure brown magic is far more potent than any affliction diluted by other hues. Draevols might dabble in fire or even ebony magic when a spell of alteration is needed, but when it comes to a plague, they isolate the dark brown magic to obtain full potency. To them, it is an art."

"So you see brown magic and you assume it is a dra
evol?" Jure questioned. "I could adjust the hue of my magic and cast a plague spell of equal potency. Am I a draevol?"

"No, but you cast in pure white magic. Certainly not a common attribute. And before you make a greater fool of yourself, consider how likely it is that a creature capable of casting in white magic would have joined with Reiculf at this very moment and decided to cast a plague spell on
this
elf camp. Please. Let's be serious. This is the work of a draevol."

Believing he made his point, Ansas lost interest in examining the fallen elves and stalked over to the captain of the elf guard.

"Have you been able to narrow down the possible location of any intruder?"

Birk stared at the sorcerer with simmering contempt. He did not appreciate Ansas' tone, and he liked the circumstances of his arrival even less. The sorcerer had appeared at the center of the elf camp with Enin and others through a teleportation spell. Birk initially considered Enin and Holli's arrival a blessing, but it was Ansas who seemed to take control. To the elf captain, such authority in the hands of an adversary was unacceptable, and he would not offer assistance to a perceived foe. Thus, the elf captain said nothing.

"Well?" Ansas pressed. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or are you going to answer my question?"

"I consider you an enemy of this camp," the elf captain finally growled. "I will not reveal to you information involving the security of the elves."

Ansas shrugged.

"Fine, be a fool. You obviously haven't located the draevol, otherwise your wizard ally wouldn't be arguing about it. If need be, I'll find it myself."

"You think I will allow you to walk about this camp as you please? As far as I am concerned, you are as likely to be behind this plague as Reiculf."

"And do you think you could possibly stop me? I'll walk anywhere I wish."

His patience reaching its limit, Birk was about to order his elf guards to take the sorcerer prisoner for past crimes against the elves when Enin intervened.

"This can not continue!" the powerful wizard cautioned. "Birk, I understand your feelings toward Ansas, but you must put them aside. And Ansas, you need to realize we will not tolerate such conceit. Why can't you see that you are here to help save the land, not prove your own superiority?"

"And why must you all be so pathetic?!" the sorcerer demanded. "I am tired of explaining myself over and over again, fighting against incompetence. At this point, I would almost prefer returning to Baannat."

His own patience dwindling, Enin decided to make such a proposal a potential solution to the endless bickering.

"I can accommodate you, if that is your wish," Enin warned. "I have been willing to overlook your past crimes because I believe you have insight into the foe we face, but if your arrogance becomes much more of a detriment, then your usefulness will have come to an end."

Ansas was shocked and angered by the threat. He found the assertion preposterous and ungrateful.

"My usefulness at an end? I have barely begun." The sorcerer clenched his fists angrily as he stared with contempt at the powerful wizard. "Where would you be now without me? You would have gone off and challenged the inferns around Connel, leaving yourself vulnerable to Reiculf. Your elf guard would have needlessly gone to Burbon to save a town that does not need saving. I have brought you here... here where we have an unequaled opportunity. I have put you in a position to weaken Reiculf, and you dare threaten me with Baannat?"

"You speak as if you're blameless," Enin scolded the sorcerer. "I accept my mistakes in judgment, but you have done nothing but argue."

Holli emphasized that point as she hoped to move forward. Time was drifting away from them, and she had not yet heard how Ansas hoped to strike at Reiculf.

"Then let us end the arguing," Holli advised. She stepped forward and questioned the sorcerer directly. "You stated we have an opportunity... a chance to weaken Reiculf. Do you have a plan of attack?"

Ansas glared one last time at Enin, but he would not allow frustration over incompetence to interfere with his plans. He did indeed have a plan of attack, and it was time for him to reveal the brilliance of his strategy. He actually smiled.

"Give the daokiln exactly what he wants," the sorcerer stated, his face glowing with confidence, his competitive spirit rising at the chance to finally engage the demon lord.

The response surprised the elf.

"He wants the camp elder, or so you have claimed all this time," Holli noted with obvious reservations. "It has been your hope to deny Reiculf any prize. You have taken great pains to reduce the risk of the daokiln gaining any new prisoners that he might turn against us. Has this now changed?"

"Risks must be managed," Ansas replied stoically. "They cannot, however, be completely eliminated. If utilized at the right time, they will bring the proper reward."

"And what risk do you suggest we take here and now?"  Shantree demanded, as she would not stand by and let others determine the fate of her camp.

Though she understood Holli's concern, the assault remained centered upon the elves. Shantree was reminded of the cost each time she glanced at those suffering from the plague. If Ansas had plans which might affect her camp, she would have the final say, and no one else.

"I am certain Scheff is behind this attack," Ansas declared. "He is directing the draevol. He is hoping to isolate you. We will convince him he has done just that."

"How?"

"By making it appear as if the rest of the camp has fallen to the sickness."

"But they are now immune."

"Yes, Jure's spell has been effective in countering the plague. It has given us the time we need, and I doubt the draevol is aware of the delay. Otherwise, the demon would have altered the plague, or Scheff would have devised a new assault. I don't think he wishes to disappoint the daokiln again."

"You believe the camp will eventually be attacked in a different manner?"

"Do any of you pay attention to what I'm saying?" Ansas questioned. "Of course the attacks will continue. Reiculf is not going away. He wants you, and he will never give up. Through you, he can extend the reach of his power. You face jeopardy as long as you're alive."

As long as you're alive.

As Shantree stared into the face of the sorcerer, the significance of his assertion ruled the elder's mind.  The full weight of the revelation hit her as if a shag had jumped out of the forest and onto her back. She knew that Ansas spoke the truth, and that truth became nothing less than her death sentence. As long as she lived, Reiculf would strive to capture her essence, force her to become an unwilling servant.

It was no small matter, no minor inconvenience. She wasn't being pursued by some ordinary dark creature. There was no shadow of a hook hawk soaring in the clouds or the snarl of a goblin hiding in the brush. Even the most vicious river rogue could be handled over time.

But Reiculf?

Reiculf was beyond time. If the daokiln had discovered a way to reach beyond Demonspawn, a prospect which had become undeniable, then Shantree would be hunted constantly; not for a day, or a season, or even many cycles of the season, but for as long as she lived.

Every instant she drew a breath, her camp was in danger. She had become worse than the plague which devastated her followers. Disaster would follow her every step, and suffering would come to all those in her wake.

To save the camp from such misfortune, she would have commanded an elf guard to end her life, but even that shred of hope was pulled from her fingers. She knew that any such order would throw the elves into complete disarray. The elder was to be protected. They would sacrifice their own lives before allowing harm to come to her, and thus, she could not escape her fate.

As if all emotion drained from her spirit, she handed over her destiny to the sorcerer who was as much responsible for her wretched condition as Reiculf himself.

"What would you have me do?" the elder asked almost meekly.

Ansas found the sudden submissive acceptance to his authority refreshing.

"First, we must convince Scheff and the draevol that their plague has succeeded in decimating your followers. I will cast a spell of alteration that will make it appear as if the elves currently protected by Jure's spell have contracted the disease. They will fall to the ground, stiff as wood, covered in sores, but they will not have the actual sickness."

Before anyone could voice the opposition he knew was rising, Ansas offered a surprising consolation.

"The elves will not suffer in any fashion. They will not feel anything. I will place them all in a state of suspension. When the spell is lifted, every elf will be just as they are now."

"But what of me?" Shantree requested passively. "What must I do?"

"As Jure has indicated, the plague was never meant to harm you. You will be left alone... well, almost alone. You will remain in the center of this camp protected by Jure. You will make it appear as if you are tending to the sickened elves."

"How can you possibly hope to pull off such a deception? "Jure interrupted. "Won't Scheff have already placed a sight spell upon the camp? Isn't it possible he already knows you're here?"

"Do you think I am that foolish?" Ansas snarled. "I instructed Enin to place a curtain around us before he teleported us here. We are invisible to them, even to Reiculf, but you are not. To Scheff, this discussion will appear as if you are conversing with the elf elder and the elf captain, and that is exactly what I want. When the remaining elves appear to fall to the plague, you will stand alone with Shantree."