The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (22 page)

Maernok hissed and moved to advance again, but Gulgarin grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?” Maernok grumbled.

“They fight, I am getting you to safety. Once we are clear, then we call the retreat.”

Maernok yanked his arm free. Just then a soldier broke through the orcs and came screaming at Maernok. The hulking orc funneled all of his rage into a savage swing of the Telarian steel sword that cleaved through the attacker’s sword arm at the shoulder, rendering the man entirely incapable of fighting. The orc snapped the sword back to remove the man’s head and then turned to Gulgarin. “I don’t need your protection,” he spat.

Gulgarin ceded the point, but still motioned toward the burnt forest. The ground shook then as the massive dragon landed nearby.

Maernok lifted his arm and called out. “Fall back, fall back!”

“Too soon!” Gulgarin groused as they ran with the others toward the forest.

“I won’t leave a battlefield before I allow the others to do the same.” A blast of fire chewed through a score of orcs out to the right and sent blinding smoke around them. “Fall back!” Maernok shouted out again. Soon the calls for retreat were echoed by other orcs in the field. The humans let out a victorious cheer as the orcs cleared the field.

The dragon took to the skies again, chasing them until the orcs were all beyond the line of burnt trees. Now Maernok had only the hope that the plan would be worth it in the end.

Erik looked up at the man with the bone necklace. The man stood, holding a brown goblet in his left hand and sneering down at Erik. No one else was permitted to approach the cage where Erik was held. It had been days since Tatev had been slain, but still none of them laid a hand upon him. Food was given twice a day in a small clay pot barely larger than Erik’s hand. Water was given once in the evening in a clay goblet. It was never enough to quench his thirst entirely, but it kept him alive.

The man in the bone necklace opened the cage door and moved in to set the goblet down. He then reached around to a small satchel and retrieved a clay pot. It smelled of meat and onion.

“Eat well,” the man said. “For tomorrow you shall die.”

Erik’s eyes widened. He had never heard the man speak in Common Tongue before. The words were stiff and somewhat forced, but Erik understood them clearly.

“Why wait?” Erik asked.

The man scoffed and turned to leave. “You will die tomorrow,” he said definitively.

Erik watched the man close and lock the gate, then he scooted over to the food and water. He picked up the clay pot and found hunks of meat and potato generously dressed with onion. It wasn’t much, but it was better food than he had gotten most of the time. He plucked out a cubed bit of potato and shoved it into his mouth. Without waiting to chew it, he grabbed a piece of meat and plopped it in as well. Everything was saturated with onion so that there was really only one flavor. Only the texture allowed him to know whether he was chewing potato, meat, or plain onion. He didn’t mind though. He just washed the flavors away with the water given to him.

As he sat there, watching the last of the light fade into the distance, he saw a strange newcomer on horseback. Whether it was male or female, Erik couldn’t tell. A long, gray robe covered the entire person, and a deep, wide hood completely darkened the face and head. Whoever it was, it was obvious that the Tarthuns had a respect, no, they feared it. The Tarthuns nearest the stranger bowed low to the ground, but those farther away quickly scattered and entered their homes.

Only the man with the bone necklace approached, yet even he held his head bowed down in reverence. Erik watched as the man with the bone necklace placed his hands upon the stranger’s knee and then bent in to kiss the robe. They must have spoken with each other then, for neither of them moved for some time.

Erik didn’t need to use his power to discern the cold, unforgiving evil emanating from the stranger. The young champion rose to his feet and went to the gate. He gripped his fingers around the bars and rested his forehead into a crossbar while he stared at the stranger. At that moment, the hooded stranger turned. Erik felt a chill run through his whole being as the darkness behind the hood stared back at him. The icy grip of fear coiled around his heart. Whoever this stranger was, he was here to kill Erik.

*****

Salarion bent low to dip her hand in the cool water. She drew a slow sip from her cupped hand while keeping her neck craned up ever so slightly to afford her a good view of the area surrounding the brook. When she took in her fill, she let the rest of the water fall back to splash into the brook and then moved in to the flattened grass on the bank. Her keen eyes needed only a moment to scan before knowing what had happened. Tarthuns had captured Erik and his companion here.

She quickened her pace. As with most elf folk, Salarion was light on her feet. Running was as natural to her as breathing, and neither her legs nor lungs fatigued as she traversed miles over hills and out into the plains, following the tracks from the ambush site. The sun began to hang low against the mountains to the west, burning the sky with orange and pink hues. She quickened her pace. Something pulled at her, warning her that haste was of the essence.

She moved over the grasses of the plains, sneaking through a herd of antelope without so much as disturbing a single animal as they grazed upon the cool, verdant blades in the waning light. She followed a shallow, wide stream northward, and then around to the east as it curved around the base of a single spire stabbing up at the sky like a jagged spear of rock. The night sky had settled in well before she finally found the camp. The stars and moon above gave her more than enough light to survey the area.

Most of the dwellings were temporary, built of wood and skins. The horses grazed freely in the grasses to the west of the encampment. Fires dotted the land, and groups of Tarthuns gathered around the pits eating their supper of meat. Salarion scanned the area, looking for the cause of her sense of urgency. It wasn’t long before she spied the single permanent building, a longhouse with a rounded roof made of timbers and poles with sparse thatching across the top.

She crept in slowly, knowing that Tarthuns always posted sentries on the outskirts of their camps. They were rumored to be some of the sneakiest humans to ever walk Terramyr, but Salarion was no human. Her feet propelled her forward as if on cushions of air. She made no sound and hardly bent the blades of grass as she stalked up to a patch of tall grass about twenty yards to her right. She drew her knife and hunkered low to the ground, almost like a wild cat, as she moved toward her prey.

The poor fool never saw her coming. Her dagger slashed the scout’s neck and she stifled the gurgling moan with her left hand and guided the man down. She then admired his ghillie suit. It was well woven from the grasses and flora around them, but her keen eyes were too sharp to be fooled by such a disguise, even from a distance.

She moved on, taking down three more sentries before she felt comfortable circling back to infiltrate the camp. The fire pits burned low by this time. Most of the women and children had moved into their dwellings for the night. A fair portion of the men had also retired, but there were several dozen still out enjoying their strong drink and their own company.

Salarion crouched low, surveying the scene. She watched as a pair of warriors wrapped an arm over each other’s shoulders and then struggled to walk from one fire pit to another, only to have bones thrown at them as they were shewed off to yet another fire pit. She studied one man who emerged from the longhouse. He walked with purpose, carrying a spear in his left hand. The dark elf had seen many weapons on the other Tarthuns, but none of them carried them in hand, nor did any of them carry spears inside the camp.

She broke from her position to mirror this man. As he wound his way through the camp, Salarion moved to the east, watching his every move. Some would greet him as he passed fires or places where a couple of other Tarthuns sat, but the man didn’t slow. He had a purpose, a mission. When he turned to go around a large hill crowned with thick rocks, Salarion quickly scurried toward him, closing the distance.

As she crested over the hill she saw a wooden cage. The man she had been tailing spoke with another warrior sitting atop the cage. They traded places and the other went off into the camp. Salarion inched in closer for a better look. There, in the dirt, sat Erik. He was alone, and his wrists were held in chains tethered to the cage itself.

Slowly, she pulled her charmador out from the satchel. She whispered to it and it grew to its larger form. She bent in low to the lizard’s head. “Be still,” she commanded.

The beast flicked its tongue out into the cool air, but made no attempt to move in any direction.

Salarion took another look around. It seemed that there were no active fires near enough to the cage to stop her from rescuing Erik. She slid her bow over her shoulder and set an arrow to the string. She positioned herself to a position almost lying on her left side, careful to keep the bow parallel to the ground so as not to be seen. She took aim for the guard’s neck and let the arrow fly. The guard twitched, and then slumped in his chair. The strike was so quiet that not even Erik had perceived it. The boy lay upon the dirt as still as before.

Salarion slipped the bow back over her shoulder and made her way down to the cage. She bent to her boot and pulled a small leather bundle up. Unrolling it she took her lock pick out and with very little effort she popped the lock that held the door. She slipped inside and knelt beside Erik. In one move she wrapped her left hand around his mouth and shook him with her right hand. He woke with a start, but soon calmed as she whispered to him to be still. Certain that he would be quiet, she released him and moved to his shackles. She slid the pins out and the hinges opened.

Erik rubbed his wrists. “Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I need you to move to the hill there overlooking the cage. Can you do that?”

Erik nodded. “Tatev is dead,” he said.

“Tatev?” Salarion repeated. “Your companion?”

“He was a librarian from Valtuu Temple.” The boy looked to the dirt, and seemed to lack the will to move.

Salarion griped his shoulder and squeezed hard. Erik flinched and looked up at her. “I need you to move to the hill, can you do that?” This time her voice lacked the softness she had used with the first request. Erik nodded and slowly pressed to his feet. “Where is the gnome?” she asked. “I have the herbs for him.”

Erik shrugged. “Tatev said he was kept with the vegetables, but I never saw where that is. I was unconscious when they brought us here.” Erik’s eyes locked with hers, and then swept over to stare at something behind her.

Salarion turned to see a black mass of ash in an unused fire pit. She didn’t have to ask to know what had happened there. She was familiar with the Tarthuns and their rituals and barbarity. She turned back to Erik and softened her grip on his shoulder. “I am sorry for your friend, but you need to move, now. My charmador is there, he will guard you while I find the gnome.”

Erik exited the cage and made his way up the hill, climbing on all fours to stay low to the ground. Salarion stalked toward the longhouse. She knew that the gnome wouldn’t be in there, but she felt something else emanating from the building.

She wound her way around a couple of dwellings, impatiently waiting behind one while several drunken Tarthuns filed in one after another. At first Salarion heard what sounded like protests, though she couldn’t understand the Tarthun language, but soon enough the protests turned to giggles. When the door was finally closed, Salarion moved around the dwelling and crossed over to the longhouse.

There were no windows, but she could see a light through the space under the door. A pair of thin shadows then dimmed the light and the door swung open faster than even she had anticipated. She thought to move to cover, but when she saw who stood in the doorway, she changed her mind.

“The shadows won’t help you here,” a voice called from underneath a large, sagging cowl.

“I am not the one in need of aid,” Salarion countered. “Pull back your hood, Duadin, and let me see your face once more.”

A moment passed in silence and then the man reached up to pull the hood back revealing a well chiseled face, with a square jawline and angular, prominent cheekbones. A long, thin nose sat between a pair of icy blue eyes situated under thick, black eyebrows. His well-oiled hair was slicked back as usual, accentuating the sharp widow’s peak.

“It has been a long time,” Duadin said. “Come in, and let us talk.”

A part of her wanted to do just that, but she buried that portion of herself and steeled her nerves for what must come. “Perhaps we could have, once, but not now,” Salarion said.

“Why do you fight it?” Duadin asked. “You know us better than any other. Your father—”

Salarion held up a hand. “My father died a long time ago as well.” The dark elf drew her sword and narrowed her eyes. She could feel the tears welling up, but she paid them no heed. “So did you.”

Duadin’s face hardened. Any hint of kindness vanished from his features and was replaced with anger. “You asked to see my face, my love, well let me show it to you.” A cloud of black appeared around his ankles. It swirled up, coursing around him like a great serpent, then it squeezed in and flashed of red fire burst out from the cloud. The vapor disappeared to reveal a large man with wings. His arms were twisted and bent, ending in nasty hooks. His feet were like those of a great eagle, their talons digging deep into the dirt. A trio of long tails switched behind him. Yet despite all of this, it was his face that Salarion focused on. In place of the handsome man she had known in a life past, now was a horned skull with great fangs and ghastly, red eyes.

Salarion let the tears fall over her cheeks. She raised her sword in her right hand as she gathered a spell in her left. She stared at the face of the monster that had replaced Duadin so long ago. “I will now kill the monster that slew my love,” she said.

“I was always the monster,” Duadin countered. “You were just too blinded to see it.” A wave of fire issued forth from Duadin’s mouth.

Salarion countered with her spell. A wall of blue fire rose up to form an impenetrable shield. The shadowfiend’s magic crashed into it, but could not breach it. The dark elf let out a sharp, almost inaudible whistle, then she rushed around the right side of the shield.

Duadin turned with her, lashing out with his hooks and then spinning to strike at her with his tails. Salarion parried the hooks with her sword, but the blade could not harm the shadowfiend’s heavily scaled skin. She leapt back to avoid the tails, but managed to bring her blade down and sever one of the appendages. Duadin called out in agony, but a new tail grew in the old tail’s place before Salarion’s eyes.