Echoes Of A Gloried Past (Book 2) (24 page)

“We should be patient. Let the Elitesmen cast themselves against the Heir of Shandara. A smart man attacks at a time of his own choosing.”

***

Aaron dashed toward the cages, looking for a way to unlock them. The top of each cage held a ceiling of spikes that could at any moment drop and kill the prisoners.

“Leave us. Get the children out of here,” a man said from inside the nearest cage.

Aaron was joined by the initiates, none of whom looked more than twelve years of age. He circled the closest cage, looking for a way to stop the spiked ceilings from closing. Everything was enclosed except for the bars.

Bursts of lights surrounded the group as the black-clad Elitesmen appeared. The initiates had spread out to each of the cage fronts, trying in vain to pull the doors open.

The people in the cages screamed for the children to run. Aaron spun around to face the enclosing Elitesmen, stunned by the fact that he couldn’t save the people in the cages.

Aaron summoned the energy into the staff and swept outwards, sending a burst of air that blew back the approaching Elitesmen. A lone silver-clad Elitesman leaped to the top of the cages. Aaron hurled himself at him, and the Elitesman launched himself back behind the black-clad Elitesmen.

“People of Khamearra,” Aaron’s voice boomed across the arena. “I am Aaron Jace, the last surviving member of the house Alenzar’seth. The Lords of Shandara have returned to Safanar. I am not your enemy. I fight the tyranny of the Elitesmen that holds you under their boot,” Aaron bellowed and planted the rune-carved staff into the ground. A beacon of light surged from the staff, piercing the night sky in a column of pure white.

A deafening clang came from one of the cages. The spiked ceiling had slammed down, killing the prisoners inside. The mechanisms controlling the spikes of the remaining cages began to shake all at once, and on instinct, Aaron thrust his hands out, summoning the energy around him, wedging the gearing in place. It took all his concentration to prevent the spikes from falling, leaving his back exposed to the Elitesmen behind him.

The gates nearest to them burst open, and grizzly armed men began to pour through. If he didn’t let the spikes go, he would die. The men rushed past him, screaming their battle cry.

“De’anjard! Shields of Shandara!”

Ordinary soldiers were no match for the Elitesmen, but still they poured forth, coming to their aid. The soldiers separated, some stopping at the cages to free the prisoners and the rest forming a line behind Aaron’s back. He cringed inwardly as the first of the soldiers died by his side, unable to defend themselves from the blazing orbs being flung by the Elitesmen, but still they came, buying them time with their lives. 

As the soldiers freed the last of the prisoners, Aaron turned to the children. “Run for the exit!” 

He released his hold, and the spiked ceilings slammed down to empty cages. Aaron howled in rage at the men dying around him and drew his Falcons, releasing a few notes of the bladesong out into the air. 

He moved with blurring speed and charged after the surrounding Elitesmen, wielding the Falcons as he went. Aaron thrust himself into the nearest throng, unleashing the bladesong into the night. At one time, the Elitesmen seemed like a mighty foe, but the ones he now faced were nothing more than an annoyance. The bladesong was his window into untapped knowledge that flowed freely from his soul. The black-clad Elitesmen were merely an obstacle that stood between himself and the silver-clad Elitesman. He moved through them with ruthless abandon, taking them out in droves until he was surrounded by the bodies of dead Elitesmen. None quit the field or ran away. Elitesmen would always choose death rather than surrender. The silver-clad Elitesman smirked coldly at him before vanishing in the light of the travel crystal.

The surviving solders regarded him in awe, as some brought their fists across their hearts in salute. 

"Ferasdiam Marked,"
was whispered throughout the arena.

Aaron returned the salute. “Run. Go back into the city. Do not throw your lives away. You’ve helped the children escape. The spirit of Shandara lives on in you. ”

More flashes of light emerged around him, and a cold wind blew as the ground rumbled beneath his feet. Eight silver-clad Elitesmen appeared with smoldering red eyes glowering beneath their hooded cloaks. They did not charge, but merely waited. Aaron felt the medallion grow cool against his chest. The bladesong blazed within, surging the energy through him, but he felt something reaching to him.

He felt himself get snatched by an unseen force that launched him into the air and slammed him into the ground, drawing him closer into their midst. The medallion grew frigidly cold, almost burning his skin.

“This one is protected,” one hissed.

Aaron scrambled to his feet and lashed out with his blades, but his attacks were blocked.

As one, the silver-clad Elitesmen pushed out with their hands, and Aaron leaped into the air as separate bolts of energy singed the area he had been a moment before. He swept his blades out before him, solidifying the particles in the air and sent them racing into the Elitesmen and startling a few. As he brought up his blades to ward off another blast of energy, he felt his legs get swept out from underneath him. Aaron moved through the sweep, rolling out of the way and came to his feet. Tendrils of energy latched onto his wrists, attempting to hold him in place. He focused the energy within and, augmenting his strength, pulled several Elitesmen off balance. He dashed forward around another Elitesman, who went down to his knees, writhing in pain as his body split open in a hiss. Aaron could spare no more than a glance and was away before he could give any thought to an Elitesman killing one of his own.

He summoned the energy, leaped into the air, and was followed by another Elitesman streaking silver with his sword drawn.

These silver-clad Elitesmen were different than the ones he had faced before. More powerful. A column of flame blazed the sky around him, and Aaron pushed himself along the air, skating safely out of the way. He landed hard upon the ground, and the crystals in the Falcons blazed white. In a battle such as this, movement was life. With the power of the bladesong, Aaron moved at speeds too fast for the eye to track and stopped between the Elitesmen, bringing his Falcons to bear. As the silver-clad Elitesmen moved in, he was slowly being overrun. 

The notes of the bladesong pierced the air, and all around him glowed white as one voice emerged from all the voices of ancient souls. Aaron pulled the currents of energy from the staff, and a shaft of white light shot forth into the medallion, burning through his shirt. The crystal in the medallion blazed then shot forth the Alenzar’seth family symbol into the night sky. In the heart of Khamearra, home to the High King and the Elite Order, the Shandarian coat of arms of a dragon cradling a single rose blazed upon the night sky for all to see.

A mighty roar streaked through the arena, and the ground behind Aaron thundered and shook, almost sending him off balance. 

“We heed your call, Safanarion.” 

A voice like granite slabs chafing together spoke behind him.
The light of his staff reflected off the golden hide of a dragon and washed them all in sparkling brilliance.

The silver-clad Elitesmen hurled orbs of energy, and the dragon exhaled a barrier in front of Aaron, absorbing the orbs. The dragon bounded forth into their midst, scattering the Elitesmen, who regrouped almost immediately. The roar of the dragon shook the ground beneath Aaron’s feet, and he charged forward with the Falcons dragging in his wake. 

Aaron launched into the air engaging, the Elitesmen, and the ring of the blades echoed throughout the arena. He felt a whoosh of air as the dragon swept out with its tail pulling him out of the way as it exhaled a blast of energy. The arena lit up as if in the noonday sun, and the Elitesmen caught in the blast disappeared. The dragon turned its massive head and regarded him with eyes that sparkled of starlight.

“We of the Eldarin honor the one who is marked by Ferasdiam. Seek us out as our numbers are few and there are things you must know.”

The dragon launched itself into the air, moving at speeds beyond that of any beast. 

The Eldarin?
Aaron wondered and retrieved the rune-carved staff. The beacon that bathed the arena in light before was now gone. The remaining people in the arena were still scattering, trying to get away. Aaron turned to the dark towers of the Citadel looming to the west and launched himself into the air, leaving the silent arena behind. 

Had the dragon sought him, out heeding his call? He landed upon the towered walls of the Citadel of the Elite, putting as much distance between himself and the arena. He hoped the soldiers of the Resistance had escaped, and his heart ached for the men who died trying to protect him. He released his hold upon the bladesong, and his strength left him, almost bringing him to his knees.

Aaron took a few moments to catch his breath and centered himself, drawing in the energy from the rune-carved staff to heal his wounds. He would need to eat to replenish what his body demanded now, but he could still function. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. His battle with the silver-clad Elitesmen had left him unsettled. They must be the specialist class of the Order that Isaac was referring to and Sarah had hinted at on board the Raven. The thought of Sarah sent a momentary pang to the pit of his stomach, and it took all his will not to reach across the ever-present connection he had with her. He banished his pain and focused on what he must do next, closing the distance to the Citadel of the Elite.

C
HAPTER
16

DENIAL AND ESCAPE

THE air stank of blood and excrement, piercing the confines of his nose. The shield that Verona and Sarik had created held against the Elitesmen’s attacks, but did not block the air they breathed. They could do nothing for the man the Elitesman Sevan had tortured before them without a hint of mercy. The brutal efficiency which the Elitesman had taken to the task had shaken him to his core. The Elitesmen saw people as tools to achieve their own ends, and when one tool broke, another would simply take its place, and the cycle would begin again. The fact that he had killed another human being barely registered with the exception of the effect it had upon him and the others.

Verona’s hateful gaze lifted and sought out the Elitesman torturer. The bonds of energy were enough to keep Gavril in place, who had long since given up struggling against them. As they each tried to deny the Elitesman Sevan in their own way, he took pleasure in their failings with fiendish delight. The stalemate they were in left them firmly within the Elitesman’s power, and Verona wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold out. The screams of the tortured man still echoed in his mind.

“I know you want to kill me,” Sevan taunted. 

Verona looked away, disgusted, refusing to rise to anymore of the Elitesman’s taunts. Instead, his eyes found a momentary respite from this very real version of hell in Roselyn’s golden eyes, so much like his own, but with irises like the sun. They mirrored both the pain and bitterness they felt at the Elitesman’s brutality, but Verona could tell that her will was eroding, as was his own. He couldn’t sit idly by and watch another person be tortured. Something had to give.

The gruesome remains littered the floor at the Elitesman’s feet, and Sevan brusquely kicked them aside, making room, seemingly unfazed that they had once been a person.

“Almost time for our next guest,” Sevan grinned and motioned to the Elitesmen by the door.

A hunched old woman limped through the doorway, stumbling as if she couldn’t see very well. The old woman stepped into the light, and her eyes shone milky white with only hints of the colored irises that should have been there.

The Elitesman Sevan stood stone still in the shadows, his blood-stained hands resting comfortably upon the edges of his shirt over his chest. Sevan’s hands shifted slightly while he watched with a dark, menacing gaze as the old woman stumbled over the dead body of the servant. The lighting in the room grew dimmer around them.

Roselyn cried out, and Verona’s breath caught in his chest.

“I can’t do this again,” Verona whispered to Roselyn.

Roselyn turned toward him, her mouth slightly opened, but no words would come forth.

“I’m sorry,” Verona whispered.

“It’s all right,” Roselyn whispered back to him.

Verona steeled himself, coming to grips with what he must do. If he were to meet his end then so be it, but he would be damned if he would be witness to another tortured innocent for an Order that deservedly needed to burn in hell for all eternity.

Verona looked back at Roselyn and brought his hand to her cheek, brushing away a silky lock of her raven hair. “We’ve had no time, my Lady,” he whispered in a voice that echoed the cracks in his broken heart for what would never be.

Roselyn blinked away her tears and brought her hand to Verona’s shoulder, gazing into his eyes. In one swift motion, Verona pulled her in and kissed her lips, feeling the press of her body upon his own. For the span of time between moments, he knew true happiness. The elation blazed along every fiber and yearned for more, but it was not to be. He pulled away and met Sarik’s knowing gaze. 

The hunched old lady stood in the center of the room, calling out, “Is anyone there, my Lord? They told me I was needed here.” The woman turned about and stumbled. “I apologize, I don’t see very well anymore.”

The Elitesman Sevan stood behind her with his challenging gaze, daring Verona to act. In the back of the room, the other Elitesmen’s attention drew toward the windows for a moment before looking back at them. 

Verona focused himself, drawing the energy in while pulling away from the shield they had created, and Sarik did the same.

Sevan stood poised, his hand raised, clutching a large knife whose edge glinted in the dimly lit room. The old woman spun around completely, looking relieved to see the Elitesman.