The Trials Of Ashbarn ( Book 5) (22 page)

But her mount
’s unjustified fears were the least of her concerns. This was to be her moment of glory. The very moment in time when history was rewritten. And this time, the humans would be the ones on the losing side. But their roles wouldn’t be completely reversed. She had no intention of sending the humans into hiding, the way the crytons had been forced to do.
No,
she thought to herself.
There must not be any future opportunities for revenge
.
They cannot be allowed to regroup years from now. They must be watched at all times
.

As always
, the astute woman’s forward thinking was ten steps ahead. The humans would be no match for her forces, that much was clear. Once the crytons linked, grouping their energy circles, their victory would be a foregone conclusion. But was that really what she wanted? What good is a decimated kingdom filled with slaughtered humans?
That would serve no purpose
.
I don’t want to crush Taron... I want to rule it!

S
he never intended to end their society, but rather absorb them. Let them go about their daily lives as always, but do it under cryton rule, under the watchful eyes of a superior race that would still allow the pathetic creatures a modest amount of freedom.

This was where the battle itself would be key.
The loss of human life needed to be kept minimal in order to display some level of benevolence.
They must fear us, respect us, and then ultimately, forget us
.
Within a years’ time they will feel as if they have always been under cryton rule
. If there was one credit she could give humans, it was their versatility. They could easily adapt to a forced lifestyle, as had been proven by their multiple forms of government throughout the centuries.

Filista had
to remember to slow down. With the details of her plan coming to life in her head, the excitement building in her bones, she had lost herself and gotten far ahead of the others. She decided it was best to stop altogether and let them catch up.

Suddenly, her
horse reared up in a fit of terror, nearly throwing Filista to the ground. The air in front of them began to glimmer a golden yellow. The frightened horse stomped up and down on its front hooves several times before Filista finally regained control. Even then, it pranced sideways trying to get away from the eerie sight. Ilirra materialized through the golden doorway. It snapped shut behind her with a popping sound and a small burst of golden sparkles.

At first, Fil
ista didn’t know what to do. The alarming sight had caught her completely caught off guard. The eerie light show had not been a subtle thing, and she immediately heard the rumble of running feet behind her. The sound of her troops coming brought some much-needed courage.

“I assume you are the commander here,” said Ilirra, staring right into the
eyes of the mounted cryton before her. Although she didn’t understand her words, Filista had no doubt as to who this was.

The standoff ensued, their eye
s locked in an unblinking stare, neither looking away. Even when a swarm of crytons scampered up to the duo, surrounding Ilirra in a flash with a circle of spearheads pressed against her neck, the Queen’s eyes remained locked on Filista, ignoring the immediate threat as if they weren’t even there.

Filist
a motioned to one of the men. He was very short by cryton standards, just under six feet, with not a single hair on his head. He scampered up and stood beside her, head low, awaiting his orders. But he already knew why she had summoned him. A researcher of sorts amongst their people, he had long studied the humans and was quite adapt at speaking their language. Filista spoke out, a guttural hissing language that always sounded angry. Ilirra didn’t think her tongue was capable of making those sounds, even if she ever learned their language.

The smaller cryton
looked to Ilirra and repeated the words in common. “
You are either mad or a fool
.
I expected more sense from a Queen
.” His pronunciation was perfect, but the words came out shaky and unsure. A decent translator he was; a proficient public speaker...not so much.

Growing tired of
the surrounding spears pointed at her throat, Ilirra unleashed her sword in a flash of white. In one fluid movement, she spun about with astonishing explosiveness; sheared spearheads flew up into the air. Completing her spin, she sheathed her glorious weapon, then dropped her arms to her side. Metal points rained down around her while she stood passively in a nonthreatening pose. The surrounding crytons leapt back, suddenly holding nothing but wooden shafts, their eyes barely able to comprehend what had just happened. Filista calmly raised a hand, stopping the others from advancing.

“I am neither,” said Ilirra, her
voice ringing out sharp and clear in a stark contrast to the nervous man. “I am both,” she shrugged, eyebrows rising. “I am whatever the people need me to be.” The Queen burned with hatred in the company of this deceiver. The warrior within her stirred, pleading to make her presence known, begging to be released one last time so she could spill this traitor’s blood across the ground. With an effort, Ilirra suppressed the assassin within. Those days were over, and a queen must always carry herself with dignity, despite her dark urges.

The short man relayed the message then
promptly received another. This choppy exchange would have to suffice as far as communications went. He took a deep breath then delivered, “
I assume you’ve already figured out that resistance is futile. So perhaps you’ve come to beg for your life?”

The
angry warrior stirred once again. Ilirra contained it by a hair. Of all the things she wanted to say, of all the traitorous accusations she should make on behalf of the people, one question burned on the tip of her tongue. One question required an immediate answer above all others. “What have you done to Shantis? Where is my friend and ally?”

Filista’s ever-
present smirk faded. Would she never be rid of that blasted woman’s legacy? She grabbed the short man’s collar angrily even before he finished translating the question, then barked into his ear. He turned back, pale and visibly shaken. “
The traitor you speak of is no longer among us. She has run off like a coward to live in the woods with the other rebels. To scavenge for food, competing with birds, squirrels, and all other lower life forms. Offend me again and your people will join her
.
”
 

Ilirra masked a sigh of
relief. Shantis was still alive somewhere. She wanted to find her friend, to try and enlist aid from these so-called rebels. But all of that would have to wait. She had to stop this force from invading Taron, and no price was too high. “Enough of this game! As queen of Taron, I am charged with the defense of its people. Thousands of lives will be spared if the two of us can just reach a compromise.”

Ilirra waited, watching the face of Filista as
the man spoke. Her smirk returned, yellow eyes sparkling with delight even while she gave him her reply. He turned to Ilirra, a solemn expression on his face. The Queen felt a slight twinge of guilt at seeing his face. The poor man obviously didn’t want to be here. “
The thousands of spared lives you speak of would be human, not cryton. What do you think to offer me that I couldn’t take myself?”

Ilirra sighed, then for the first time, hung her head in defeat. She
already knew it would come to this, and had made peace with herself over this sacrifice. Tugging at her buckle, loosening the leather belt that held her sheath, her glorious sword fell to the ground. “Despite your arrogance, you know both sides would incur great loses. And even after the dust settles, and the mighty walls of Taron are stained red with blood, the people will never follow you. Surely you know that.”

Filista’s
high-cheeked smirk faded once again while the man chattered in her ear. Were the humans more resistant than she once believed? Would they still not recognize her superiority, even after their army was beaten soundly? And even after that, still refuse to follow her? For the first time during this well-planned campaign, she felt a tinge of worry.  

“You ask what I have to offer. What can I give you that you can’t take on your own?” Ilirra reached behind her back
, forcing many of the crytons to tense. Her clenched hand returned holding her golden crown, covered with colorful jewels. With a snap of her wrist, she flung it towards Filista, who caught it with one hand. The cryton stared at it, eyes wide with wonder and greed. “On your word, from one ruler to another, that none of my people be harmed,” Ilirra dropped to her knees, “I willingly offer you my title...as Queen. As long as no harm comes to my people, Taron is yours to do as you see fit.”

Filista nearly drooled
, eyeing the ornate headpiece. She gently placed it on her own head. Could she have ever hoped for more than this? With her hands stretched up to the sky, head leaning back, she spoke so softly the short man could hardly hear her. “I graciously accept your offer.”

Eric, Eric
, the gentle voice whispered in the wind.
Now is not the time for sleep
.
You must rise
. Eric’s eyes fluttered against the cool breeze blowing across his face. His limbs felt cold, his body numb. Faintly, he could feel the dust-filled spirals spinning gently around his body while icy winds gusted with a howl. The soft voice was a hollow sound, distant to his ears.
Your time is up, Eric
.
You must rise
. He ignored the bothersome voice that threatened his peaceful sleep. After all, this was nothing more than a bad dream. His father would come along any moment now and rouse him from this nightmare; pull him from his bed for yet another day of blacksmithing and training.
Rise, Gate Keeper!
 

His eye
s jetted open, lungs filling with cold, dust-filled air. The sudden jolt forced him to cough, each spasm sending waves of white-hot pain through his ravaged body. Mercifully, the coughing began to slow, mostly due to his lungs running out of air. The weak coughs were now more like dry heaves. Eric sat up slowly, carefully, wincing in pain while looking around. Once again, seeing the rotted bodies scattered about made his spirit sink. This wasn’t a dream. He was here, alone, on this forsaken mountain in the middle of nowhere.

But where was the giant?
Where was the red-eyed, four-legged monster that had nearly killed him? The body was gone. Eric looked to where the opening in the mountain had been. It was sealed, walled off with stone as if nothing had ever come out.
Gone? No, not gone,
he thought. That creature is just another mysterious part of the trial. If another ever foolishly walks this path, it will be reborn again. It belongs to this mountain, a humble servant for all eternity.

Ignoring his body’s protests
of pain, he got back to his feet. The pathway before him was clearly marked, an uneven stairway carved directly into the stone. There was only one way to see where it led.

In tremendous pain, Eric hobbled across the stone
. But before taking the steps, something urged him to turn around. Something seemed...unfinished. He gazed around at the decayed bodies, most nothing but bone, and felt a peaceful sadness. Each of these men had given up their lives for something they deemed noble. Sure, more than one of them was almost certainly mad, but still attempted to do the impossible. And that, if for no other reason, deserved a bit of recognition. 

With
legs unsteady, pain shooting through his body with each step, he approached one of the corpses. Its jaw hung open in a permanent laugh frozen in time, yet he remained forgotten by the outside world. Eric dipped his head with respect, then followed with a quiet prayer. He proceeded to stand before each of them in turn, lowering his head before offering words of peace. He made sure each prayer was different for each man. After all, these men were all unique, different people from different time periods. They deserved to be recognized as individuals.

Returning to the bottom step
, Eric addressed them all at once. Green lightning, still with no thunder attached, lit the sky, cascading Eric’s shadow in all different directions. “My fallen brothers,” he shouted, his clear voice slicing through the wind. “I stand before you now, humbled that I am able to push forward. And in this manner, I stand here not as your superior, but as your brother and equal. This cursed mountain has taken far too many lives. And I intend to end this dark game once and for all!”

Jagge
d lightning struck the mountain just above the stone platform where he stood. The sizzling
crack
sent red-hot stones raining down around them. The wind picked up, howling like a wolf, wrapping his long, dark curls around his face. His dark-blue cloak began to flap wildly. He nearly had to scream to overcome the noise of the sudden wind. “Each of us were told that we must walk this path alone. But I don’t believe that. In my heart, I know each of you is with me in spirit, and together, we will finish this as one.”

Three more bolts struck the mountain in succession
, two above and one on the stone platform. Its energy seemed to come to life, crackling about, leaping from body to body. The skeletal corpses began to glow, each one radiating its own light as if they were on fire. For a few moments, the light was brilliant. It was so painful to look at that Eric was forced to shield his eyes. After a few moments, the light faded away. Tentatively, he lowered his hands. The corpses were thoroughly charred, taking on a deep black color similar to coal. One by one, they crumbled to dust. Small piles of black soot were all that remained.

Eric watche
d the piles of dust in disbelief. What did this mean? Had their long, slow sleep finally come to an end? “Be at peace, my brothers,” he whispered. Ready to resume his ascent, he started up the stone stairway before something grabbed his attention. A slight flutter from the corner of his eye. He turned back to look at the black piles of dust, only to witness something he could not explain. Shapeless wisps of gray mist hovered over each of them. The transparent clouds swayed back and forth to an unheard song.

One by one, the bits of fog began to float
towards Eric. He braced, not knowing what to do or what they wanted. Without warning, the first one rushed into his chest. Out of reflex, Eric threw up his hands to fend it off, but it was far too late. It wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. The wisp penetrated his cloak, funneling itself into his body. It left no open wounds, nor did it hurt, but he immediately began to sweat.

His hands still up in defense
, the others wisps surged forward, passing right through his arms and clothing. Each one slipped into his body with a whooshing sound. Eric dropped to his knees. Feverishly hot, he gazed around, his vision blurry. He watched as the piles of black ash sifted over the edge, carried away by a subtle breeze. The roaring winds were now gone.

His panicked bre
athing began to slow down, the fever starting to break. Feeling better, his body cooling back down, he got back to his feet. Using the front of his cloak, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt good…more than good. The burning aches and pains of battle began to fade. His open wounds began closing, and new skin formed, grafting itself together. He took a deep breath, half expecting it to hurt. His lungs filling with cool air felt wonderful. His body was now completely healed. He mouthed a silent “
thank you
” before continuing on.

The steps were uneven and misshapen, making the danger of tumbling backward a real possibility.
But instead of watching his step, he let his mind wander. Thoughts of Jade constantly haunted him. Was she all right? Would she hate him for agreeing to this? And what about Jacob? How was he doing? Last anyone knew, he had snuck off to search for Athel without telling anyone except for Nima. She ultimately confessed to his whereabouts, and even admitted to helping him. Eric wasn’t mad about any of that, though. Jacob needed to walk his own path, just as he did.

And what was going to
happen even if he found Athel? Wasn’t the seed a permanent affliction, one that changed its host forever? She wouldn’t hurt him...would she?
Best not to think about that. There’s nothing I can do for either of them
. Dismissing the troubling thoughts, he pressed on.

It wasn’t long before a
nother platform came into view. A place to rest, maybe? The second test? Only one way to find out. Unlike the first one, this platform was not set directly on the path, but rather on its side. Eric soon found himself parallel with the platform, and easily hopped onto it. Not waiting to see what was going to happen, he unleashed Spark in a roar of fire and ash, then pointed it at the mountain’s cracked face.

“Is this where you attempt to kill me once more
?” he asked, red flames pulsing down the blade. Eric felt strange talking to a mountain, but it was clearly self-aware. It seemed to exist only to destroy the Gate Keeper. That was its purpose. Therefore, he deemed it an enemy. And like all Eric’s enemies, it needed to die. There were no bodies anywhere on this platform. “Am I the first ever to stand here?” He waited patiently for his answer while Spark crackled with angry fire.

Lightning flashed repeatedly, illuminating the mountain’s jagged surface. The way the light hit the rock from different angles made it seem like faces were appearing, then disappearing.
Mother nature’s clever illusion; one that played tricks on the mind. Contorted faces twisted in pain, whiles others seemed to laugh and grin. Each time the lightning flashed from a different angle, some of the faces seemed to trade places with each other. A clever illusion. A fine trick indeed.

The low rumbl
e of thunder sounded just as heavy rain began to fall in an instant downpour that soaked him to the bone, making Spark hiss defiantly while hot flame licked the heavy droplets. Another green flash lit up the Mountain of Dreams, forcing Eric to step back. Those imagined faces, they were real!

Like a flood, dozens of dwarf men fell from the mountain
side, landing on the platform with the grace of cats. Some had the faces of humans, looking like young boys at first glance. Others were so gnarled and deformed, they appeared more like demons. Large noses, red eyes and hooked horns twisted from their warped heads. But their bodies were all nearly identical: short, gray and completely naked. Each holding a curvy-bladed dagger in one hand, they rumbled towards Eric like a swarm of insects.

Caught off guard
, Eric gripped his sword, ready for battle. Their incessant chirping was earsplitting. They sounded like a swarm of cicadas unleashed upon the mountainside. When the torrent of little creatures reached his feet, Eric let out a fierce battle cry. He sent Spark through the first wave in a wide, sweeping swing meant to take out as many as he could. But the fiery blade passed right through them like smoke.

Panic surged through him when he f
elt no resistance from the swing, as if he had missed them all. But he couldn’t have. On reflex alone, he dove to the side, allowing the first wave to rumble past. He completed a somersault, then sprung back to his feet, waving his apparently useless blade. Eric turned left then right, looking, the fire from his blade the only source of light. Where did they go? It was as if they just disappeared.

Having no idea where they went or
from which direction they might attack next, his panic returned tenfold. Turning at the shriek of a high-pitched cackle echoing from the darkness, he pointed his blade in that direction. Suddenly, fire shot up the side of his leg. He clutched at the wound while watching one of the little creatures scamper off into the darkness. All he could get was a mere glimpse of horns and a wide smile before it was gone.

The
wound wasn’t too deep, but enough to draw blood. Trying to ignore the sting, he limped on one leg, eyes searching the darkness. “Show yourselves, cowards!” he called out, looking around frantically. “You hide within the shadows like rodents. What sort of test is this?” Shrill, mocking laughter followed his words. It came from the left...no, right. Eric spun about helplessly, trying to keep his blade between himself and the next threat. He couldn’t ignore the bloodcurdling shriek directly behind him. He turned, but knew it was a deception the moment he committed.

Another burst of pain
shot up the back of his other leg. This cut was deeper. He stumbled forward, throwing his sword in frustration. It obviously wasn’t going to help him anyway. Eric dropped to his knees as impish laughter cackled all around him. Their shrill little squeaks were accompanied by that chirping, cicada-like sound. What could he do against such perversions of nature? Unassuming and small, they appeared to be immune to all physical attacks. Weapons seemed useless against them.

He closed his eyes, deciding t
hey were just as useless as his sword. Each time the little imps wounded him, he never caught more than the slightest glimpse of one. Why didn’t they all just rush him at once? After all, he was defenseless. Was this the mountain’s way of humiliating him? To cut him down, bit by bit, thus drawing out the sadistic game? To prolong the agony as long as possible?

He
searched his memory for some clue, some bit of training that might help him here. What was it that his father told him?
Of all your senses, trust your eyes the least
. That old, familiar voice bounced around in his head.
If you really want to see the truth, don’t use them
. “I remember, father,” he whispered.

The impish cackling continued.
Rather than try and fight through the darkness, searching for them with his crippled sight, he searched with his mind. Rather than listen to their taunting voices, he focused on their energy. Sound could not be trusted; the eyes could be deceived. But a living being’s essence, the very energy that gave them life, could not be masked so easily.

Applying
his mind’s eye, he could feel each one of them hiding in the darkness. Their faces twisted up into demonic grins. Without seeing them, he became more aware of their presence than ever. The charred, ancient writings burned into his flesh began to crackle with energy. A golden light sparkled up and down his arms and across his neck. Now locked onto their life forces, he could feel each one of the little fiends.