Embers of an Age Page 6

  The surrounding land was near deserted. He spied only a small number of pitiful survivors who had escaped the fury of the Grol, but like those he left behind at Lathah, he could spare them no mercy. He ran on without slowing, keeping his eyes averted to remain focused on what he must do. The smell of charred meat and burnt wood faded into the distance, the shouts of the Fhen people along with them. All he heard now was the whip of the wind and the slightest scuff of his boots that skimmed the surface he trod on.

  Near the border of Gurhtol, the land of the Grol, Uthul had turned northeastward. The number of beasts at Lathah told him there were little to none of the nomadic creatures still in their own land, and he was unlikely to encounter any en masse, if any at all. What few he might run across would be no threat even sans the O’hra. Unconcerned, he pressed on toward the narrow river that split the lands of Korme and Tolen. He wished to speak to the warrior people of Tolen as he made his way to Ah Uto Ree, in hopes of recruiting them to the effort of ending the Grol threat. Natural enemies, and far more skilled in the ways of battle, Uthul felt they would be the best choice to confront their wayward brethren.

  As he thought of what best to tell the Tolen to garner their aid, Uthul spied a lone traveler out of the corner of his eyes. She ran across the barren Gurhtol soil at haste, but also with confidence. A flicker of green and silver and the sudden waft of Ree’s energy brought Uthul to a halt. He turned toward the woman and stared as she spied him in turn. She pulled up short and drew two strange blades: one black as night, the other the color of ice. She bore a large number of O’hra Uthul recognized as being Sha’ree made. Given their nature, he had a clear idea as to where she might have procured them.

  “Greetings, traveler,” Uthul spoke, his hands raised as he examined the woman standing a short distance before him.

  The short crop of her hair stood on top of her head as fierce gray eyes took the measure of him. Though Uthul was not one to judge the looks of a woman not of his race, he had difficulty thinking of her as what the Lathahns might call attractive. Her jaw was squared and jutted out slightly, her forehead, cheeks, and what he could see of her neck, was pocked and scarred as though it might once have only just escaped a fire. She was built powerful for a woman; not short, but thick-limbed in a way that spoke of a physically difficult life. Her feet were set perfectly, her hips dropped only slightly, as she stared at Uthul. There was no doubt she knew well how to wield the blades she hefted so easily.

  She said nothing in reply, so Uthul went on, bowing slightly. “I mean you no harm.” She looked to his O’hra, and then back to his face. Her stance turned more defensive. “No, no, child.” He waved his hands and took a short step back. “I know well you have seen more of my kind and where you have acquired your O’hra…your vestments…and hold no ill will toward you. Please, I would speak with you a moment. I am Uthul of the Sha’ree.”

  The woman stared for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and then seemed to settle somewhat. The points of her swords dropped, but stayed defensive. “Go on, say your piece,” she said.

  Uthul smiled. Her voice was melodic and charming, so at odds with her appearance. “Where does your journey take you?”

  Again, she remained quiet a moment before speaking, as though questioning how much she wished to say. “I travel north, to my homeland of Ryell.”

  “Ryell?” The name slid easy from his tongue, but his memory could find no purchase for it. “Do you hail from Lathah?”

  “I know of no place named Lathah. My home is north of the Languid Sea that borders the great hills of stone,” she explained, pointing with the bluish sword.

  Uthul followed the motion with his eyes, a sickening uncertainty knotting his stomach. For all his many years upon Ree, he had seen no other beings save for those that resided in Ahreele. It had always been his understanding that only lifeless waters existed beyond the shores. Ree had never spoken of anything outside of the boundaries he knew, and for an instant he questioned the limitations of his goddess. Had more lands, more beings, sprung to life as Ree faded into the darkness of her being? Was she blind to their existence in her growing stupor? He looked back to the woman but could sense no falsehood in her manner. The revelation filled Uthul with dread.

  “How did you come to be here?”

  “My crew and I set sail to collect my peoples’ rations before the true winter set in.” She sighed, sorrow dimming her eyes. “A fierce storm came in fast and knocked us from our course, pulling us far from our shores before its grip lessened. We’d only just begun to regain control when the water began to boil and sucked us further south before tearing my ship apart. I only just survived.”

  Uthul stared at the woman, unable to believe there was life beyond Ahreele. “I am sorry for your losses.” He drew a few steps closer to look at her, doing his best to keep her at ease. “Forgive my curiosity, but I have lived upon Ree’s flesh for longer than I can put into words, and I have never known there to be life beyond the dead waters.”

  “Who is this Ree you speak of?”

  A wide grin broke across Uthul’s face. “She is the earth you walk upon, the air you breathe, the trees you burn to stay warm during winter—”

  Braelyn’s eyes narrowed. “This is your faith?” The question was filled with doubt.

  “No, Ree is much more than that, but I understand your reluctance to take my word for you would have been born long after her spirit drifted into the darkness of herself. Ree is truly the land and all that springs from it. She is the spirit of this world, the world itself, but such wisdom is unnecessary for the conversation at hand.” He gave a shallow bow of apology. “If I might ask, what is your name, warrior?”

  “Braelyn.”

  “We are well met, Braelyn of Ryell, beyond the Languid Sea.” He glanced once more to the north, picturing what lay in her path. Turning back to her, he asked, “How do you intend to reach your homeland? There are many dark races between here and the shore that leads to your realm. They will show you no kindness for trespassing upon their land.”

  She nodded, breathing yet another sigh. “I had given it little thought, to speak true.” Braelyn ran a hand across the O’hra harness across her chest. “I had hoped there might be a ship I could book passage upon. If not, these treasures helped me to escape the desert, and I believe I might well swim back to my village should no boat avail itself to me.”

  Uthul smiled at her courage. He could see the determination in her face as she made her statement. She would likely try. “There are no ships,” he confirmed, his eyes drifting to the tools. “The O’hra…the things you wear, do they work for you?”

  “They do,” she answered, straightening as though she expected Uthul to demand them back.

  “Then I would ask for your assistance in trade for the means to help you return home.”

  She stared a moment, uncertainty in her eyes. “I—”

  “Please, hear me out,” Uthul asked of her, giving her no time to answer. “Our realm is assailed by beasts that have stolen O’hra such as you wear. They cause great harm, devouring those they do not slay outright, and laying waste to any who stand before them for no purpose other than to satisfy their lust for meat and blood.” He drew a step closer. “We are preparing an army to turn them back; an army equipped with O’hra and trained to use it to its fullest. We could use another strong warrior to head the army, and to lead the group to the mausoleum in the desert.

  “You have been there, and returned alive and hale, or you would not have laid claim to the tools you wear. Neither I nor my people can risk travel to the mausoleum since the lake has risen to fill the scar of that which woke our goddess. Your help would be without measure.”

  Braelyn’s feet shifted against the dirt. “Now it is your turn to forgive me, Uthul, for I have no help to offer. I must carry the news of my lost crew to their families and assure my people I am alive. They will waste precious time and resources seeking me out when they should be preparing for winter’s fall. I would not h
ave them put their lives at risk for a fruitless search. I must return home.”

  “You are someone of importance to your people,” Uthul said without question.

  Braelyn nodded with reluctance. “I am but one woman, one warrior, amongst many, but the foolish council of elders will convince the people that because the crown of our realm was passed to me, their lives are to be second to mine.” She spit in the dirt.

  Uthul sighed and bowed his head. “Then I would not impose upon you, Braelyn of Ryell. Luck in your journey home. If the fate of Ahreele is that we survive the dark days ahead, I would come and visit your realm?”

  “We would have you with honor.”

  Uthul said his farewells and set his course again, running off to catch the wind once more. He left the warrior woman behind, casting a glance back to see she had raced north already. She would have been a welcome addition to the force he hoped to build but the battle was not hers to undertake. It was a disappointment, but her appearance offered Uthul hope there might be yet another way to secure the safety of the realm without bloodshed. Should the battle go against them, there was a place of sanctuary hidden across the lifeless waters to the north where the people of Ahreele might yet find a home, far from the cruelty of the Grol and their allies.

  Such a plan came with its own obstacles, but they could be no more insurmountable than the ravaging forces of beasts and the mysterious, new O’hra that appeared to threaten the realm. Escape from Ahreele would require a different focus of thought and energy, but it was possible. Uthul continued on, forcing each step to be faster than the last. He needed to speak to his people and tell them what he learned. Together, they could reason the best course to take before Ahreele came crashing down around them.

  Sickness churning through his veins, he plucked the last Succor from his bag as he ran, holding it away to let the whipping breeze steal its fetid breath. He wolfed it down and held its seed until he reached the river that separated the Korme lands from those ahead. There, he cast it into the water before he forded a shallow crossing and entered the land of the Tolen. He would be home soon.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellora walked alongside Argos and Kylle, doing her best to calm their fears, and her own. They were brave, she had to admit, both striding with their heads up and shoulders squared, but their eyes spoke volumes of their worries. They’d watched their uncle slay the Pathrans, his own soldiers, and even their grandfather. Ellora could see they understood no one was safe from the prince’s sword. Olenn had made that quite clear.

  She wondered how long he would let her travel with them, how long it would be before he realized she was just a peasant orphan he had no use for. She did her best not to draw his attention. Head down, she walked without the need for prompting as the group pressed forward toward the shore. The Iron Ocean thrashed in the distance and she could hear its hissing roar growing closer and closer as it spent its last. Did Olenn intend to throw them into the Tumult?

  Ellora dared a quick glance at the prince in hopes of reading his demeanor, but he had no eyes for her. He strode tall beside his sister and her husband, who had woken and now walked on his own. Olenn smirked at the couple. He gave no hint to his intentions as they traveled, saying nothing.

  The group continued on. As they neared the shrub-covered base of the Fortress Mountains, the Lathahn soldiers suddenly changed course and walked straight toward the bushes. They pushed aside a thick mass and forced the group into the foliage. Several yards in, the soldiers keeping the branches from their path, Ellora spied a dark opening against the green-shrouded rock face of the mountain.

  Prince Olenn raised a hand and the soldiers brought the group to a halt. He pointed to six of his men. “Go inside first and make ready.” He turned to the boys and Ellora as the first of the soldiers dropped to his knees and crawled inside the dark tunnel. “You three will follow after. Be smart and don’t cause any trouble or you will regret it.” He grinned broadly, his expression reminding her of the feral cats that roamed the Ninth.

  The last of the soldiers the prince had directed to crawl through entered the hole. Ellora could hear their scraping knees and boots as they made their way inside. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, their noises echoing out and building with each man through. She waited patiently until the sounds drifted to silence.

  “We’re here,” sounded a voice from the darkness.

  The prince turned but Ellora had already ushered the boys forward, Argos in the lead. He dropped down and scrambled inside. Olenn smiled at her, nodding his head slowly as she helped Kylle follow his brother.

  “It’ll be okay,” she told the boys as she felt a tremble against the hand on Kylle’s back. “I’m right here.”

  She slipped into the tunnel right behind, not daring to say anymore for fear it drift to Olenn’s ears. The darkness closed in as she tapped Kylle’s foot over and over to let him know she was still there. She tried to look past the boys, but there was nothing to see. The voices of the soldiers bounced along inside the tunnel to guide them forward, but there was no light to be found.

  The air was cold and stale as Ellora drew in short, shallow breaths. She had no idea where the tunnel led or what waited on the other side, but she convinced herself it could be no worse than what would happen were she to risk the prince’s wrath.

  After what seemed forever in the dark hole, Ellora at last spied a glimmer of brightness, muted by the shuffling boys ahead. They continued on and came to the end of the tunnel, where they were helped up by the soldiers. Ellora watched them clear the hole and hurried faster to reach the exit. A burly hand pulled her up once she did, and set her on her feet.

  They were in a large cavern that reached up and disappeared into the blackness above. What had seemed such a bright light while she was in the tunnel was little more than a flicker coming from a distant crevice at the far end of the cavern. Once her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she could see well enough as the soldiers herded them from the hole. One of the men called out and let his voice rumble through to the world outside. A moment later, Ellora heard the scrape of more people coming through the tunnel. She assumed it was the princess and her husband, and then Olenn and the rest of the soldiers would follow.

  A short while later, Malya emerged, followed by Falen and the rest, the prince crawling out last. He dusted his knees and waved the group on, stepping past his men to take the lead.

  They walked slow across the slick stone floor and headed straight for the lighted crevice Ellora had seen. She could feel the ocean shaking the stone around them and hear its thunderous impacts, the sound growing as they traveled on. Through another tunnel, this one large enough to stand, they went, the stone walls winding serpentine through the mountain. Light and sound continued to build until they finally broke free from the confines of stone and stepped out into a broad cavern that culminated in the distance at a circular opening. Orange and yellow daylight spilled through the cave that Ellora assumed led to the shore of the Iron Ocean, spatters of white frothy water sprinkling into the cavern. She covered her eyes to deflect the sudden brightness. Malya and her husband stopped as soon as they saw the water, the princess reaching for her children.

  Olenn slapped her hands away, his men restraining Falen as he did. “Do not worry, little sister, I’ve no interest in seeing you or your sons boiled alive. The cave doesn’t open directly to the ocean. We will slog through miles of ankle deep water and the tumult will spit on us the entire way, but your precious family will be safe.” He waved his men forward, the soldiers tugging their prisoners along.

  Ellora stepped in line, Argos and Kylle beside her. As they neared the opening, the crash of waves was almost deafening. She hesitated for just an instant as the first of the group turned the corner and stepped outside the protective walls of the cavern but saw they suffered no ill effects. She went out after them and slowed once more. All of them did.

  Splashes of warm water rained down over her, but the ocean was nowhere to be seen. A
massive wall of stone rose up in front of cave opening and soared up into the sky. Ellora couldn’t see to the top of it, her balance disoriented in the attempt. She righted herself and looked at the glistening rock in awe. Cut along its side was a narrow canyon that seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning and following the curve of the mountain.

  “See, Malya, we are safe. This passage leads us deep into Lathahn territory, turning into a cave that finally intersects with the warrens behind the city.” He emphasized the direction with his hand. “We stumbled across it years ago, quite by accident I have to say, as workers strove to widen the innermost cavern.”

  The princess’ face flushed pink. “You knew this was here when the Grol attacked and still you left the people behind?” she shouted. A soldier reined her in.

  “And they would have given you all the credit for saving their miserable hides, the great, compassionate princess who cares so much for her people.” He laughed, waving her suggestion aside. “No, darling sister, I saw no purpose in saving the rabble even after that miserable ex-lover of yours was proven true. They are beholden to you and our dear departed father and think little of me, but that will soon change.”

  Ellora watched as the princess fought against her captor, and then went still. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at her brother. “What do you intend?”

  “Only to be the hero of my people, and rebuild Lathahn as my kingdom, at last, as it always should have been.” He started off down the canyon. “Be smart and perhaps I will let you and your family live long enough to see my heroic climb to the throne of the people’s hearts.”

  Olenn laughed and walked off. His boots stirred the gray water as he stomped along, the rest of the group pushed to keep pace by his men. No one said a word.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Ruhr clung to their heels. Arrin wound his way through the thick brush of the Dead Lands with Jerul bounced mercilessly across his shoulder. The warrior grunted even in unconsciousness, but still he hung limp. Arrin guided Cael, who ran before him, with shouts of direction to keep the boy on the same path. Kirah stuck to the space between them.