Ashar'an Rising (Nexus Wars Saga) (39 page)

After a few soft words, Solantholas gave Ashaella a thankful smile that dismissed her, but as she tossed her weapon back to the student who had given it up, her face showed displeasure at the outcome of the fight. Andrak saw no shame in what had transpired; even he had enough sense to see Solantholas was a Warrior of unsurpassed skill.

Even Janantar gave her a soft clap, a slightly mocking feel dampened by Andrak's newfound grasp on Elf humor, and he smiled and gave a soft chuckle as Ashaella aimed a soft kick at him, intentionally pulled short.

“
She still thinks to one day match him,” whispered Janantar to Andrak, though easily loud enough for his sister to hear, and by his testing glances past him towards her, he was hoping for some response, though it did not come. “Only one warrior has ever been able to match Solantholas, his half brother Llewellyn, and then only a handful of times.”

Andrak gasped. “Half brother?” He knew Llewellyn had been originally from Lloreander, but the one time Court Bard and Innkeeper had never mentioned his nobility. “Was Solantholas bitter?”

Janantar's eyes opened in shock, but he smiled at Andrak's nervous look towards the Elf King, just to make sure his question had not been overheard. “Absolutely not. The two were inseparable since their youth.” Janantar's face did darken then, however. “The trouble began, not surprisingly, when both fell in love with the same woman.” This did bring an arched look from Ashaella, who had turned from straightening her clothes and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her pearl  smooth skin.

“
The Queen?”

Janantar nodded ruefully. “It is a tale of woe, and although Llewellyn left on bad terms, the bitterness has long since faded. Llewellyn was not so naive as to think he could make Mayeserana love him, when her heart yearned for Solantholas.”

So that is why Kalandar had greeted him with a stony silence at the mention of Llewellyn's name on the day Andrak had arrived. He began to mention this to Janantar, to see what link there was, but Solantholas' sharp command interrupted him again.

“
Janantar!”

If Janantar was surprised at his summons, Ashaella was more so, but only momentarily before a pleased grin lit up her face. Obviously she was thinking it was now her turn to see him embarrassed.

Looking from Solantholas to his sister, Janantar gave a resigned sigh and straightened with mock stiffness. “As my sister and healer, you should know this will only impede my recovery.” The even wider smile that greeted him made it known she was well aware of what he was capable of. With another sign and a wry grin to Andrak, Janantar strode slowly into the circle.

“
He cannot be recovered yet, can he?” asked Andrak, concerned for the pale Elf's health. The sickness he was recovering from had all but killed him, and any form of strenuous activity could not be healthy until he recovered fully.

“
He is fine!” Luckily for him, Ashaella was watching Janantar, or she may have noticed how closely he was watching her, admiring her, and with a start he tore his gaze from her, back to Janantar.

“
Though maybe a little stiff and sore.” This was said with obvious delight, and Andrak guessed Ashaella wanted to see her brother lose every bit as easily as she had, though she showed no other signs of jealousy or resentment. Obviously such mirthful rivalries were common between the two.

Janantar soon stood as his sister had, unarmored but clutching two wooden weapons, four-foot long Al'katar replicas. Four students were called to surround him by Solantholas, who stood apart as he had before.

“
Hai'war!”

If Janantar was suffering any ill  effects of his recent illness, it was not evident, at least to Andrak, as the four students closed on him. Fast and smooth, but straight out of the Bladesong manual, it seemed Janantar's response was both practiced and methodic.

Spinning to face two of the four students, Janantar's left weapon chopped at a low thrust while his right weapon arced to catch and push a darting chop from the right student. His weapon continued as if not slowed at all, continuing with the spin to catch the student on the left in the side of the head. He fell as if drunk, and if he was still conscious, he did not move.

To the side, Andrak's shock at the explosive start of the display passed quickly as he saw the first Elf drop, even as Solantholas' command seemed to linger, but the other two students were closing quickly, and to all appearances, Janantar would be overrun. Instead, Janantar reversed the sweep of his swords, the right blade angled high as it came around, to all intents looking to parry a second chop from the student, and as the student braced for the contact, his sword met nothing as Janantar stepped to the side, turning so the weapon missed him by no more than a hair. His right weapon spun in his hand until it was reversed, point low, and his left Al'katar rose to connect solidly with the off  balanced student's side, a blow that would have killed him also had the weapons been real steel.

Yet even as this occurred, the third and fourth students were into their attacks. The third, at Janantar's rear, was aiming a crushing blow at Janantar's unprotected head while the fourth rushed forward with sword low, looking for a thrust.

Janantar's reversed right Al'katar descended through the feinted parry, coming underneath his arm as he twisted away and backwards, inside the arc of the descending chop, and the sword  tip snaked backwards with a pulling motion of his arm, catching the student in the middle of the chest, hard and fast that not even the padding could entirely dampen, and realizing he was ‘dead’, the student dropped to the ground.

Which left only the fourth student, who swept in with a rising thrust. Expecting Janantar to parry with his left Al'katar, Andrak gaped as Janantar swept a foot around to strike the student's hands, knocking the thrust aside but not before the tip grazed across his side, the blunted tip still tearing through his shirt as he raised both of his weapons overhead, crossed over at mid  blade.

Which intercepted the larger blade of Solantholas, who now stood behind Janantar. Andrak gave a start.
‘I did not even see him move!’
Three paces was all he had to cross, but one moment he was standing watching, the next he was attacking.

Caught, Janantar could not finish off the student, whose fleeting disadvantage closed as he gathered himself, saved by the Elf King's intervention. Or at least that is how it seemed as Janantar dived to the side, cart-wheeling on knuckles as he clutched his weapons. The student made to follow, not risking a thrust at the moving figure, instead waiting for Janantar to reach his feet, off balance and vulnerable.

But if Janantar's cartwheel looked an evasion, it was really a fighting withdrawal as his right foot rose, catching the student beneath the chin with a crack that made even Ashaella wince at Andrak's side. The student dropped like a stone, unconscious even before his head hit the ground hard.

Which left only Solantholas. The Elf King did not attack as Janantar turned expectantly, but stood at the ready, left foot and shoulder forward, sword held double  handed out from the body, hilt low and angled away. Waiting.

The stand  off lasted only moments, however, as both moved, meeting with a flurry of clacking blades.

If Janantar had any advantage from the two weapons, it was taken away by the Elf King's superior reach. Always seeking to close, Janantar was foiled by Solantholas, whose sure, graceful movements kept him eternally at bay.

Which was how it lasted for several moments, a spinning, twisting flurry of stabs, blocks, kicks and sweeps. If a weapon struck, neither gave any indication, though many seemed to strike close enough to touch clothing, but never any further, thwarted by parry or turn or twist.

Suddenly a plain  clothed Elf darted into the low  roofed hall, bare feet slapping at the floor a mark of his obvious concern as he ran straight to where Janantar and Solantholas sparred. Ashaella gave a start forward, then continued as both Janantar and Solantholas parted, their weapons freezing as if they had never been raised, obviously realizing that for such a messenger to interrupt, it had to be of some importance, though how they knew he was there, Andrak could only wonder.

He trailed Ashaella as the messenger, a young man, began to speak hurriedly but softly to Solantholas. Whatever he said, Andrak could not follow, catching only 'hurry' and 'Kalandar', but by the ashen faces of Solantholas and Janantar, it was obviously bad news, and probably concerning the scouts. Ashaella looked as if she was about to faint.

Solantholas and Janantar were out of the hall in seconds, with Andrak and Ashaella following hurriedly, trying to keep up. The messenger was left standing wide  eyed in the middle of the hall, while concerned students rose quickly and, assisting the recently wounded, left, knowing the training was at an end.

Where they ended up, Andrak recognized as the Halls of Saraya, where the Elvin healers worked and dwelled. Though Elves were naturally resistant to such things, sickness and injuries were still a common occurrence, even if not in the high numbers Andrak would have expected.

Into a large room they followed Solantholas and Janantar, finding it containing only three beds at the rear wall. A faint odor of rose and garlic lingered in the air, while torches burned brightly on movable metal frames, giving the air a warm, clinging feel.

Besides the Elf king and Janantar, there were five others surrounding the beds. One was Clovinius, Janantar and Ashaella's father, though the Druid did not acknowledge them, so intent was he on studying some figure lying on one of the beds. Three others wore pale rose  colored robes, elderly looking Elves with their hair braided and twisted around their heads, secured with wreaths of laurels. The three surrounded the right  most bed, and were moving around hurriedly, attending to the figure lying on the bed. Another figure, Sylvor, the Elvin War  leader, spoke in hushed tones with Solantholas.

Torn and bloodied clothing lay beside discarded weapons and armor around the beds, thrown off in obvious haste. As a sinking feeling tugged at him, Andrak slowed to look at the figure on the bed to the left, the one Clovinius had been studying. The old Druid looked up with tear rimmed eyes and embraced Ashaella, who clung to him both comforting and seeking support.

The Elf on the bed looked asleep, ivory skin smooth as if at ease, though Andrak knew he was dead. A thin white blanket covered him, smeared with streaks and pools of dark crimson that could only be blood. His hands were clasped at his chest, where there was no visible rise and fall of breath.

The middle bed's sheet was spotless, though completely covering some form beneath it, also unmoving. A stray lock of sun  gold hair leaked out from beneath the sheet. A little ashamedly, Andrak was relieved the dead Elf was not Kalandar.

The third Elf was not, either, though it took a little maneuvering on his behalf to see this, with the three healers swarming over him   no, her, attending to what looked to be only two or three small wounds. Andrak guessed this meant Shadowspawn, because even if the wounds had been deep arrow or spear wounds, even the spells and herbs of the healers would have proven enough to treat the young woman, who was still alive, writhing against leather bonds securing her to the bed  frame. She looked asleep, though her comely face was twisted in pain or horror.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he would have been embarrassed under other circumstances, but when he looked up at Janantar and saw the Elf's ashen features, he felt nothing but fear and apprehension.

“
Kalandar?”

Janantar gave his father and Ashaella a wary glance and ushered Andrak off to the side. Behind, Solantholas and Sylvor also withdrew, and were talking hurriedly as they left the room.

“
From what the healers could get out of the woman before she lost consciousness, and the other two before they died,” the tightness at Janantar's eyes and the slight trembling of his voice was indication enough of the anger and worry that filled Janantar, “we know the scouts were ambushed by Shadowspawn near the Glade.”

Even having assumed such, the weight of the announcement only heightened Andrak's feeling of dread. He had pondered for the last two days what chances there were of the Glade containing one of these Portals. The possibility was high considering the discovery of the one Shadowspawn already, but from what Ka'Varel had spoken of, he had expected the numbers to be limited. For there to have been so many as to wipe out a whole group of armed Elvin scouts, it was likely this Portal had been opened for some time now, which made him wonder why it had taken so long to become aware of their presence.

“
We do not know about Kalandar. The injured could not tell us more than a few things. The 'Vile Fever' had each of them to varying degrees, and it was not only their bodies being slowly consumed.” Janantar had first  hand experience at this disease, after his own run in with the demon. “We can only hope more have survived and are returning to Lloreander.”

Yet Andrak knew the possibility of this was slim. If any others were in shape enough to make it back to Lloreander, they would have done so before these others, unless they had been pursued away from the Elf city. “Will Solantholas attack?”

Janantar nodded, his eyes suddenly fiery at the prospect of revenge. “With all we have got, I should think. We cannot leave such a threat so close to our doors, plus the possibility of survivors or hostages must move us to action. There will probably be a meeting called soon to let the people know.”