Rise (War Witch Book 1) (27 page)

Unable to stand against the evil that mowed over the village, his will breaking in the face of true monsters, Imicot had fled. He’d run to the house the villagers had built for him, crawled into the firewood box in the basement, and cried in terror, like a child afraid of the dark.

As the villagers screamed, he covered his ears. Nothing, though, could block out those terrible sounds. There was no force in the Middle World, or any other, capable of stilling the cries to be saved.

“Save us, Imicot,” they’d begged, pounding at his door. He lay in the dark and trembled, weeping at the horrors, wishing it would all just stop. More than living, he wanted it to stop.

Finally, it did. There came no more screams to be saved. No more horrific sounds of people dying in ways not even their nightmares could conjure forth. There was, at last, only silence. Still, he lay in the dark, shaking like a newborn lamb, sobbing for it to be over.

When he eventually emerged, Kivos was gone. His house, the one the people had built for him, lay in shambles, and was still the only thing that remotely resembled a building. The rest was a wasteland of destruction, and death. Everywhere he looked, he spotted savaged remains. People he’d known. People he had promised to protect.

People who had died because of his cowardice.

After passing through Kivos, the Demon Army had been stopped fifty miles from Qur by the Masters of Sorcery, commanding their vast armies, and a team of Blessed. They’d brought the unholy monsters to their end, at such a massive price. Hundreds more had died on the fields, including all but one of the Blessed, an Elven woman marked by Rajan, and Mistress of Sorcery in her own right, known as Rumilla Descartes.

Not only had the villagers he’d vowed to protect died, but many Blessed as well, the will of the Gods upon the Middle World. It’d been more than he could bear; the shame and guilt rending his soul and heart.

Imicot had fled Qur entirely, traveling the world, a broken man. Haggard and pursued by the ghosts of those he had let die, as well as the horrors he’d seen, he wandered aimlessly for some years, until he found himself far from home, on the northeastern continent, trudging through the foothills of the Ice Mountains, looking for death to claim him.

There he had found it, the convergence of mystic energy. Such a beautiful thing, the flowing magic, spinning up from the ground in waves of green and gold, and down from the sky, in ribbons of blue and yellow. It came from all directions, in every color imaginable, and more he had no name for. A veritable well of purity.

Only his training allowed him to see it. The locals, and even the Frost Giants, could not. No one even knew of it, save him. Pure, unfettered magic energy, in infinite supply. He knew in that moment, he must protect it, no matter what.

He’d raised his keep from the very earth itself, fashioning it to his needs as rock flowed like water, becoming stone and mortar. This would be his home, where he would unlock all the secrets of magic. One day, he had vowed, he would find a way to make right what he done wrong. Somehow, he would give the world the means to drive the Demon Seed back, once and for all.

It stilled the haunting cries of the souls he’d failed to save, but only barely. In the night, as he slept, he could still hear them. The horrific beings of the Hells still marched through his mind. In the wee hours, he knew, he was still a coward.

His shame would be with him, until his dying day, and beyond.

As he finished his confession, Imicot was weeping openly, his weak voice hitching with sobs as he poured his heart into the red yarn Ramora held before him. His old body shook and trembled as he choked out the final words, even now, after all these years, the memories fresh in his mind.

Saddened beyond words at what he had endured, and carried, for all these years, Ramora looked to Chara, nodding slightly. His confession was complete. It was time.

Shaken to her very core by Imicot's tale, Chara had to catch herself, fumbling for a moment. She’d never imagined, even once in her life, that anything so terrible could happen. By her side, Esteban trembled in sorrow, hearing the full tale for the very first time as well. Patient, Ramora gave them a moment.

"Imicot, Master of Sorcery," Chara said at last, regaining her composure. "You have made a full accounting of your sins. The thread of life now carries them. Take up the dagger, and cut them away from you."

Slowly, his hand shaking violently, the old sorcerer lifted the ceremonial blade, still sobbing as he looked to Ramora and found only kindness in her eyes. He had to use both hands as he sawed through the yarn, his weak grip unable to make it in a single pass.

As the yarn fell, Chara spoke. "The sins you have confessed are yours no more. They will not be stricken from the Book of Names that only Garrius is privy to, but neither shall they be held against you when you stand before him. They count for nothing. Know now, and from this day forward, your soul is clean."

The dagger falling from his trembling fingers, Imicot wailed, tears running down as his face as he collapsed into Ramora's waiting arms. Clutching at her as she held him gently, the old man could say only two words, again and again.

"Thank you."

Ramora stroked his head, rocked him, letting him pour out his grief, sorrow, joy, and gratitude. By Chara's side, Esteban fell to his knees, sobbing as well. His father was made whole. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him, one the Cat only now knew the full burden of.

Clutching the book to her chest, Chara watched as Ramora cradled the sorcerer to her, crying with him. His relief was palpable, after so many years carrying this, the regret and shame, to have it lifted was something words alone could not define.

This is what she does
, Chara thought, seeing her in a new light.
This is who she is.

Rakiss bowed his head, then looked to Chara, watching as all he had woven into her aura was repulsed by the love she felt for the Blessed. He wanted, in that moment, to reach out, and spin her heart towards resentment of the warrior, but in the end, he could not. Looking to Imicot, he knew, it would be a sacrilege.

What Ramora had done here should remain pure. Even if it cost him all his hard work. Some things should never be tarnished.

With a sigh, he turned back to the young woman before him, watching her aura spin out admiration and love, setting him back days in his efforts to drive a wedge between them, and place her in the arms of the Werecat.

"What a beautiful creature you are," he whispered, watching in awe as her will rejected the manipulations of a demigod. "How I adore you, Chara."

Smiling, Rakiss ran a hand over her aura, feeling all that she felt.

"You will save us all."

AFTER THE RITUAL
WAS COMPLETE
, Imicot had been too exhausted to deal with anything else, as had Ramora. Both had retired for the day, and slept through the night, he from the weight lifted from his soul, she from removing it. Esteban had stayed by his father’s side, while Chara had helped Ramora to their room, lying with her until morning came. As she’d held the Blessed in her arms, Rakiss had found her impossible to manipulate, a detail he noted with both pride and frustration.

With sunrise, Esteban came knocking to check up on the Blessed, saying that Imicot was awake, and that he was going to prepare some breakfast. Chara had thanked him, choosing to stay by Ramora's side. She roused herself soon after, ravenous, and the two had bathed, dressed, and headed to the dining hall, where they were surprised to find the sorcerer awaiting them.

The air seemed somehow livelier to Chara, the old man chatting away as the Werecat served them a bountiful meal. Even Ramora seemed brighter, her lack of a voice not stopping her from being part of the morning conversation. She and Imicot shared a bond that transcended words now, and watching the warrior smile and laugh with the sorcerer made the young woman happy.

With their meal finished, they settled back, just enjoying their conversation as Esteban cleared the table. The relaxed atmosphere begged them not to rush, and they were all happy to abide in that feeling. The new day had brought with it a new appreciation for the simple, small things.

"Now then," Imicot said as the morning waned. "I've spent a lot of time thinking on the dragon banner you seek to learn about, my friends, and I recall that it was first seen some time during the Second Age. I can't recall just when, or what it was connected to, but I'm certain that's where it originates from. One of the books in the library has more on it."

"You mean the giant, three-story room downstairs?" Chara asked with a note of doubt. "The one with a million books?"

The old sorcerer nodded, chuckling to himself. "Yes, that one. It's a daunting task, I agree, and fool that I am, I never indexed it like I always meant to. However, narrowing the search to books dealing with the Second Age will help a great deal. Most of what is there is on magic, so the number of history volumes are limited somewhat."

Esteban hovered over the old man’s shoulder. "Most of those are on the first floor, though not all. I will assist in locating the books you need."

"Yes, very good, my boy." Imicot nodded, reaching up to pat him on the hand. "I must warn you, some are coded, but not to worry, Esteban here can read them. The image of the banner appears in the text, as I recall, so that's what we will be looking for."

"We?" Chara asked, seeing the same question on Ramora's face.

"I intend to help, of course," the sorcerer assured them. "For as long as I’m able. We must find this, and while my eyes aren’t what they once were, they're still good enough to be of use in this."

With Esteban's steady hand, he led them down to his library. Having only glimpsed it before, the two women stared in awe as the lights came up, showing them just how vast it really was. Daunted, but determined, they nodded, and set out to begin their search.

From where they entered, wide, wrought-iron steps led down to the lower floor in spiraling staircases, as well as up to the one above them, two right before them as they walked in, two on the opposite side, and four more to the farthest right and left. At the base of the room, several large tables were spaced between massive shelves crammed with books and scrolls to the point of overflowing, stretching on for the full width and breadth of the room.

Large posts broke up the chaotic flow, supporting the floor above, which was more of the same, accessible by walkways of iron. This was repeated for the third tier, with the walls lined in shelving as well, all of it a jumble of massive tomes, normal-sized books, small journals, and bundled rolls of parchments.

"This is going to take a while," Chara intoned as she craned her neck to look at the upper floor.

"I am afraid so," Imicot sighed. "However, we need only learn the origin of the banner. After that, we'll be able to locate the man you seek."

Ramora gave him a questioning look, to which the old sorcerer pointed to the center of the middle floor in response. Past the jumble of shelves, tables, and candelabras, they could just see a large stone stand, upon which rested the single largest book any of them had ever seen.

"My greatest creation," Imicot informed them. "It will tell you what you want to know, but we must find out what it is we're looking for before it will be of help."

Nodding, Ramora waved them on. This was a battle, of sorts, and one she intended to win. Her Avatar sang to her of the powerful mystic energies moving through the room, resonating off the books with a melody of power. She could almost see it herself, the air thick with magic, even more so than she normally sensed from the convergence of energy the keep was built atop.

Heading down, the small group set up around the nearest table, Esteban heading out to gather as many books on the Second Age as he could carry once his father was settled. Chara and Ramora set out from there in opposite directions, scanning the shelves for anything that might be of help.

This proved difficult quickly, many of the books unlabeled, even more written in ancient languages, sorcerer’s code, or the native tongues of the other races of the world. For the first time, Chara realized just how massive their task was, and wondered if they would ever find what they sought. A person could spend their entire life in this one room, seeking a piece of information they never found.

Seeing the despair in her aura, Rakiss spun it wider, filling her with doubt. Picking up on tendrils of fear that lingered from his earlier manipulations, he wove them in as well, tying it all together, making her wonder if Ramora was on a fool’s errand, so overwhelmed with the desire for vengeance, she would be incapable of seeing reason. Satisfied that was a good start, he left it to fester, spreading through her thoughts and heart.

Looking across the library at Ramora, Chara fretted again that the warrior would cut her down if she was in the way. Looking at the mountain they had to climb for a single piece of knowledge, and the determination the Blessed showed, it was harder to ignore than it had been before.