The Revenge of the Elves (28 page)

Chapter Thirty-six

On the hill below, the sands shifted with the breeze. Beolan and Maringar approached the city with caution. Their eyes stung, their muscles hurt, but they couldn’t rest. Beolan saw the pain on Maringar’s face. The Troll had hurt him and their furious ride only made the suffering worse. Beolan had bound them and seared the deepest of the cuts with a hot blade, but he couldn’t mend the broken bones. Beolan slid his fingers into his shirt and touched the cold metal of the key. This was what kept them going. It was why they were here.

They hadn’t seen anyone or anything since they left the flooded gorge behind. The countryside was quiet. Almost too quiet.

“This place must have been a magnificent one in its time,” Maringar said, leaning out from behind Beolan. His voice was scratchy and he winced as he moved.

“It was, from what I’ve heard,” Beolan replied. Now it made him sad. “It’s half buried, like a dream when you awaken. But it’s still enormous.”

“The craftsmanship is admirable,” Maringar said. An elaborately sculpted obelisk rose far above the ground to their left. “I wonder how much deeper that thing goes. Aren’t those roofs over there?” Maringar shifted in the saddle.

“We’re walking on top of them here.” A gust of wind blew across the uneven surface and everything looked different. The sand seeped out from under their horse’s feet and Beolan pressed his knees into its side, hard. It lurched out of the sink hole and clamored toward a steep embankment and flatter surface about twenty yards ahead. “We’re on the street level now. We better stick to the roads. If we follow them through the city, they’ve got to lead to the sea. Everything leads to the sea in a city like this.”

“How do you know it’s the sea we seek?” Maringar asked.

“No one would describe the middle of a city as the ‘world’s end’.”

“But Odelot is further west than any other city. The well could be anywhere here, and one might fairly call it the well at the world’s end.” Maringar made a good point.

“We’ve got to begin somewhere.” It was a place of mystery, a place people didn’t visit easily or often. “We have nothing else to go by but the legends,” he said. “No one comes here any more.”

“Water again,” Maringar muttered. His leathers were stiff and uncomfortable and his body ached. “Maybe well be lucky and it’ll be in a cave instead,” he said. “I could go without seeing water for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe it’ll be in a cave by the sea!” Beolan said. “Would that satisfy you?” he joked. “Do you see that?” Beolan rose in the saddle and pulled on the reins.

“What? What? I don’t see anything.” He craned his neck but everything in the distance was a blur.

“There’s something hanging in the air over there!” Beolan pointed in front of them. “It looks like a rock.”

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Maringar said frustrated. “How could a rock hang in the air?”

“I don’t know, but it’s hanging there,” Beolan said, directing the horse toward it. They approached the globe and the air hissed. The horse shied and threw its head. Beolan stopped as close as he could to the object and dismounted. Maringar slid off the saddle to a series of moans and caught up with him. “What is it? Beolan asked. His bent his head down and looked into the hole in the surface beneath it.

“The way they built this square around it, it must have been important.”

“It survived the decay,” Beolan said.

“Everything but the people of Odelot seem to have done that.” Maringar’s voice was grim. “Most of the buildings are in good shape still. They didn’t use much wood to construct this place.” He couldn’t hide his admiration. A dwarf’s prowess was measured by what he built, what he carved. Creating beauty out of stone—hard, cold stone—marked his strength.

“Listen!” Beolan looked up. The air whistled as it escaped through the opening in the sand. “The sand beneath that thing doesn’t move. It mimics the shape of the rock above it, almost as if the rock was pressing upon it.” It looked like a huge bowl had been set into the ground beneath it.

“Something’s coming out of the ground. Air maybe. From below.”

Beolan backed away. “Let’s go.”

They followed the street toward the sea. Maringar reached out and pulled something off a splinter of rock jutting out from the corner of a building. “Look at this!” He held up the torn fabric from Caroline’s blouse. “Someone’s still alive here.” He handed the shred to Beolan.

“This isn’t old, just a little worn. We’re not alone.” Chills pimpled his skin and the street no longer seemed so abandoned. Being out in the open like this wasn’t safe. He led the horse into the shadow of the building.

“It’s soft,” Maringar whispered, ducking his head and looking around. “Not like the cloth of a warrior.”

“You’re right,” Beolan agreed, slapping the reins hard against the horse’s side. Its hooves made a dull thud as they raced down the street. “If whomever it belonged to has the map, they’ve beaten us here. If they cast it down the well without the key…”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Horns blew and the air resounded. They teemed from the gates of Sedahar and headed north. They stepped in perfect harmony, one indistinguishable from the next, like some macabre mirror had captured an image and duplicated it ad infinitum. Clad in coal-black robes, starkly reflected against pasty white skin, curved sabers swinging from their belts, they trampled the stony earth to powder. The desolate plain moaned at their trespass.

Colton stood on the parapet, draped in velvet, a firestone glinting in his left ear. He barely watched them march, glad to have them gone. Shifting his weight, the air around him crackled, alive with power.

His sleepy eyes flicked open. “Join me!” he whispered to the five women standing behind him. They jumped and glided to his side. “Lead my troops to the Baron’s gates. Let his son worry and suffer for what he has chosen to do. Perhaps his pain will be so great he will forsake his quest and rejoin his loved ones,” his lips turned up for the first time.

The words were unimportant. The sound of his voice alone was enough to cause their hearts to skip. Every moment in his presence charged them with desire. They’d do anything to please him. Anything. His arms rose from his sides and the cloth of his garments fell to the ground. He looked out over his army. Rising up before them, tears of blood dripped from his cheeks. Each day, each moment was unbearable. The castle pulsed in time with the rise and fall of his chest. His raven hair came loose from the folds of fabric that cradled it, uncurling down his muscled back. They longed to partake of his power, to take his pain for their own.

“Madelyn…” he spoke to the tallest of the five. Her shaven head highlighted her well-shaped ears. “Be the first to please me this morning.” Colton bent his head toward her and she rose into the air.

She glided, elated and ecstatic, above the hordes to the front of the army. She alighted atop the back of a virgin white horse, its hooves glistening like diamonds in the bleakness of the afternoon light. Rising in her saddle, she spread her arms wide, pregnant with his might, sparks flying from her fingertips. Encircled by a brilliant corona, she led the silent army forward.

“Let them see our power! Let them realize there is no hope!” he said. His whispers echoed in their ears. “One by one, their cities will fall. One by one, their leaders will die. One by one, their children will abandon them. One by one, they will despair. Carry this banner into battle and let those who see you, cower before our truth! Blood shall be the water that cleanses them.” A pennant materialized on a staff secured to Madelyn’s saddle. “They’ve lost already. They’ve begun now to understand this themselves. None can stand against us. The end is nigh! May the First, in its wisdom, reveal itself to us so the killing can finally stop!” he said, his face contorted, his voice rife with compassion.

“You!” his word singled out Moira. “You will go to Odelot and bring me back the map.” An honor. A great honor. “There will be no mercy for you here if you fail.” His words dripped from his tongue so sweetly, it was as if he had offered her his eternal protection instead of a fatal warning.

Moira’s head bowed. Her body tingled, her heart pulsed as if sunlight coursed through her veins instead of blood. The air cracked open, a slit in the sky, and a winged beast burst through. It descended upon the promontory and she leapt onto the saddle strapped to its spiny back. It snapped at her hands as she pulled on the reins, raking the spiked bit across its gaping mouth. With a horrific yelp, it threw its head into the air and bucked. Her pointed heels dug deep into the soft flesh of its sides. The beast pressed its legs against the soil and exploded into the sky.

Madelyn led the silent army through the gates until none remained in Sedahar to follow. Still unsatisfied, his only reality his loss, Colton turned his back upon the day. Leaving the three remaining women prostrate upon the stone, he retreated to the darkness within.

Chapter Thirty-eight

She clutched him to her, afraid to let go. He trembled, his stare empty. The black line sizzled a few feet away, menacing and corrupt. Tamara panted. Her chest hurt. The shard was still warm, still potent, and she felt it. Her vision was sharp, razor sharp, and it cut through the Darkening.
Conrad!
her mind screamed.

“We have to leave,” her voice sounded weak in her ears. “I need to warn the sisters. I have to get home.” She cradled Conrad’s head in the crook of her arm. “Help me, Harlan,” her eyes beseeched him. “Why are you standing there? This was your fault. You could have told us.”

Harlan’s face went white. He stood beside her, arms loose at his sides. “What can I do?” he grimaced, her words hurt. “I want to leave too, but I can’t,” he began to whimper. “The nuts. I need the nuts.”

“You’re a foolish and selfish man,” Tamara scolded him, her emotions frayed. “I’ll help you, Harlan. There are herbs that will make you feel better. I’ll find them on the way, I promise. Just help me first. I can’t lift him myself.” The Darkening was getting closer. The line was creeping toward them. “Now Harlan. We don’t have time. Please.”

He paid no attention to her, didn’t even look at her. “It’s been so hard. So hard!”

“Stop it! Stop whining and help me,” she demanded. Conrad’s breath was barely visible on his chest. She dug her heels in the dirt and dragged him back, away from the danger.

“It’s too late.” Harlan’s eyes were wild. “It’s taken him. He can’t come back.”

“Don’t say that! Don’t say that again,” she flared at him. “He’s not mad! He’ll be fine. I just have to get him further away from here.” She could still feel it, still taste it on her tongue. Panic hovered just behind her words. She had to reach him. “It’s spreading Harlan. You see it too. You know it’s true. It will get you too. It will take you too,” she warned him. “Help me and I won’t let it. Help me…

“I’m scared.” He skulked from her. His arms shook. He wouldn’t raise his head. Wouldn’t face her. She was afraid he would run and leave her there alone. Conrad was too heavy. She couldn’t drag him forever and he wasn’t waking up.

“I understand Harlan. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said softly. “I’m scared too. But I need your help. Please.” He glanced at her. “Please Harlan! You’ll die if you stay here. We’ll all die.” He heard her. She wouldn’t look away. “Lead us around the Darkening and I swear I’ll do whatever I must to cure you. I know what to do. I promise. I know what you need. Trust me.”

“I used to be a good man,” he said. “I was. I was,” he started to cry, gulping the air and pounding his temple with his fist.

“You’re still a good man. It’s not you. It’s not your fault. Please.” She was losing strength and her back was butted against a wall of shrubs. She couldn’t drag Conrad any further.

“Promise you won’t leave me? Promise?” Harlan sobbed, still hesitating, still scared.

“I promise, Harlan. I do,” Tamara replied. “Please!”

He walked to them, then bent over. With one arm he easily lifted Conrad and slung him over his shoulder. “Follow me.” He turned his back on the Darkening and so did she. They reached a line of trees and he pushed against them. The branches flew back and he stepped through.

“We can think in here,” he said. They were in a small clearing surrounded by closely grown evergreens. “These trees still have power. It’s safe. This whole forest used to feel this way… before the change,” he grimaced.

“What do we need to think about? We have to get out of here. I want to take him back to the Tower. You agreed!” Why did he lead her here? What was he doing now?

“It’s not that simple. Look at him. Look at his eyes,” Harlan laid him down on a bed of pine needles. “He can’t leave like this. He’ll bring it with him. It’s inside of him. I told you. You didn’t listen. I told you,” he repeated.

“What do you mean?” she was horrified. She spun on him and raised her fist before her. “You said you would help,” she cried, her face twisting with frustration.

“He’s been touched. He’ll go mad. Let him die. It’s better. I know. It’s better,” he paused, eyes glassy. “Give him the nuts. They’ll help him forget.”

“They’ll kill him,” Tamara snarled.

“Better if he dies from them. Better if I die too…”

“Never,” she lurched. “I’ll never let him die. How could you say such a thing?” She leapt at him and pounded on his chest. He grabbed her hands and forced them down.

“You do something then,” he shouted, fending off her blows. “You went in there and came out. You have power. Go…”

“Me? What can I …” She stopped talking. The shard. It had helped her before. She stuck her hand in the pocket of her cape. Her fingertips touched it and her body lit up. Yes!

Tamara shuddered, her hand on Conrad’s flesh. His head jerked from side to side and his face convulsed. He shrieked, but she didn’t hear him. The air burst apart, the trees, the ground, her hands all dripped with power. She held his head between them.

A shadow rose around him, shrouded him, vicious and menacing, and his features blurred. She was losing him. Everything blended together in the Darkening. It all lost its shape, its substance. It was taking him. Ruin. Sadness. Loss. Tears flowed from her eyes.

She pressed the shard against his forehead, pushing it through the heavy air. “No! You can’t have him.” She couldn’t tell if she screamed it or if she thought it. It didn’t matter. The shadow darkened and she swayed. It pulled at her, tore at her throat and her face, tried to get inside of her mouth. Her legs crumbled and she was down on her knees, but the shard still lay against his skin. Blood trickled down her arm, hot and sticky. Light bounced off of the trees everywhere, emanating from her face, from her abdomen.

The shadow around his body glowed brighter and throbbed, pulsated like it was breathing. So bright, yet so dark… death dark. She squinted and heat rose up around them, scorching heat, rock-melting heat. An explosion! Loud. Deafening. Pain followed. Her eardrums were bruised, battered. Fresh blood dripped from them. Tamara raised her other hand and pressed the shard harder into him, with all her weight. She lay down on top of it and used her body’s bulk to keep it in place. Conrad was behind the shadow. But he was there still. “Conrad!” she screamed. Her body lit up like a star.

The shroud around him cracked. Lines spread all over its surface, streaking it from end to end. Tamara lay against it, unwilling to budge. It started to shatter, to come apart. She closed her eyes and imagined his face.

A million tiny fragments cluttered the air, shooting out in all directions, covering everything in a thin layer of blackened ash. Conrad opened his eyes.