Winter Warrior (Song of the Aura, Book Two) (28 page)

   
Night came, and the air grew cool and windy. The Inkwell’s enchanted chill did not reach far enough to freeze the rain that came early the next morning, cooling the parched land.

   
Just as the sun peeked over the edge of the world… the boy awoke.

~

   
Gramling raised his head groggily, a cool wind massaging his scorched shoulders and a light wetness pattering on his face. Where in all heaven and earth was he?

   
He tried to push himself up with both hands, and fell back on his stomach again. Blast. His body felt weak as a broken, waterlogged branch, snapped from the tree before its time. He decided to wait, listen, and hope for his strength to return. His thoughts were so scattered he wasn’t sure what had happened to him or why he was here… wherever
here
was.

   
The water running across the smooth rock and under his head felt soothing. It cooled the burning demons in his skull…

   
No. No, it couldn’t have all happened… Not that way…

   
The memories came flooding back to haunt him. He had failed again, and almost gone to a fate worse than death. He immediately repented the thought about demons: the real ones had been too horrifying to compare to a headache.

   
No, no, NO! This couldn’t have happened. He had failed at the old Arches, and been pierced in the shoulder with the red-hot bolt of some strange, fantastic weapon. His draik had been killed, and he had been forced to transport himself away, back to his falconhorse; an act that had cost him most of the dark energy he needed to Pit Stride.

   
But the last failure had been the worst. He could not, would not speak of it. The horror, the utter wretchedness he had felt when he realized he was too weak to control the entity he had awoken at the bottom of the sea…

   
…And yet, that pitiful, weak-willed urchin had been able to defeat it. To defeat
him
, and even more impressively the power that had beaten down his mind and stolen his body.

   
And then Gribly had spared him. For that above all else, he could never be forgiven.

   
The anger and fear and helplessness nearly overwhelmed Gramling, but it gave him the strength he needed to claw his way onto his knees and stand. He tottered, slipped, and fell on one knee, bruising it. Shuddering with fury and purpose, he rose again.

   
“I will not…. be defeated… so easily…” he hissed between his teeth. With an extreme act of will, he took a step. Then another. Then another. Gaining strength. Breathing deeply. Living. Fighting to live.

   
He didn’t have the time or energy to wonder how he had gotten here, or why his enemy had let him live. In time he would solve it all, and have his revenge. For now he would walk, and walk until he had found his strength and could stride again. He would be able to contact his master, but he would refrain. Before he could show his face again, he would need solid, undeniable success. Success he intended- no, he
expected
- to have. He knew now more about his enemy than he had ever wanted to know, but it had given him ideas…

   
Now was not the time to plan. Now was the time to survive. To escape. Gramling stumbled forward across the unending expanse of gray rock and hard earth, intent only on finding some sign as to where he was or where he should go next.

   
All throughout his thoughts, the soft rain kept pouring.

   
An hour passed, and the light grew steadily with the rain. A fair summer storm was brewing, with few clouds but much water drenching Gramling’s already-soaked bare skin. What little clothes he had left were in tatters around his waist, clinging to him from the wetness. The feeling was not unpleasant, for the rain was warm and deceptively light. It was blessed relief after so many days of torment.

   
Spared for torment. That’s what he was: saved from worse than death, only to face another, more impossible task. He had repeatedly underestimated his foes and overestimated his own talent. It would not happen again. If he lived long enough to make plans for the future, they would be well-thought, diligent, and deliberate. He would weave a net of wiles that no street thief, no matter how skilled and powerful, could ever hope to evade.

   
You will be mine, urchin,
Gramling thought, savoring the taste of expected vengeance. No more gnawing old beliefs and powers. He would be daring and unexpected, and when he struck there would be no escape for the Sand Strider, the Wind Strider, or the Wave Strider. The powers of the Pit were far more potent. He would learn more than his master had taught him… more than
anyone
could teach him.

   
He knew in the bottom of his mind that he would not be returning home for a long time. Possibly never at all. But one thing he knew even more certainly was that he would never,
ever
show his face to his master again until he had succeeded without a single doubt. He would-

   
But wait… there was a rushing behind him, words on the wind that spoke of a large beast coming his way through the air, intent on meeting him… or eating him. One could never be too sure.

   
Gramling was too jaded now to expect an ally. Despite his exhaustion, he leaped to the side, rolling and springing away to avoid the vast black animal that hurtled down and landed heavily on the rocks where he’d just been.

   
It was sopping; it was bedraggled and half-dead. It was the best, most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

   
It was his black falconhorse.

   
“HA!” he yelled, swaying and almost toppling. The mount whinnied in surprise and reared back, then shot forward with a flap of its wings and put its neck under his arm before he could fall. “Yes,” he moaned weakly, “Loyal to the end. You survived, slave. I need you still.”

   
The falconhorse blew a raspberry, as if to say
You’ll die without me and you know it. I deserve more.
Fine. Gramling decided he could live with that.

   
Stepping back, he managed to stand on his own feet. “We will be equals, you and I, falconhorse. I know you have the power of speech, as do all enchanted beasts. So my first desire as an equal is this: tell me your name.”

   
The falconhorse neighed, rearing up and pawing the air madly. Almost in a scream, it yelled out in a tongue almost identical to human speech.

   
“I AM CALLED BONEDALE, MILORD! COMMAND ME, AND I WILL CARRY YOU WHEREVER YOU WISH. TO KERBUS OR HALLA ITSELF I WILL BEAR YOU! NONE WILL BE STRONG ENOUGH TO WITHSTAND US BOTH!”

   
Gramling laughed, long and loud. This was a better start than he ever could have hoped for. “Hell’s bells, Bonedale! If all falconhorses are as well spoken as you, I wonder how you were ever enslaved to humans in the first place!”

   
Bonedale did scream, then: a horse’s scream, deafeningly loud and ear-shatteringly high. Then he stood stone-still, and his red eyes glowed too brightly to look at.

   
“Aura,”
he said simply, and his voice dripped hatred- an overwhelming display of emotion in a usually unemotional animal… though Gramling now doubted Bonedale was simple enough to be classified as such. He grinned.

   
“You’ve given me the inkling of a plan. Where are we, Bonedale?”

   
“Hammerdrankdulaiin to my Air-born brethren. You would call it the Grymclaw.”

   
“Good, I suspected as much. Fly me away from here, Bonedale. We will need food and shelter until we have both regained our strength and I have replenished my power.”

   
“And then?”

   
“Then, my vengeful wingéd friend, we will hunt down an Aura.”

To Be Continued...

CAST of CHARACTERS in
SONG OF THE AURA

Allfar:
One of the legendary Aura. Not much is known of him, but he is commonly associated with Wind and Sky elements, in the old rites.
Spectansis
is his Nymphtongue name.

Argoz Greenwood:
The Cleric of Ymeer, who also succeeded Ymorio Highfast as the Dunelord of Ymeer.

Amarand:
The cleric of the Zain tribe, and master to Variand, the Zain scribe.

Aura, The:
Eleven ancient spirits sung into being by the Creator when he fashioned the world. They are the guardians of the many races inhabiting Vast and the lands beyond; however, in recent days belief in their existence has wavered. They now rarely show themselves to mortals, and only three have been reported to still frequent Vast at all.

Avtar:
A silverguard of Ymeer, who accompanies Gribly and Lauro on their journey to the Inkwell. Presumably killed in a Sea Demon attack.

Bernarl:
A Zain ship’s captain and former pirate, once an ally of the mysterious King Gram, the Lord of Rogues. Possibly the only exception to the general lacking among the Zain of a Second Form. Commonly called “Berne” by his friends and allies. By all gathered accounts, there is more to this sailor than meets the eye.

Bonedale:
A dark falconhorse, raised in the pits of Blast, currently serving the Pit Strider Gramling.

Byornleo “Byorne” Hallifar:
One of the oldest and deadliest rangers, and a friend to Old Murie. He frequented the fight pits of Ymeer, where he was known as “Longstrider.” His fighting prowess put him at the top of the pack, and in a perfect position to spy for Vastion.

Creator, The:
The God of all worlds, Who is responsible for the world of Sceptre and everything in it: Vast, Realm, Rune, Nation, and all the lands beyond.

Crutus:
A bouncer at the Old Pickpocket’s wine-shop, who also deals in the slave trade. He is the brother of Shele, a fight pit contestant.

Elia:
A Sea Nymph female of the Treele Tribe. Also a Wave Strider.

Golden One, The:
Master of Pit Striders. Possibly an escaped member of the Legion.

Gramling:
A Pit Strider with a strange resemblance to Gribly. His master, the mysterious Golden One, has tasked him with either converting or killing the young thief.

Gribly:
A street thief formerly of Ymeer. He has manifested extraordinary abilities in Sand Striding, and is rumored to be the Prophet of the Aura.