Mystic Pursuit, page 5
Lakos re-mounted his horse, brought his heels abruptly against its sides, and with a shout, headed off toward the forest entrance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Venturing past the clusters of apprehended Ohlinn, Lakos felt an almost surreal wave of pride well up within him. The dream he had stoked since that dreadful night thirty years ago was finally on the verge of becoming reality. While he’d always envisioned the events unfolding as a simple act of brutal, savage aggression, there was a certain elegance to using the mystics’ own powers against them. Gris Hallis was right. Lakos could already feel his power building, feeding off of the despicable mystics all around him. He rejoiced at the sight of every anguished, frightened Ohlinn civilian he rode past. Parents torn from their children, families, and friends. A society in ruin. Soon, all mystics would feel his pain. He smiled, riding on toward the other end of the plain.
When Lakos finally arrived to the site of the apprehended escapee, he was disappointed by what he saw. He had envisioned some fierce, defiant Ohlinn warrior, if there was such a thing, ranting about justice and freedom. On the other hand, should the rumors of an interfering human turn out to be true, Lakos would have most likely come upon an overzealous, mystic sympathizer, not unlike poor Hajassin. A poor, misguided fool, either pleading for compassion or ready to die a martyr for his so-called cause. Lakos’s still-unsheathed sword seemed to beg for such a sight, a chance to lash out and draw blood through his own hand and not through the emotionally devoid actions of hypnotized beasts. The bloody, savage battle he had envisioned those countless nights before.
What he saw instead was as starkly opposed to either scenario as one could imagine. Huddled on the muddy ground were two figures, embracing each other tightly as an aged Ohlinn stood nearby, seeming to insinuate himself between them and the bloodshed around them.
Lakos left his fleet horse and approached the prisoners. He raised his mighty sword above his head. “Insurgent, show yourself!”
Dozens of other Ohlinn captives watched the scene unfolding, a sea of bright blue eyes looking on, mouths agape in anticipation and dread.
Surveying his audience, mystic captives and loyal human soldiers alike, Lakos seized the opportunity. “I am Lakos, Lord and ruler of this world. There is word of a human in your midst. A traitor to his kind. If this is so, I urge the rest of you to reveal him to me so that he may be dealt with. By sacrificing him, you will be assuring your own safety, you have my word. But whether human or Ohlinn, I ask the one among you who dared defy me to step forward lest every Ohlinn before me suffer the price of your defiance. Now I repeat—insurgent, show yourself!”
Hearing Lakos’s words, Thayliss attempted to push away from Leysiia’s desperate embrace, but could not. Her beautiful eyes, filled with tears, begged him to remain close.
“Thayliss—please, no,” she cried softly in his ear.
Leonorryn, standing beside the huddled couple, stepped forward. “I am your insurgent. You have my word, there are no humans among us. These two are innocents. They want none of this war. But I know of your maniacal quest. A villain, born from the ashes of that seaside tragedy so long ago. I pity you for the pain you must have known and the still greater pain you seek to create.” His eyes were blue granite, unfazed and unwavering. “But I see your future, and it is wrought with failure and death.”
Lakos laughed richly as he neared the old Ohlinn, his arms limp by his sides, his long, steel blade dragging along the ground behind him. “Ah, the Ohlinn clairvoyance. Or, rather, mind control. Trading physical capability for parlor tricks, lies, and illusion. However, I do grant you this—I see death in my future as well.” His grasp grew firm upon his sword, swinging it back in front of his body as he moved slowly toward his target.
Thayliss fought to break from his embrace with Leysiia but there was now a greater force keeping him still. He was paralyzed—completely unable to move. Panicked, he looked at his one great love, whose slender, delicate hands pulsed with a soft, white light as they rested on Thayliss’s immobile legs.
“Leysiia,” he whispered breathlessly, “I must stop him! I must save your father!”
“I’m sorry, my love,” she whispered. “This is the way it must be.”
Lakos laughed. “Old mystic, I must admit—there is much to admire in you. Relinquishing what little remains of your own cursed life to save two of your shamelessly cowering brethren. You know, that may be one of the bravest acts I’ve witnessed from your cowardly, contemptible kind.” He held his sword up high above his head, his wild eyes aglow. “Unfortunately, you’re just too damned old to be of any use to me.”
He lashed his sword across the old mystic’s chest, striking him down and killing him instantly.
He then turned toward the two figures kneeling upon the ground, interwoven tightly together.
Within their embrace, both Thayliss and Leysiia wept. “Leysiia,” pleaded Thayliss, “you must release me or he’ll kill us both.”
Leysiia gave Thayliss one final, desperate kiss and relented. “Very well.”
But before her hands left his thigh, she sent an even brighter wave of white energy surging throughout his body, forcing the two captives apart. The impact threw Thayliss five strides from where he’d knelt and shook him deeply.
When his wits returned, he saw Leysiia lying in a heap before Lakos’s menacing figure.
“No!” shouted Thayliss, attempting awkwardly to lunge toward him as the sensation gradually returned to his body. Before he could take another step, he was held back by several armed guards who stood behind him. He was powerless.
Thayliss cried in protest as Lakos turned the fallen Leysiia onto her back with his steel-shielded boot. As he did so, Thayliss noticed that Leysiia had changed. Her hair, once brilliant black with its Ohlinn streak of gray, was now a lusterless, uniform brown. Lying supine on the muddy ground, she slowly opened her eyes and turned her head weakly to Thayliss. Her eyes were still blue, but they now seemed lifeless, dull… human.
“I love you,” she said, looking only at Thayliss as Lakos brought his bloodied sword down upon her.
Thayliss felt his heart tear from his body. He was an empty vessel, devoid of emotion or thought. The pure agony of seeing the love of his life slain was as boundless as it was merciless. He could only hope that he was next.
“Well then,” said Lakos, clearly savoring the moment. “It appears that the old spirit-mystic deceived me. It seems that humans and mystics can co-exist peacefully after all. Such a pity.” He wiped his sword clean against Thayliss’s leg.
Thayliss’s knees gave way but his body remained upright, held tight in the unrelenting grip of the soldiers behind him.
“Go ahead. I beg you. Do it. No man could ever cause another more pain than you’ve already given me. Now please, show me compassion and kill me,” he pleaded.
Lakos laughed. “How truly sad. Merely associating yourself with this human female does not make you any more a man than any of your cowering cohorts around us.” He leaned close to his distraught prisoner, holding his sword vertically between Thayliss’s face and his own. “I’m afraid that you are not one of us.”
Thayliss slowly raised his head and gazed into the sword. He recoiled in shock as reflected back in the cold steel were the sapphire eyes and gray-streaked hair of an Ohlinn. His breath left him.
Lakos paused, infatuated with running his thumb along the length of his sword. “Still, I must say Ohlinn, there is something intriguing about you.” He leaned in close, his cheek nearly against Thayliss’s ear, and whispered, “You know my story, so now let me tell you yours. You tried to escape, which takes bravery and strength uncommon to your people. You could have then vanished back into the trees like so many of your cowardly brothers, but instead returned to your love, no doubt well aware that doing so would seal your fate. Strength, bravery, loyalty. Without fear of death. I may have use for you. You’ll need to be broken first, of course, but there will be plenty of time for that. Or, as you so passionately plead for death, perhaps keeping you alive is no more than a means with which to serve my own devious nature, as there would doubtless be more pleasure in watching you suffer than in watching you die. Either way, you’re mine now.”
Lakos brought his sword’s tarnished ivory hilt up before striking Thayliss flush against the temple, dropping him to the muddy ground, unconscious.
CHAPTER NINE
By the time he regained consciousness, Thayliss had no idea how much time had passed or where he was. The surface he was lying on jostled and bumped incessantly, sending pangs of discomfort through his aching head. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around. The bright, stark daylight showed no mercy, making him once again seek comfort in the dark crook of his arm.
“Alas, our fair prince awakes,” a voice called out, its tone rich with sarcasm.
Thayliss once again struggled to open his eyes, fighting against the brightness until the pain gradually subsided. The brilliant light of day was cut into a series of vertical segments, split between columns of shimmering metal bars. He craned his neck to see that the bars wrapped completely around him on all sides. He was in some form of mobile prison.
“Tell us, Ohlinn, how you plan to save us from this predicament,” the voice continued contemptuously.
“What?” Thayliss slowly rose, barely getting to his feet when the unstable flooring once again shook violently, knocking him against the bars and back to the floor.
When he recovered, Thayliss grasped one of the bars behind him and pulled himself to his feet. Looking around the cell, he saw seven figures surrounding him, all wearing expressions ranging from despondency to rage as they sat staring back. An eighth figure, smaller than the others, huddled in a far corner alone.
Staring into the eyes of the seven Ohlinn brought two images surging back to Thayliss’s consciousness. The first fleeting thought was that he, too, had somehow become one of them, if only on the outside. That swiftly led to the second, infinitely more anguished memory of his dear Leysiia. He felt his knees weaken and stomach drop, and grasped the bar all the tighter to remain upright.
The pain was too much to bear. Why had the human—Lakos—not just taken his life as well? He didn’t know where he was now being taken, and he didn’t care. His life had ended back on that rain-soaked field when the only love and only family he had ever known were mercilessly taken from him.
“Leonorryn was the last of the Ohlinn elders,” another spirit-mystic spoke. “The final great leader of our kind. Following the tragedy on the island of Tollos years ago, that torch was passed to him. And because of your weakness, that torch has been forever extinguished. You allowed him to be taken from this world. His blood is on your hands.”
Thayliss was outraged. “Leonorryn was like a father to me! I loved him!” Tears flowed from his sapphire eyes. “I tried, the spirits know that I tried! But I could not stop it!”
The Ohlinn seated around him could not be swayed.
“Speak not of the spirits, human, for they neither listen nor speak to you,” voiced another. “Through some dark illusion, you wear the face of the Ohlinn, though it is but a shell. A mockery of the sacred order that so trustingly embraced you. Behind that mask is the soul of a human, like all others. Wrought with deceit, cowardice, and greed.”
Still another Ohlinn spoke, this one with eyes bearing the faintest hint of compassion. “Thayliss, my boy,” he said, “this night, and undoubtedly many to follow, are surely of a most regrettable nature. I knew Leonorryn well, as I did his fair Leysiia. They were cherished in this world, and most assuredly will be in the next. Their loss pains us all, as does a tree without its roots.” His expression grew firm. “But your fate will henceforth deviate from that of the Ohlinn. You are stricken from our brotherhood, no matter the face you wear. Instinct is ingrained and unchanging. Regrettable though this may be, it is the manner of all nature. We Ohlinn will patiently await our fate with quiet dignity. But you, a human, cowered selfishly while the great Ohlinn leader who pitied you, took you in and raised you as his own, fell victim to one of your own kind. You merely acted within the confines of your nature. A primitive instinct toward personal survival above everything else. And everyone else.”
“I lost my life last night!” shouted Thayliss in desperation, striking the metal bar beside him with his clenched fist. He stared blindly at the ragged leather canopy above, tears stinging his eyes.
He could not betray Leysiia’s memory by divulging her mystical intervention during their anguished, final embrace. Assuming that they would even believe the truth. The fact that they seemed unaware that such a thing could be achieved suggested to Thayliss that Leysiia had somehow divined some secret process known only to a select few. Like her father. All the same, it pained Thayliss that he could not tell the Ohlinn how he tried, how he ached to intervene. To defend Leonorryn. To protect Leysiia, and the whole of the Ohlinn brotherhood. He would have died for them last night, knowing that it would have made no difference. That Lakos and his army would have taken the Ohlinn with or without his resistance. But nonetheless, he would have done it, for it was all he had to give.
But none of that mattered now. As was written in the ancient Ohlinn texts, every moment gone by, every word spoken, every experience, was another mark, chiseled into the great stone of the past. Readable by all, changeable by none, and growing ever longer.
Thayliss pushed off from the bar behind him, struggling to retain his balance as he staggered past the spiteful glares of the Ohlinn and toward the other side of the cage. Once there, he took hold of two sun-heated, metal bars and looked out at the scrolling horizon.
The blazing yellow sun shone brilliantly in a cloudless sky. The plains by the Valla Forest were replaced by terrain unfamiliar to Thayliss. A sea of small, jagged rocks layered the ground, seeming to burst into puffs of gray smoke as the wheels of the countless wagons surrounding him barreled forth. In the distance, a herd of malnourished, long-legged ungulates swarmed between and around sparse thickets of thornberry trees.
Thayliss had never before seen such creatures, but they called to mind a memory of being served a peculiar meat stew during an Ohlinn light season festival. As the Ohlinn rarely consumed meat, his young eyes had lit up at the sight. But before he could lunge into the exotic meal, Leonorryn, seated to his left as always, had stopped him.
“Now, Thayliss,” he had said, in his composed, paternal voice. “This meal, as all others, must be respected. This animal is not a mere novelty. It was a living, breathing entity, from a faraway land.”
Leysiia, seated to the right of her father and herself but a child at the time, snickered.
Leonorryn calmly turned to the girl. “Very well, ni-Leysiia, seeing that you fancy yourself an expert on the matter, please inform Thayliss of the meal we have before us.”
Without hesitation, and with much pleasure, Leysiia had told the tale of a faraway deer, living off thornberries and sparse water pools rich with volcanic minerals. She went on at some length, speaking of the fearsome, grotesque ash trackers that typically preyed upon the deer. Nearly twice the height of a fully-grown Ohlinn, the ash trackers were said to be giant, trolllike beings, with legs thick as tree trunks and a ghostly white complexion dotted with tufts of thick, wiry hair. So vivid was her description, in fact, that Leonorryn saw fit to conclude the lesson and begin the meal before all parties involved lost their appetite. After which, Leysiia peered across at Thayliss with a mischievous, self-satisfied smirk.
The prison cart rattled especially violently as the terrain roughened, snapping Thayliss from his daydream. The sweetness of the memory became embittered by the painful reality that she was gone. They both were gone. His whole world, gone. Now but a memory, chiseled in stone.
As he stared through the bars, fighting to retain his composure, he felt a slight but aggressive tugging on his pant leg. He glanced down to his side.
A weary Lii-jit life-mystic anxiously rocked beside him, looking up as he leaned against the bars. “In a bad way, I see? You’re in a bad way. I know it.” His head darted quickly toward the group of Ohlinn seated at the other end of the cage, and then back to Thayliss. “But there’s a secret. I have a secret. Do you want to know it?” he asked, his eyes fluttering eagerly.
CHAPTER TEN
Lakos surveyed the brutal landscape before him—the ground cover of small rocks and pebbles growing deeper and the hot, dry winds more searing as they approached their destination.
“The great Bray Ridge,” he muttered as his fatigued fleet horse valiantly negotiated the difficult ground.
Riding beside him atop his rock leopard, Gris Hallis nodded. “Your new home, my lord.”
The massive volcanic crater up ahead jutted out from the otherwise flat, barren terrain, its high, jagged rim seeming to pierce the sky. As they neared the glistening, gray mountain, its sheer size blocked out half the sun as well as much of the horizon ahead. The caravan rode under its colossal shadow for an eternity, the coolness of shade granting the weary travelers a welcome respite from the scorching heat.
The sight of the great mythic volcano sent a shiver down Lakos’s spine. While he’d pictured exacting his revenge upon the mystics countless times before, not once did he fathom riding up to the Inner Realm, his future palace.
Lakos gazed upon the glory of the great Bray Ridge, enthralled. True to the legend, the sacred tower was gone. But the sheer wall of rock itself seemed to radiate a solemn majesty.
Nearing the great ridge, Lakos felt the sparkling wall of stone begin calling out to him, urging him forward. The closer he drew, the stronger the sensation. He knew, beyond reproach, that this was his quest. His kingdom. That he was the chosen one.
