The Shattered Trident, page 2
part #4 of The Endarian Prophecy Series
“This will have to do,” said Kaleal, his low voice rumbling above the sound of the crackling fire.
Kragan watched in fascination as yellow tree sap bubbled into the palm of Kaleal’s left hand. Extending a claw, he sliced a two-inch piece of the brown strand, made a slit in the sap, and carefully embedded the hair within. Pulling upon the energy he drew from the souls trapped within his magical throne, Kaleal concentrated. Kragan saw the sap flow, closing around the strand and hardening into a transparent amber pendant that had a hole at one end to allow it to be strung on a necklace.
Setting the newly fashioned pendant aside, Kaleal set to work creating four others, each unique in shape. But the longest piece of Carol’s hair went into an amber that measured a handspan in length. Kragan felt Kaleal’s excitement grow, as did his own, knowing as he did that he would wear the largest of these warded pendants into battle against Carol. He would reserve the other four for the most important of his army’s magic wielders.
Having completed his spellwork, Kaleal rose from his throne, strode to the stairway, and climbed back into the natural world.
Kragan opened his eyes, his lungs expelling an involuntary gasp of relief that Kaleal had released control of this body, honoring their arrangement.
He stared down at the five amber pendants in his right hand, feeling their soft glow spread into the golden skin of his palm. They tingled, causing his clawed fingernails to extend. Kragan rose and walked outside to stare into the gathering twilight.
Summoning Dalg, an Earth elemental he favored, Kragan began to transform the cavern he had created. As the stone and detritus flowed, the cliff wall re-formed, restoring the original landscape. As he turned to look at the smattering of fires in the valley below, his gaze shifted toward the moonlit white peaks that sheltered Endar Pass. If he could have teleported this horde to his objective and begun the battle tonight, he would have. But to someone who had survived millennia, the extra eight or nine days needed to march his army to the citadel were nothing more than the buzzing of a gnat in his ear.
He sniffed the night breeze. The smoke from his army’s campfires filled his nostrils, pulling forth a vision of Carol Rafel’s battered form impaled on a pike as the Endarian palace burned and crumbled.
A snarl curled his lips, saliva dripping from his inch-long fangs. Before he let his prophesied nemesis die, Kragan would savor the taste of blood.
2
Areana’s Vale
YOR 415, Late Spring
Lorness Carol Rafel pulled her dapple-gray mare Storm to a halt on a ridgetop amidst a clatter of hooves from the horses of her three companions. She sat in the saddle a half league to the west of the narrow gorge that formed the only entrance to her home within the cliff-lined valley of Areana’s Vale. The other riders accompanying her stopped nearby. To her left rode Carol’s Endarian half sister, Kim, and Kim’s hawk-faced human husband, John. Carol’s husband, Arn, the notorious assassin whom the people of Tal had nicknamed Blade, sat astride his ugly horse just to her right. Having been married for only two days, Arn refused to stray far from Carol’s side.
In the aftermath of the battle for Areana’s Vale, Carol found herself in the disconcerting position of being simultaneously respected and feared by the people she had helped save. Due to the way she had placed herself on the high pinnacle overlooking the uppermost of High Lord Rafel’s three forts, the magic she wielded had been visible to the civilians those walls protected.
Carol didn’t feel like a hero. She had only done what was necessary in order to prevent every man, woman, and child in the vale from being slaughtered, raped, or enslaved.
Her situation was not as difficult as Alan’s. Her brother’s reputation had grown to epic proportions based upon his exploits in leading the women of the walled fortress of Val’Dep to fend off thousands of attacking vorg warriors. The trouble with reputations was that they tended to be double edged. Some had spread the rumor that Alan was the legendary Chosen of the Dread Lord, destined to attract the greatest warriors who had ever lived but cursed to have nine out of every ten who fought alongside him die in battle. The fact that this was utter nonsense didn’t prevent the people from believing the tale. Thus most of Rafel’s warriors feared to be placed under Alan’s command.
Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Carol scanned the western horizon. As she stared out at the foothills that gradually gave way to the Great Valley many leagues to the west, she felt the cold breeze whip her long brown hair out behind her. She shivered despite the warm buckskin pants and brown leather jacket she wore.
Suddenly Kim rose in her stirrups and pointed.
“Look there,” Kim said. “It is as I thought. Do you see it?”
Carol redirected her gaze farther north. At first she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then the farthest hill began to darken as a gray mist crawled over it, billowing forward at unnatural speed.
“That’s a time-mist,” said Kim. “From its shade, it’s an accelerating rychly mist. The slowing pomaly mists are much lighter. My brother, Galad, approaches. My sense of his nearness grows with each moment.”
Carol turned to look at Kim, whose mocha skin, brunette hair, and six-foot stature emphasized her half-human nature when she was compared to the taller, ebony-skinned people of pure Endarian blood. Concern etched itself on Kim’s features, and the feeling infected Carol.
“Whoever is coming,” said Arn, his hand moving to the haft of the black knife he had named Slaken, “is in a hurry.”
Carol watched Kim tilt her head in concentration. That look reminded her of when Kim had linked their minds together, the half sisters sharing a lifetime of memories as they combined their magical abilities to save a possessed little girl’s life.
Carol gently reached out to touch Kim’s thoughts, following Kim’s tenuous connection with her brother and sensing the aura of desperation that surrounded Galad. The idea to use her mind magic to create a direct psychic link to Galad occurred to her but was not possible in this case. Only an Endarian family bond or mystic abilities that branched from time magic could penetrate a time-mist boundary. Since both of Carol’s magics, the mental control of elementals and the manipulation of animals or people, were branches of mind magic, penetrating the mist was out of the question.
So she settled back in her saddle and summoned Putimas, forcing the air elemental to create a shimmering plasma shield around the waiting group of riders. Kim’s startled glance contained a trace of anger that Carol would erect such a shield in advance of her brother’s arrival.
Carol leaned in her saddle to place a hand on Kim’s arm, speaking words of reassurance.
“It’s not Galad who concerns me. His haste may mean that he’s being pursued. If so, we should be ready to take action.”
Kim’s expression softened, and she redirected her attention toward the approaching mist. And as Carol stared at the billowing fog that raced across the leagues that separated them, the biting breeze seemed to grow colder.
Prince Galad strode into the Great Forest. His color-shifting uniform picked up the tints and textures of his surroundings as he moved. As he passed from sunlight into the shadows of trees that rose to touch the heavens, the time-mists that he channeled wreathed the corridor through which he traveled. Whereas he would have normally stopped to admire such arboreal splendor, the length of his journey and the depth of his need drove him to hurry forward.
He had made the long trek southward from Endar Pass within a rychly mist, while also leaving a balancing pomaly fog trailing behind. Many weeks had passed within the rychly zone, but in the normal world, only a couple of days had gone by.
His sense of his sister grew stronger as he advanced. Princess Kimber was near, indicating that he was approaching his ultimate objective. His mother, Queen Elan, had set him upon the desperate mission to seek out Kimber’s father, the human high lord who had requested Elan’s aid during the Vorg War three decades ago. This time it would be Elan seeking a boon from High Lord Rafel and Carol, his human daughter, the magic wielder foretold within the ancient Scroll of Landrel.
The thought of his mother brought forth the memory of the conflict that had almost cost him her love. Throughout his boyhood, his mother had pushed him into the study of time-shaping, having identified within her son an exceptional ability to channel the time-mists. But Galad had wanted only to become a mist warrior.
The mist warriors fought within the murky tendrils of fog that the time-shapers sent forth to disrupt and confuse attacking armies. Operating in the mists was a difficult skill to acquire and being such a warrior had its costs. Fighting within the fogs of time posed tremendous challenges, since a person could see or interact with others only when time moved at the same pace for all parties. It was easy to become disoriented within the mists, moving from a tactically advantageous region into one where you were at a disadvantage—one of the reasons so few elite mist warriors existed.
The time-mists were of two types, rychly and pomaly, two ancient terms from the long-gone era of Landrel. The passage of time slowed within the pomaly mists and accelerated in the rychly mists, each balancing the other. Passing from a slower mist into one within which time moved faster was like fighting your way out of thick mud. The reverse was true as one exited a rychly mist, stepping into a slower zone, pressing oneself into mud instead of out of it. If the time difference between mists was too great, passage between them became impossible. Thus any time-shaper who supported mist warriors created complicated flows that contained relatively gentle gradients. Learning to recognize those gradients took a long time to master. And because the time-mist warriors preferred to traverse the rychly mists, where time passed more quickly, they aged at an accelerated rate . . . another reason for the scarcity of the special warriors.
So when Galad had come of age, he’d chosen to abandon the path his mother had set for him in order to live the life he craved, eventually rising to command an elite mist warrior brigade of his own. Weeks ago, he had led that brigade to its destruction against Kragan’s army. Although Elan had not blamed him for that defeat, Galad had not been so lenient with himself. This mission offered him the opportunity to give his people a chance and, perhaps, to earn redemption.
For hours he traversed the mighty forest, his sensitive nose taking in the tang of the giant evergreens as his feet felt the spring of the needles that covered the ground. The sense of his sister pulled him forward. When Galad reached the end of the woods, he crested a rocky ridge and paused to step through the lighter-colored mist where his rychly zones ended.
As he stepped forward, pressing himself through the numerous transitions that would take him gradually from a zone where time passed much faster to the natural state of the world, he forced himself to exercise the caution such transitions required. Each time he stepped into a new mist, that area cleared as the one he had left behind fogged over. Feeling the pressure of the final passage, he saw the vast expanse of rocky hills that led upward toward the snowcapped Glacier Mountains to the east. He gazed upon a group of four riders atop a ridge a quarter league ahead. When he focused his gaze he noticed a shimmering in the air around them, reminding him of a desert mirage.
Even at this distance he recognized Kimber; her husband, John; and Blade. That could only mean that the woman who sat on her gray mount beside Blade was Lorness Carol Rafel. Quickening his step to match his racing pulse, Galad stretched his legs into an easy run that carried him up the slope toward the spot where the riders waited, letting the mists he had channeled dissipate behind him. Soon he would have to weave those mists in vastly greater amounts.
Carol marveled at the tall Endarian running up the hillside toward them, his waist-length black hair flowing out behind him as his clothing shifted colors, making it difficult to distinguish his body from the terrain and foliage he moved through. But his elegant saber glinted in the sunlight. The dark fog behind him dissipated as he approached the companions.
With a gasp Kim dismounted and raced forward as Carol dismissed Putimas, erasing the shield the elemental had created. When John dismounted to follow Kim, so did Carol and Arn, leaving their horses to stand as if the dropped reins tied each of them to a rail. On the hillside below, Galad swept Kim up in an embrace that lifted her from the ground as her arms encircled his neck. The look of joy that transformed Galad’s stern face spread a warm glow through Carol’s chest.
John halted several paces from the siblings. Carol and Arn stopped beside him, allowing Kim and Galad the space their reunion deserved. When Galad released his sister and stepped back, his face settled into the stern, noble countenance that seemed its natural state. He walked forward to clasp hands with John and Arn, his manner one of cool acceptance rather than warm regard. Considering that John and Arn had spent a winter in Endar Pass, where Queen Elan had presided over and blessed John’s marriage to Princess Kimber, Galad’s coolness to these two surprised Carol.
Galad shifted his gaze to her, astonishing her when he took her hand. His eyes locked with hers, filling her with a trepidation that chilled her soul.
“Lorness Carol, on behalf of Queen Elan of Endar, I exhort you to return the favor that my mother granted your father during the Vorg War. I kneel to beseech an audience with High Lord Rafel that I may present my mother’s plea. She requests an alliance against Kragan the thaumaturge and his vorg army that even now approaches Endar Pass. I ask this boon in the name of my sister, Princess Kimber, Queen Elan and High Lord Rafel’s daughter. For she is your sister, just as she is mine.”
Galad’s words left Carol momentarily speechless. Then she placed her right hand on his shoulder.
“Please, Galad,” she said, “dispense with the formality. Call me Carol.”
“Very well. Much as I wish we had time for pleasantries, I need to meet with your father immediately.”
The Endarian’s anxiety radiated from him in waves such that Carol spun toward her mare, swinging into the saddle, as did her companions. Picking up a trot, she led the way down the eastern side of the hill, noting that Galad with his loping stride had no trouble keeping pace with the horses. Having seen the grace with which Kim ran, Carol was not surprised by the fleetness of her much taller brother.
She rode up beside Arn and leaned over in the saddle to touch his arm.
“Please ride ahead and inform my father of Galad’s request for an urgent meeting.”
Arn glanced at her, nodded, and urged Ax into a run. As she watched his black form race toward Areana’s Vale to inform the high lord and Earl Coldain of Prince Galad’s arrival, Carol felt a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.
The beat of Ax’s hooves on the stony ground, the chill air rushing through his curly brown hair, and the sight of the towering cliffs that formed the sides of the narrow gorge that guarded the entrance to Areana’s Vale sent a thrill of anticipation through Arn. Only a week had passed since the combined might of Rafel’s legion, the horse warriors of Val’Dep, and the freshly arrived army of Tal had destroyed the foul horde of the priesthood known as the protectors. During those few days Arn had attended the funeral of his friend Ty, witnessed Earl Coldain swear fealty to Rafel, and watched as the two leaders prepared their combined legion to rain vengeance on Kragan, the magic wielder responsible for the destruction of the kingdom of Tal and the deaths of thousands who had perished within this gorge. And with the high lord’s blessing, Arn had married the love of his life, the most forceful woman he had ever known, Carol Rafel. A league into that narrow rift, he saw the still-smoking remains of the westernmost of Rafel’s three forts and slowed Ax to a trot. The acrid smell of smoke combined with the lingering odors of the many who had died wrinkled his nose and stung his eyes. A hundred soldiers stood guard as others worked to clear away the debris, loading it onto wagons pulled by teams of oxen. With a nod the captain of the guard waved Arn through. Thus the assassin passed through the wreckage of the lower two forts and across the drawbridge that led into Rafel’s partially intact upper fortress.
He glanced up at the pinnacle of rock that had long ago separated itself from the sheer cliffs that formed the opening into the broad valley of Areana’s Vale. Arn halted Ax as a storm of emotions elevated his pulse. A week ago, Carol, supported by Kim’s life-shifting magic, had stood fast atop that high perch as she contested against the hundreds of magic-wielding priests who sought to pull her down as battle raged below.
A thickness in Arn’s throat caused him to swallow hard. Arn had not been here to support his wife during that awful struggle. Rafel had sent him out from the vale on a mission to infiltrate the army of the protectors and use his assassin’s skills to kill as many of the foul priests as possible, reducing the number of wielders who could challenge Carol. But in response to the tug of his intuitive sense, Arn had abandoned the task his adoptive father had set him upon and thus abandoned his beloved to fend for herself.
If not for the self-sacrifice of Ty in blocking the trail that led to the summit of the pinnacle atop which Carol had stood, she would not have lived for Arn’s return. But the bodies Ty sundered on that narrow path had cemented his status among the horse warriors of Val’Dep. Having previously fought alongside Ty, they had dubbed the bare-chested ax-master Dar Khan, the Dread Lord, prophesied to return from the land of the dead to select the man who would become the warrior known as the Chosen.
Arn cared little for the myth. What mattered was that his friend had given his life so that Carol might live on. And in doing so, Ty had indirectly saved Arn’s life as well.
The sight of Captain Hanibal, his red hair whipping about his shoulders in the swirling breeze, pulled Arn from his reverie. The captain shouted orders to a group of soldiers working to restore the upper fort and then, catching sight of Arn, turned to meet him.
