CITY OF BRIDGES

24

Trouble in the North

Far to the north of Qelay, the guard contingent escorting the three hroltahgs and the Seer’s Codex to Reenat were in the midst of setting up camp. As the shadows of the setting sun stretched across the broad plains of southern Athglenn a lone Gryphon Ryder returned.

Styx sensed the alarm of both rider and beast as they approached. After scanning their surface thoughts, he too was surprised at what had been witnessed. He waited for them to arrive so they could make their report to their young commander.

Massive wings beating down and forward to slow the rapid descent, the beast landed heavily to the side of the camp. The billowing cloud of dust, aided by a steady easterly breeze, rolled along the ground to disperse in a uncultivated field. The Ryder’s lone and premature return had spurred interest throughout the guards who gathered around, murmuring amongst themselves.

“Darga. What have you to report? Where are the others?” the young officer in charge called out as he made his way through the crowd.

Be calm. Styx sent advice and calming thoughts to the nervous Ryder.

The scout nodded as he slid of his mount and saluted his superior. “Forgive the hesitation, Captain, but I fear you will not believe my words.” He bowed his head.

“I’ve no doubt you’re more than capable of carrying out your tasks. You wouldn’t be here now otherwise. What I need from you though, is a clear and concise report.”

Darga licked his parched lips before continuing. “The Ryders patrolled to the north as ordered. When we turned to the west we encountered … something … unheard of previously. We spotted many carrion-eaters. The ground was black with them. As we approached, they dispersed. On the ground … was a whole clutch of gnashers. At least fifty of them – wiped out!”

The report was met with a stunned silence.

“I left immediately to report as the rest of the wing spread out to comb the foothills.” The scout held the reins tightly in his gloved fist. “That’s it, Captain.”

Styx sensed the young commander’s disbelief, but, true to his word, he showed no doubts.

“This surely is astounding news.” He looked around, taking in the camp, the tired guardsmen and the fact it would be dark in a short time. “At first light, we will make haste to this site and see if we can determine what transpired. Lord Styx, by your leave, we must investigate this. It will delay our arrival in the city though.”

Stress not, Captain Doran. I will journey to the scene forthwith. My senses are not hampered by a lack of light. I am not weary, and no, he added as the thought arose in the captain’s mind, for this, I will need no guards. Let Darga and his mount eat and rest for the evening. I have scanned his surface thoughts and am aware of the location. I suggest you continue directly to Reenat as planned. Without any further delay Styx rolled off into the twilight, ignoring his two sentinels who remained like silent statues.

A few less experienced guards looked nervously between his departing shadow and the two other hroltahg escorts.

Styx disappeared into the gloom almost instantly, given his small stature. He could understand their concern; even when his mind had been linked to others of his kind, it was unheard of for a large number of Gnashers to be attacked, let alone defeated completely.

Many things had changed since the incident at Qelay, but it was not a physical change, though it took time to recover from the freezing. Styx sensed his mind changing – not a common thing for Hroltahgs. It was only logical he accept the truth. He had felt an emotion. Anger. Styx was certain Leonie had some role to play with the future of all people. Her premature death could prove catastrophic and he did what was necessary to prevent that from happening.

As he travelled through the night, he reflected long and hard on his actions. One of the prophecies indicated Leonie had a role to play that may influence the future of all races here on Yarnik. Fates be damned! Her premature death had the potential to be catastrophic for his race, and he had done what was necessary to prevent that from happening.

Prophecies were a myriad of twists and turns; as certain events occur, destinies take other paths. Some foretellings fall by the wayside as other possibilities become more dominant. Did the elders foresee his actions? Did they determine the same outcome as himself… or did they have other plans – like now? Were they following other prophecies unknown to him?

Was he escorting the Codex to remove him from the greater community, or were they working to some other prophecy? Maybe they simply knew him better than himself, and anticipated what actions he would take.

Only time would tell.

By midmorning, with the sun blazing down, he arrived at a scene of carnage a few leagues from the foothills of the eastern-edge of the Central Ranges. Amongst the pools of congealed blood and feathers, the ruined bodies of many gnashers lay scattered across the dry ground; the remains of the huge, fearsome birds, with the bulk of their bodies missing. It was unlikely any survived.

A flock of carrion-eaters took to the air shrieking their objection at the intrusion to their gruesome feast. Deliberately manipulating the mind of one of them – something he would not have considered a week ago – Styx influenced its flight so he could survey the area through its eyes.

He investigated the many identical depressions found on the ground. Individually, they indicated nothing significant, but as the vulture crisscrossed the area, a pattern emerged. Towards the centre of the bloodbath, the disturbed ground revealed little; on its extremities however, things became clearer.

Several lines of these depressions led from the scene.

With a minor mental nudge, the vulture banked around to follow the trail. Behind a low hill, the number of depressions increased. Originally one large group, the attackers had split up to come in from different directions to decimate the gnashers. After which, they regrouped and moved on.

There was no doubt in his mind what this indicated. As foreseen in the oldest prophecies, the l’ithnamagri were returning. If they were out in great numbers, there would be many more deaths and only a large, powerful army would have any hope of stopping them. As far as he was aware, there was no such army. He now suspected this was why the elders summoned him here.

Following the trail, Styx began the long journey west, into and beyond the mountains. Releasing control of the carrion-eater, it let out a raucous squawk and flapped its way back to re-join the flock returning to their frenzied feeding.

*

“You’ve been quiet.” Feiron looked up from the notes he had been making all afternoon.

For a change, Leonie decided to prepare the dinner. Her inner turmoil, building up over the last few days since her memories were laid bare, got the better of her. She thought about how to answer Feiron’s question.

“Years ago, Lady Dianah formed a group where certain women became ‘the Favoured’ of the Temple of Eternix. My mother was one of those women.

“All the Favoured were taken into the sanctum, deep within the lower levels of the palace, where they were to live. A few weeks later, they were with child. If anyone knew the truth of how that came to be, there’d be a riot. This was considered a miracle – a blessing from Eternix herself – and only happened to the worthiest.”

“I’ve heard of this. It sounds like a great honour, but wasn’t the temple destroyed in a fire? I understood many people died that night.”

“They rebuilt the temple, but the sanctum below was destroyed. My mother perished, along with the other favoured.”

“A tragedy, to be sure,” Phil offered.

“I’m obviously a mix of rrell and human stock. Styx says I am unique, but surely there were others. How long have the ‘Favoured’ been around?

“No one knows for sure how, but there were miracle births. I have no knowledge of a father. Dianah somehow changed things so instead of a human child, they got something else, unique crossbreed.” She looked to Feiron. “That’s why I can heal so quickly, why I have heightened perception and reflexes.”

They listened silently as tears trickled down her face. Droplets weighed down the end of her whiskers briefly before dropping to hiss on the stones surrounding the fire.

“Now I know why I heal faster and can survive poisons. I understand why I get treated the way I do. I’m not natural. I’m an abomination to most people; similar to what you said about how people respond to the illios, I guess. The real tragedy is fire destroyed the temple and everyone I knew died, thugs caught anyone escaping.”

“How do you know this?” Feiron came over to put an ‘arm’ around her.

“Styx said part of my memory had a wall around it; something in my childhood so horrifying, my instinct for survival buried it deep.” She shrugged him off gently, moving away. “A few nights ago, to complete my mental training, he removed it.”

Silently Phil took over the cooking, but the meal was ready. Quietly, he dished it out.

“This is indeed a tragic tale,” Feiron said softly. “You should have told me and not been burdened alone.”

The closest wyvern’s heads craned over the ledges, looking down, including Slana’s and Faldo’s.

Oblivious to the silent audience, Leonie started pacing. “It is a burden for no one else to carry.”

“You have my admiration and respect for surviving without the need to seek revenge.”

“Revenge?” Leonie sat down and accepted the meal Phil presented with a wan smile. “Oh, I will be seeking revenge. If there’s a price, someone’s going to pay it in full.” She ate her food, but didn’t really taste it. “If I had known this earlier, I wouldn’t be here now – neither would Dianah. I don’t deserve any respect or admiration. I was simply ignorant.”

“How is it you survived the fire?”

“You know me. As usual, I snuck out at night and explored the city. When I saw the flames and smoke, I headed back. By then it was too late and I was caught.”

“But yet you live,” Phil said.

“Someone rescued me. A friend.”

“Jade?” Feiron guessed.

Mutely, Leonie nodded, looking at her empty plate. There was more to the tale, much more, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it. Not now, maybe not ever. She wished Styx hadn’t delved that deep. “If you don’t mind, I think it’s time to get some sleep.” With a slight nod, she walked to her alcove.

Feiron banked up the remainder of the fire then helped Phil quietly clean up.

Styx removed the barrier her mind had erected a decade ago; tossing and turning, her dark memories returned, over and over…

… it was ten years ago. She’d been out exploring the big, exciting city when she saw the smoke and flames coming from the temple; her home for eight years. Soon, the bells of several other temples were ringing to alert the city.

She tried to reach her mother, but the inferno beat her back. Wandering around in a smoky haze, she found herself in a side street by a wharf. Suddenly, a rope was flung around her neck and pulled tight. She was hauled her off her feet as she struggled for breath.

“Ere’s another,” a man with rough hands said. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

A small man on a large horse looked down at the young half-rrell with disdain. “I care not for your thoughts. Our Lord wanted any strays taken care of.”

“I’ll take care of her.” He started rubbing his hands over her body tearing at her shirt.

“You vile, despicable wretch,” the man on the horse looked down. “That is disgusting. Stop it at once!”

Swearing under his breath, the brute with the rough hands punched her on the side of her head, dazing her. He then tied the rope around her wrists and feet and dragged her to the edge of the wharf and left her. He then walked to a cart to the side of a warehouse.

She could see the dark water glinting through the gaps in the planking. When her head cleared, she looked around. Half hidden between some nearby crates were two other half-rrells, tied up just like her.

“Is that you, Pasha?” she asked one hunched deeply within a sodden cloak, in too much shock to respond. If it was Pasha – Leonie’s gaze went to the still form beside him – then that was her brother Casp. She thought she recognised his tunic.

“What’s wrong with him?” Leonie asked.

Still there was no response from the other. Leonie watched Casp for a moment, fearing the worst, but soon saw what she was hoping for – a slight movement of the chest. “At least he’s alive,” she sighed with relief.

The sound of hooves on the cobblestones made her look up. The small man turned his horse. “Get rid of them,” he called out. I believe I’ve spotted another stray.”

The cart rocked when the ruffian jumped off and hawked into the street. He walked over to a wall and faced it for a few moments. The sound of the man pissing in the gutter reached her ears, soon followed by the smell. Leonie turned her attention back to talking softly to Pasha, trying to coax her back to reality.

The footsteps got louder. Rough Hands grabbed the noose.

Instinctively she reached up to stop it from choking when he pulled on it.

With the other end of the rope, he tied it to a weighted sack. Rough hands then repeated the process with Pasha and Casp, dragging them closer and tying each one to the same bulky sack.

“Pasha,” Leonie whispered fiercely. “Wake up!”

“Shut it!” Rough hands stepped over and kicked her in the side. “She’ll wake up soon enough.” He laughed.

With a grunt, he picked it up the sack and heaved it over the side.

The line arced out, but pulled taught once the slack was taken. If Leonie hadn’t been grasping the noose, she would have choked, but the weight dragged her closer to the water with a jolt. Splinters dug into her skin. Through bleary eyes, she noticed the sack had landed on a small pontoon below. Rough hands had miscalculated how far he could throw.

Swearing, he picked her up like a rag doll and swung her into the dark water. She splashed to the surface coughing and spitting.

“That’s it, kitten,” she heard him chuckle. “Make noise and attract the crocs. We’ll see if ya get eaten or drowned first.” He then pulled out a knife and knelt by her friends, but she couldn’t see what he was doing. When he stood up he had a tail in each hand, tossing them into the water beside her. She saw the blood staining the water around her as she went under again. A huge splash nearby caught her attention. The man had thrown Pasha in and was now flinging Casp.

Leonie struggled to stay afloat, but dipped underwater several times. Try as she might to avoid it, she always sucked in water, wracking her body with coughing fits, depriving her of more air before she went under again.

Futile as it was, she tried to kick closer to her friends.

“Keep churning that bloody water,” he crowed as he climbed down a ladder to the pontoon.

Struggling in earnest, to survive one gasp at a time, she witnessed rough hands progress intermittently.

He stomped over to the sack and picked it up. Rocks tumbled out the top. One fell on his foot, causing him to curse again. He started collecting rocks.

Leonie nudged Casp, trying to get her onto her back, then she heard Pasha coughing. Leonie went under several times, and each time she took in the seawater and could barely manage a breath between the rasping coughs.

Her vision started to blur. Through her struggles she somehow managed to glimpse a dark figure silently climb down the ladder. She went under again.

He knelt to retie the sack. The figure bent down behind the chuckling man. His laugh became a gurgle. As he fell forward his mouth made a silent cry, shirt already dark with a growing circle of blood. Rough-hands toppled into the water, taking the sack with him. Moments later she felt herself pulled down into the depths by the weight.

Half an eternity later, her lungs bursting and her wrists and ankles raw from her struggles, she felt a hand grab her by the collar and pull her up. Through sheer force of will, her lungs screaming, Leonie desperately clung to the last iota of air as she felt herself rising. Her head began to throb; muscles were cramping—

With intense relief, she felt the cool air hit her face. Her breath came in ragged, heaving gasps. She still managed to inhale water, but more air than water this time. As she coughed and spluttered, Leonie became aware the pontoon was right behind her. As she twisted around, the dark figure she saw earlier took hold of her paws.

The woman then drew her blade and deftly cut the bindings and noose. “Get your breath back and get out before the crocs get you.” It was a woman’s voice. Then she disappeared in the water.

It was enough incentive to give Leonie the energy to drag herself onto the pontoon. It seemed like ages before the woman reappeared with a body.

Leonie grabbed a paw. “There’s one more—”

Suddenly the water nearby thrashed, becoming a different hue.

With an adrenalin-fuelled heave the woman surged onto the pontoon. “Don’t look!”

Too late, the red churning water was etched into her vision. Dumbly, she looked at the body beside her. Pasha?

Pasha coughed, heaving in a gasp of air.

“She’s alive!” Leonie cried as the woman cut all the bonds.

“You ok? Can you walk?” she asked.

Leonie nodded. “Yes.”

The woman stood, then gently lifted Pasha. “After you,” she nodded for Leonie to move. “We need to go.”

*

It was gloomy in the realm of the dead. Evlin knelt in the muck by a foetid pond, brushing the scum away from the surface. She saw her healed face, barely recognising it. Her eyes, now two black orbs, returned her gaze. Evlin shuddered at the memory of her meeting with Lothas; partly in horror at what had become of her, and partly with glee for the chance of vengeance.

“The powers of Opsyss are unlimited within His plane, but not out there,” Lothas had told her. “In time, your abilities will diminish and your body will revert quickly to your appearance in death. I dare say most of the living would blanch at the sight and smell of you, not to mention your mount. Keep away from crowds. Keep away from sunlight; any strong light for that matter.” He withdrew a gleaming dagger secreted within a fold of his robes. “This dagger will provide for your sustenance. When you kill someone with it, it will drain their life-force.”

“But how does that help me?”

“You must stab yourself in the heart. The life-force will then be transferred into your body. The pain of each sacrifice must be shared, for without it, without the understanding, there is no gain.”

Evlin looked uncertainly at the weapon, noting the crystal blades. The handle itself was plain and simple but the two long, thin blades, making it look like a two-tined fork. Spidery runes ran along each edge.

Lothas’s lips rose in a quirky smile as he continued. “But, don’t overdo it. Your body can only handle so much.” Her expression clearly showed that she didn’t relish the idea of sliding a knife between her own ribs. “You will get used to it.” He smiled thinly. “Or you’ll be too weak to fulfil our goal, and therefore useless to me. Your time in Purgatory can be short… or very long.”

“I’ve had my fill of this dump already.”

Lothas ignored her. “Getting here was the easy part, you simply had to die. And anyone can do that. Leaving is a different matter altogether. The nearest exit is well hidden deep within the Central Ranges. Walking out would be nigh impossible. The only way out is by using the power or flight. As it so happens, I came upon this creature recently; its body lay broken at the base of a gorge deep within the Central Ranges.” A winged monster dropped from the sky behind him as he spoke. “He’s young and boisterous, but should be adequate for our purpose.”

Evlin stepped back. The creature had too many legs and was almost see-through, so bodily fluids could be discerned coursing through veins. “What is it? It looks hideous.”

The monster turned and hissed, making the dead assassin take a further step back.

“It’s a l’ithnamagri. The l’ith were here long before any of us. He can’t understand our language, but senses thoughts and moods, like an empath. I’ve managed to instil some discipline, as long as he isn’t provoked too much he can be controlled. He has needs too, which I’ve promised to be fulfilled if there is complete cooperation.

“Now then,” Lothas explained. “If your body weakens too much, you will be returned here. He will return also. To a minimal extent, I’ve bonded him with you; if you fail, he fails. At the end of this plain, you’ll see a dark chasm in which lies a portal.” He pointed. “Only through there will you arrive back in Athglenn, deep within the Central Ranges. Find this half-rrell. Use the crystal dagger as instructed and you can name your reward.”

When he said this, she fingered the tail looped in her belt, the souvenir she removed from her nemesis. “My dagger will—”

“You forget she’s already survived your poisons. The dagger I’ve given you will do the job. I guarantee it. Even the slightest scratch will bring her into the arms of our Lord.”

“How will I contact you to inform you of my success?” Evlin studied the weapon before sliding it into her sheath, tossing her old dagger to the ground without a second thought.

“Never fear, when you use this dagger, I will know of it.”

Emerging from that dark, dreadful place Evlin felt relieved to be out in the open air again. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the Realm of the Dead, but from the phases of the moons hanging low on the horizon, she guessed it had been less than two weeks. Stroking the furry tail about her neck, she sped through the clear night.

The prayers of Lothas had repaired her body, but he warned her about exposure to the sunlight. When dawn approached, she searched the ground below for shelter. Evlin nudged her ride to fly lower. The horizon was glowing by the time she located a cave in the foothills of the ranges, on the edge of a heavily wooded area. They didn’t sleep as such, but their bodies seemed to shut down while the sun was prominent. At an unknown signal, both undead awoke after dusk to continue the journey.

The enemy was here! It was faint, but Evlin could ‘feel’ her goal far to the south. Her mood picked up; her body quivered in anticipation. She urged the l’ith with her heels to increase speed.

You will soon be mine. A vicious grin creased the assassin’s face.

* * *