The Taleweaver

The light blinded him at first when he entered. For a few dizzying moments Harbend was only aware of the sudden pain before his eyes got used to the change. After that he was able to discern differences and saw several sources of light. Great lamps hung from the ceiling and a multitude of smaller ones cast their flickering lights from the walls they were fastened to.

They were in a large hall with a shining floor made from polished marble, and that stony mirror reflected and magnified glittering candles and the steady, yellow, light from bulbs of glass or crystal.

Magecrafters had been at work here. That much was certain. Skilled ones at that. Translucent statues slowly moved in eternal dance, almost lifelike. The beauty stunned him, and the ever-present trader in him struggled to value what he saw. He knew he really shouldn't translate art into gold when he could simply enjoy it, but he'd spent too many years trading to avoid it.

Harbend briefly wondered if he was so far gone he would eventually try to set a fixed price to Nakora and the repulsion following the thought was greater than his fear of being here. He gave her a guilty look and was grateful she couldn't read his mind.

Startled Harbend looked at Neritan, but she only gave him a strangely amused stare and shook her head.

I won't tell. I'm not that cruel. The words were inside his head, and he knew she'd spoken silently to him. He sighed. The Mindwalker showed some integrity at least.

With a feeling of unease Harbend crossed the hall. He fought the urge to draw his weapon. Better to appear as inconspicuous as possible if they should meet anyone.

Movements at the far end of the hall caught his attention. At first he thought he saw more of the beautiful statues, but then he realized they were men in white robes.

Are we to fight our way in here? Harbend thought in dismay.

He hoped not. He tried walking through the hall as if he had every right to be there with the others trailing him. It was of course not to be. He never knew what gave them away, but one of the robed men cried out in alarm and pointed at them.

Nakora broke stride behind Harbend and ran for the closest exit while Neritan used her powers, and the men facing them started walking aimlessly around the hall, sometimes bumping into each other.

Harbend caught up with Nakora and he heard Trai or Escha breathing hard behind him. This time, it seemed, they would stay together.

They came out in another hall, a smaller one this time, but no matter how much Harbend had hoped for it to be empty he was soon disappointed. They sprinted across the floor. Bad, very bad. The castle was too well guarded. They could as well have sprung a trap around themselves, even though somewhere in his mind knowledge lingered telling him that their presence hadn't been known to those living here beforehand.

Nakora, help me!

She was the expert in matters like these, but she seemed to be following him into the madness rather than taking the lead, and he had no idea of what he was getting them into. He chose a corridor at random.

Then a sound surprised him. Singing in the distance. Well, why not? Whoever lived here apparently appreciated art. It didn't matter much to him though. They didn't have time to admire whatever beauty was to be found here any longer.

"Nakora, where to?"

"To the singing," Neritan answered instead. "That's a ritual beginning, and I think it involves those we search for."

Harbend looked for confirmation in Nakora, and when she nodded he took to his feet again. There were no grand halls here, not even small rooms to pass through, only endless corridors with doors lining their sides, all of which had no other exit apart from their windows. Harbend had tried a few of them just to be certain.

They continued running. Rounding a corner Harbend skidded into an armored man. They both fell to the ground. Before Harbend had time to realize what had happened Nakora ran the soldier through with her sword. After that there was only chaos.

Angry yells and the sound of fighting disturbed the sinister procession. To Arthur the disturbance was all too welcome. Members of their escort broke away to meet whatever was attacking the castle, but to his dismay most of the armed men kept their discipline and stayed close.

Arthur swore between gritted teeth. There had to be a way. He searched for the source of the sound of fighting, but it had to be in another part of the castle. It did, however, sound like it was coming closer.

"What's happening?" Chaijrild asked.

A glimmer of hope glistened in her eyes. So, she'd come to the same conclusion. Good, then she would at least be a little bit prepared if a chance to escape materialized.

"I don't know. Better than waiting."

"Should we run?"

Arthur gave their guards a worried look, but it didn't seem any of them understood what they were saying. He looked at Gring and was met by what had to be a smile. She must have changed something with the magic that allowed him to speak with people no matter what languages they knew.

"Not now," Arthur said turning to Chaijrild again. "Just be ready to follow me later." If there is a later.

He couldn't afford to trash her hopes at this moment. She needed to believe.

Sudden pain of hunger knifed him. A good sign. If he was able to ache for food again he might be able to act as well. Too much time spent in apathy. It was more painful to feel afraid, but with pain came the urge to stay alive. He started to search for opportunities. Nothing.

Something itched at his armpit and he scratched it.

My gun? No, they took it.

He thought of bringing out his wallet to bribe his captors, but they probably didn't take federation money here. The absurdity of the thought brought a crooked smile to his lips while he fingered his waist pocket -- and then it hit him.

Bloody hell, that's not my wallet!

He groped under his jacket. He still had his gun. How? He was certain they'd been disarmed, but he admitted his memories of the last days weren't all too clear.

There should still be a few rounds left. Armed with artificial self confidence Arthur staggered along with the procession waiting for the first moment to add to the confusion he now clearly could hear was coming closer.

Between them Nakora and Trai made short work of the soldiers they ran into. After that the wild rush through the corridors continued. Three times they met armed men, and three times Trai and Nakora displayed their deadly skills with fire and steel. Then the corridor opened up ahead of them.

Harbend didn't even bother with peering out into whatever room or hall they were entering. Nothing could have prevented anyone there from hearing their approach.

He ran out into a long hallway. Threw himself flat on the floor to avoid being cut down by men coming their way. He rolled.

Arthur! Gods!

Finally they had managed to come to the right place.

"Trai, archers to your left!" Nakora's voice cut through the noise.

A red, hissing inferno raced away. Battle cries of men running to meet them in combat turned to screams of fear and pain.

A man in bone white robes faced him. Harbend slashed wildly with his sword. Killing was not as important as to make room now. The man fell. If struck or not Harbend didn't know. It didn't matter. He continued towards Arthur.

"Arthur! Run you whore son!"

Chaijrild struggled with one of the robed men. Arthur wheeled low on his feet and kicked the legs out from under the closest guard before throwing another to the floor. In a few moments the outworlder had managed to free Chaijrild and ran to Harbend with the girl in tow.

Gring didn't struggle with her guards. She tore them apart limb by limb.

Gods! Mother slaughtered chicken like that!

Arthur managed to cover the distance to him. Then robe after robe went up in flames. Trai was put his powers to a ghastly test.

Suddenly Arthur staggered and almost fell. He caught his balance and limped all the way to Harbend, Chaijrild still in tow. An arrow stuck out from Arthur's lower leg.

Arthur came to his knees. Suddenly, accompanied by short roars of death, men dropped with blood spurting from exploding torsos. With hands clasped to his ears in a vain attempt to shut out the awful sound Harbend recognized the disgusting device Arthur had used in the mountain pass.

Resolve wavering the guards fled. Harbend, sick with the killing, could only watch helplessly as Trai threw long coils of fire consuming anyone caught.

"Arthur, we should go. Follow Neritan."

"Not bloody going anywhere without Gring!"

"Gods! Take the girl and follow Neritan! We shall get Gring for you."

To Harbend's relief Arthur did as told, and Harbend could concentrate on making good on his promise. He followed Nakora and Trai in pursuit of their enemies.

"Help Gring and get out!" he shouted, but they only continued running.

Striding over the battleground he caught sight of the Khraga. She was breaking the back of a man in leather armor and seemed oblivious to what was happening around her. Harbend looked for more dangers, but they were alone, if he didn't count the broken bodies littering the floor.

"Come back! I have her." No answer. "Gring, Gring!"

At last the Khraga had the sense to listen. She looked down at him, took a few step, and for a moment Harbend was afraid she'd mistaken him for yet another target. Panic rising in him he wondered what it would feel like having his bones crushed by her immense muscles. She stopped.

"Where is Arthur?" she asked.

He wouldn't die, not now at least. "Neritan, a friend, is helping him and the girl, eh, Chaijrild out of here."

"Where?"

Harbend pointed at the corridor from which they had come. "Protect them."

"I will." Gring strode away.

Harbend stared after her. How appropriate. The only one who followed his orders without questioning them was the hairy death machine. He shook his head in bewilderment and shrugged.

Escha came up to his side.

"Now we find Nakora and Trai and then we return," Harbend said.

Escha gave him a nonplussed stare in return. Harbend started to explain and stopped himself. Gods! Without a Mindwalker when he desperately needed to be understood.

"Fetch our partners?" Escha asked in Veric.

Harbend sighed with relief. "Always a pleasure to work with educated men."

Escha grinned and they started in the direction Nakora and Trai had taken earlier.

How come that lost in the middle of an enemy stronghold the only thing he could think of was how much he'd come to respect the silent mage at his side. Harbend knew, deep inside himself, he ought to be fearful, but he was strangely reassured. Escha had proved himself time and time over again. Maybe that was it, the knowledge they could be out of harms way in moments should the mage deem is necessary. Harbend frowned at the thought. No, there was more to it. Strange as the men from Khanati were, their loyalty was no less strong than any he had seen in Khi, or Keen for that matter.

Harbend smiled. When they were out of this he would give the mages the respect they deserved, visibly so. Tradition be damned. Out here, where you could trust nothing more than deeds done, vague promises of optional help at a later time carried little worth.

He was, Harbend realized, slowly reevaluating which traders back in Keen he would consider friends in the future, and he was glad that there still were those he would call friends when he came back. If he came back.

Harbend's line of thought was cut short by approaching steps. Several feet coming closer. Nakora and Trai must have run into trouble.

Trai suddenly burst into the room. He shouted something Harbend didn't understand.

"Shield Khars. Mages reducing magic," Escha explained quickly.

"Here, Trai. We have them," Harbend shouted.

Trai didn't answer. He didn't move. Strangely still he flashed a stupefied smile. Harbend stared, searching for the reason. A horrible gurgling sound forced his attention from the pursuing Khraga behind Trai. A spear point stuck out from Trai's neck.

Gods! When?

There would be no surviving that.

So much blood.

It ran down the arms as the mage desperately clutched his throat in a futile attempt to save himself.

"Trai!"

Harbend threw himself flat. The anguished voice behind him carried a threat of death. Never stand in the way of an angry mage, and Escha had to be far beyond mere anger now.

A wave of power radiated through the hall.

Are we jumping?

When he looked up he was still there.

Roars of disbelief and fear had taken the place of power now. The charging Khraga stood on their knees, bleeding. Harbend looked again and screamed at a sight that would plague his nightmares for the rest of his life. Escha had used his gift to jump after all, but in an awful, horrible way. The warriors charging them weren't standing on their knees. Most had fallen over now, and there was nothing left below their abdomens, nothing but gaping holes from which blood and intestines flooded the floor. Yells of shock and fear from further away in the castle told Harbend where their lower bodies had gone. He heaved and heaved until there was nothing left to throw up.

He had to get up. They were far from safe yet. Unsteadily he stood and struggled for balance as if many hours drunk. He turned. Behind him Escha screamed madly, all sense of humanity gone from his eyes. Only the raging fire of an animal in intense pain remained there.

"Escha, we need you. Please come with me!"

Escha didn't answer. Harbend hadn't expected him to. This would take more than only one try.

"Escha, please!"

Still no reaction, only those raging eyes staring in incomprehension at Trai's body. Maybe this was what Arthur had experienced when he found his family murdered. It didn't matter. Without Escha they would be caught here, wherever here was.

"Escha, we must jump!"

"They have to die! All must die!"

"Escha! They are too many. If we stay there is no revenge, only us dying."

"They must die!" There was no reasoning left in the Khar, only a mad hunger for revenge fueled by the loss of a lover.

"Escha, please!"

Another surge of power. Parts of the building crumbled around them. Harbend didn't even have to guess what had happened, and so he just ran to be elsewhere before the roof collapsed over him.

Legs working on their own accord bore him away from the crumbling room. Harbend was still running when a deafening sound announced that the columns had given way and the roof came crashing down behind him. Harbend never saw the corridors and halls he passed through, and no one opposed his flight as he escaped the collapsing nightmare.

Then only cold darkness. Harbend staggered out into winter. Temporarily safe he finally had time to turn his worries from his own situation to the others.

Nakora! Where was she? He swiveled, but there was no one there.

He recalled then that he'd never caught sight of her. Had she died before they met Trai or was she another victim of Escha's rage? Harbend sunk to his knees in despair.

Then a steely resolution paying no heed to the futility of his decision filled him. He had to go back for her.

He made it through the entrance hall and was about to run into the maze of collapsing corridors when he suddenly heard Nakora's voice behind him. Harbend turned in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

"You were lost, I went in search," Harbend stammered.

"Idiot! Not alone, will you never learn?"

Harbend just stared at her. "How?"

"No questions, come!"

He followed her out the way he had entered. "How?" he repeated when he was surrounded by darkness once more.

"A window. Found mage Hwain. We have Escha."

Harbend still didn't understand, but he followed Nakora nonetheless.

Watching Harbend running into the horrible, collapsing castle almost unhinged Nakora, but she managed to find enough courage to go in after the fool trader.

Now she led him to where the others were. The window had been pure good luck. Without it she'd never have known how close to the main entrance they had found Arthur. Climbing down the wall had been easy, and to her relief Neritan had the brains to lead Arthur and the girl out.

Gring had been there as well. Then the surge of power from inside the castle and Neritan demanding that Gring help her climbing the very walls Nakora had come down. They came back with Escha, and they had done something to him.

Now they were all gathered close to the orchard.

Escha spoke, no it was Neritan who spoke through Escha. Nakora looked at him, her. It was unnerving to recognize the golden mage in the body of the dark skinned Transport Mage, and Nakora missed part of what Neritan said.

"...so strong. Can't promise I can hold him. We should jump approximately to where the caravan is, but they will know." With the last words Escha, Neritan in Escha's body, looked at Gring who nodded in response.

"What is it?" Nakora asked.

"We were brought here by jump mages. They'll come after us," Gring said.

In a flurry of wind the world became nothingness. It was different from when Escha had jumped them earlier, but Nakora knew they were indeed jumping. Away from the nightmare.

The world was white again. The whiteness of snow and open plains. She could never have guessed that the sight should fill her with such relief. It was almost like coming home, almost.

She turned, looking for the relative safety of the caravan, but it was nowhere to be seen. Approximately, how close was approximately? The rest of the day? Another days walk? One full day away and the caravan could as well be back home in Ri Khi, at least if Gring was right about pursuers jumping to catch them.

Harbend stood at her side. Stupid, loving Harbend who'd come to her rescue never knowing she needed none. He'd risked his life for her, not at her orders. No one had done that before.

He did have a noble face, a very dirty noble face, but it was hers to admire. The gaze he gave her sent a wave of pleasant warmth through her body. Tonight, maybe, if they were still alive by then.

"They are here." Neritan's tired voice broke Nakora's thoughts about lovemaking.

"Who?" Nakora asked already knowing.

"I don't know exactly, but I felt them jumping here. They are close."

Nakora groaned. What could they do now? Trai dead and Escha in stupor. She met Gring's eyes. No, not her as well! There was something defeated in those large eyes, and the Khraga looked less like a death bringing nightmare and more like a child who was afraid of getting slapped for being naughty.

Gods! I don't need this. We don't need this. Where is the warrior?

"Gring, we fight and then we die. No dying without fighting."

Nakora looked in despair at the Khraga turned child. Then the sound of soldiers closed in on them.

The fight, if it could even be called one, had turned sour from the onset. They were too few to meet the enemy head on, and when Neritan promised they were indeed close to the caravan they decided to flee, and now Harbend was crouching between two heaps of snow having lost sight of his friends.

Arthur had killed one man with his device, and the sound had been enough to give them some well needed respite, but then Arthur said there would be no more thundering help from his side.

A rumbling from behind spelled either more trouble or some much needed help. Hopefully the latter. The escort should have been here by now if it would ever come to their aid.

Harbend ducked and rolled in the snow. Nowhere to hide out here. The snow crept inside his clothes and started to melt. The cold was agonizing, but he didn't dare to move before he knew what was happening.

Another roar from behind. This time he decided to take the risk. Nothing to lose any longer. Harbend stood on his knees trying to be ready to fight back, but weaponless there wasn't much he could do.

It was the escort. The battle mages he had hired but never got to know during the journey threw lances of fire over his head aiming for targets he couldn't see. If they were here men on horses couldn't be far away. A wave of relief washed through him. They were safe, or as safe as they would ever be this far from Keen.

Captain Laiden roared curses at full throat, and the incredibly foul language filled Harbend with a warmth that would have had his mother frown in disgust at him if she had known. Then the thunder of hoofs passed on both sides of him as the escort joined the fray.

Harbend staggered to higher grounds.

Ahead of him Trindai's men loosed their crossbows while charging. Then they rode into the disarray they had created, slashing with drawn sabers as they rode through the thin line of soldiers. They wheeled their horses, line almost unbroken, and charged back. The third charge scattered the enemy who retreated, and when Nakora's troops joined the fight the retreat turned into a rout.

Once Horse-lord Vildir Kanir had told Harbend that a soldier must fight or break, and that fighting was surviving. He hadn't understood it then, but as he watched the slaughter in front of him he wondered where his uncle's cavalry commander had learned the lesson. Harbend had experienced a skirmish, even seen men killed as a young man, but nothing like this. Khi didn't war on anyone, but there were clan feuds, and Harbend had a sickening feeling the word feud didn't really describe what happened when two clans failed to resolve their differences with diplomacy.

He stared out over the battlefield and saw the soldiers from Ri Khi dispatching wounded men begging for mercy. Only the escort from Keen refrained from the butchering, and he could almost feel their distaste for the sight they shared with him.

There had never been much of a battle, and now it was only murder.

The screams were almost as awful as the sight. Harbend helplessly watched wounded men having their arms and legs cut away before they were finally killed. Soldiers cut off fingers to get rings from men still alive and screaming in pain and shock. The snow, once even and white was now trampled and dirtied by blood and the scattered remains of bodies.

Harbend knew parts of his own history. Once the armies of Khi had earned themselves a very bad reputation. Apparently some of the reason for that had become a damning tradition still upheld by the descendants now living in Ri Khi. He turned in disgust and walked away. The relief he once had felt was gone and there was only revulsion left.

Free! They were free again.

It was wonderful to be alive.

Arthur staggered into the waiting arms of a woman he didn't remember seeing before. Somehow he knew they must have jumped and he finally dared to believe they were safe again.

Safe. No longer a prisoner sentenced to death. He relaxed, and with relief came some kind of absolution, and he lost consciousness.

Harbend faced Trindai. He felt as if he was the one reporting to the captain rather than the other way around, but he was too tired to bother.

"We got them all back," Harbend said tiredly. "Any more trouble?"

"I think we made it," Trindai answered.

"We did, but please, find someone to take care of Escha!"

"What happened?"

"They got Trai, and we failed even to bring his body with us."

"Oh, darkness! How?"

"A spear. They were too many."

Harbend didn't want to say that Trai had been too careless, that he had taken an unnecessary risk. Why sully the memory of one already dead? Maybe Trai had challenged danger too overtly, but it had still been Harbend's decision to rescue Arthur. Nothing would change that. The responsibility would always remain his, and for the second time since they left Verd he'd allowed people who trusted him to die because he deemed it necessary. His wants. His needs. Always what he thought was for the best -- as if he had any right to choose who got to live and who had to die.

Harbend turned in search for Nakora. He needed someone sensible, someone who didn't look at him in awe or gratefulness, and of the three who didn't, Nakora was the only one he had the strength to meet.