Sci Fi & Fantasy / Shadow of Chea'Laern: Chapter 5 - Put To Rest (Analysis)
Chapter 5
Put to Rest
“I want to get Gurandi out. It won’t take as long as last time,” Creole promised his wife. “He deserves a better resting place.”
Sholee nearly punched herself for thinking, even for a short second, that Creole would lie to her, would use his dead friend as an excuse to be alone with the beautiful general from Chea’Laern. She looked away, not wanting to reveal the shame in her eyes. She knew he would see it, and inquire, if she hadn’t turned her head. Then she would have to explain her uncontrollable jealousy, for she could not lie to him. She felt culpable for not trusting in their love. There was no denying some of her luster had been drained by pregnancy and giving birth, and that Rahmina was young, gorgeous and the leader of an army belonging to the only kingdom for tens of thousands of square miles in any direction. But the nourishment of their love was held fast by decades of memories the general could not begin to compete with, and by their wonderful children. How could she let those truths slip under Rahmina’s shadow?
Creole mistook her behavior for both anger that he’d spent insufficient time with his family, and fear that the caves would bring his death as they did Gurandi’s. “Please, love. Fear not for my life. How many times have I survived…?”
“‘Tis no’ that,” she interrupted softly.
“Then know that the more I help them, the sooner they’ll leave.”
Sholee sighed as she looked into his eyes, the shame finally abated. “But we’re stringin’ ‘em ‘long, Creole,” she argued. “We’re no’ wantin’ ‘em t’ find anythin’, an’ tha’ll keep ‘em ‘ere fer ages!”
Creole nodded expectantly. “And I’m working on changing her mind about following her king’s desires. That, my love, will not take ages.” Sholee had to mentally punch herself again for the thoughts his words put in her head.
The door suddenly burst open and the general strolled in, open tome in her palms. “Did you not see this?” she queried without even a greeting. There was no suspicious undercurrent in her tone, only pride for her significant discovery.
Creole feared that discovery, but feigned ignorance. Sholee glanced at him knowingly before sitting before the hearth a few steps away.
“I found a series of random numbers scattered throughout the tome, scribed very small, at the top of each left-hand page,” she said excitedly. “And on the right-hand pages are a series of random directions. In order they read: thirty-two, north; ten, west; forty three, north…”
Creole fought valiantly to not recite the directions to the hidden library along with the general as she read, for he knew them by heart. He merely shrugged when she finished, and said, “Sounds like directions to somewhere.”
In the warm glow of the hearth, Sholee covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Beneath the strength of her self-control, she wanted to reveal their secret and cackle in the face of the general. If she didn’t know the frightening power of what Rahmina sought, she probably would have.
Rahmina nodded at Creole; seemingly unaware Sholee was even in the room with them. “We’re missing a starting point. I scoured the tome many times over to no avail.”
Creole’s intuition warned him that if he didn’t give some sort of input, the general would perceive his withholding of information and force him to spill. And it would be far too soon.
“Likely one of the three caves leading into the mountain,” he offered through false ignorance.
“Three?” asked Rahmina.
He nodded. “The two I’ve shown you, and one on the north side of the tallest mountain.”
Rahmina’s shoulders barely betrayed her pessimism. “Might be a long search, but we’ll try these directions from all three entrances if we must. I’m thinking the tallest mountain is our best bet.”
The general’s back faced Sholee; so only Creole noticed his wife’s head slowly shaking in disappointment for the general’s poor guess. Starting with the north entrance would take a week alone! Creole pondered how to reveal Rahmina’s error without sounding too knowledgeable. He only hoped his wife understood the wisdom in taking his time to dissuade the general from her course.
“Perhaps the wisest choice would be the closer caves first, for the north entrance is three days march away and if one of the closer caves is the correct choice, that time would be wasted.”
“Not completely wasted, for at least we’d know,” argued the general, to the inaudible synchronized sighs of both Sholee and Creole, “but I see your point. Well thought.”
Creole nodded, his smile true. He knew Sholee shared the smile. “Would I be asking too much to borrow some of your men? I’d like my friend to have a proper burial and better resting place than under a pile of smelly goblins.”
Wearing a sympathetic expression, she nodded. “I can spare the half dozen who were lightly wounded, and perhaps a few more if you absolutely need them.”
Brinney emerged from her room as the general headed for the door, and she promptly hopped into her mother’s lap. She stared absently into the fire as Sholee kissed her on the top of her head.
Rahmina turned back to face Creole as she opened the front door. “May I ask that you consider joining our search again? Your help will speed our departure day.”
Creole perceived her last words as bait to a trap, yet observed a bit of pain in her expression at the same time. He looked longingly to his wife and child, then back to the general. “I will consider it,” he agreed.
Rahmina bowed as she backed out and closed the door.
“Daddy,” Brinney said suddenly, her gaze still fixed on the fire.
“Yes, dear?”
“If you find the wings, don’t be scared.”
Sholee shivered.
She considered it inappropriate for her daughter to be present for Gurandi’s burial ceremony. However, Gurandi was Creole’s best friend, and her husband’s lack of objection meant he wanted Brinney to be with them. She respected his desire despite her own feelings on the matter, and let the girl watch.
Brinney gazed silently, unmoving and riveted, at Gurandi’s corpse. She couldn’t see the lights around the still man her father helped carry. Though the wooden poles supporting the corpse, decorated with carvings of words and symbols and ribbons hanging down swaying in the wind, radiated vibrantly. Through the entire ceremony she wondered where the man’s lights had gone. She wondered if they burrowed deep inside him and needed help returning to their natural place. She was compelled to go to him, to bring the lights back out, but her mother’s grip was far too strong. Brinney felt the ceremony was wrong; felt they should be helping him, not mourning him. But she was powerless to escape Sholee’s firm grasp. All she could do was stare at the lightless corpse and wonder.
Sholee noticed a pair of men walking their horses in her peripheral vision, approaching slowly from the southwest. She forced the attention of the few villagers near her and pointed out the visitors. Word reached Creole, and he stopped digging long enough to motion for her to deal with the travelers. She gladly accepted the opportunity to occupy her daughter’s mind with another matter. Two villagers followed her of their own volition, for she didn’t bother to ask for escorts despite the possibility of danger.
“We could’ve waited,” offered one of the visitors with a bow, his chin-length brown hair dipping forward and back again with the move.
Sholee had seen many dark eyes in the past, but none as unnerving as his. “What’s yer business?” she asked curtly.
“I am Burkae, and this is my lackey of no name worth mentioning.” He whipped his arm out to the side, motioning to the taller, blonde haired, obviously timid man at his side who didn’t even bother to defend himself. The blonde’s blue eyes coveted her and her escorts alternately, nervousness evident in his constant shifting of weight from one foot to the other.
Burkae cleared his throat when no response was forthcoming, and opened his plain brown overcoat to reveal an abundance of baubles, weapons and jewelry hanging from the many loops in the garment’s lining.
“We’re no’ fer wantin’ yer junk,” she sniped, holding her daughter close. “This be a fun’ral.”
“My apologies, fair lady. But might you be interested in this?”
Sholee’s escorts dropped their hands to the hilts of their swords when Burkae drew a beautifully crafted jeweled dagger from his belt. Brinney instantly cringed in terror and buried her face in Sholee’s waist. She whined, mumbling the word “night-scares” repeatedly.
“Don’t be upsettin’ me daugh’er!” Sholee stepped forward, fearless.
“Whoa.” Burkae backpedaled. “I mean no harm. Simply trying to make a living.”
His blond haired companion seemed about to either run away or spring forward, no one could be sure.
“She afraid of weapons?” inquired Burkae in an attempt to ease the tension and right his unintentional wrong.
“No,” Sholee answered flatly. Her glare was hot enough to burn a hole through a tree. “She owns ‘er own dagger.”
She couldn’t tolerate any more of her daughter’s strange behavior in public. With a wave of dismissal to the merchants, she returned with Brinney and her unasked for, yet now appreciated, escorts to the ceremony. At least she knew Gurandi’s corpse wouldn’t upset young Brinney.
“Why are you so nice to them?” asked Burkae’s companion when they were out of earshot.
“Business, my man. You must understand an essential part of thievery: treat customers like friends and they’re more likely to buy our junk.” He mimicked Sholee’s voice for the last word.
“Your theory keeps failing.”
Burkae laid him low with a single, well placed blow. “It wouldn’t have this time if we’d arrived before the funeral, which was your fault for being out of shape!”
He stormed off, back to the southwest. If his theory failed again in Chea’Laern, he decided, things would get ugly.
His companion rubbed his newly acquired black eye, watching Burkae walk away from his grounded angle. He wondered where along the road his childhood best friend had become so irritable. Never before had Burkae struck him in anger, at least not until after they stole that jeweled dagger from a mismatched, oversized sleeping ogre and troll near the west coast.
He just didn’t understand.
*
Secile awoke from her strange dream, realizing she’d fallen asleep sitting against the wall in their room at the Grassblade Inn. She’d meant to stay awake through the night, keeping watch over the children asleep in their straw beds, for the events in Tuntiload preceding their arrival worried her. She must have fallen asleep for not even an hour, because the sun had not yet risen, but still she felt guilty and disappointed in herself. Those men could’ve broken into their room and killed them all several times over during her hour-long nap.
Kaia-mei evidently dreamt as well, for the girl was twitching and kicking her legs as she mumbled. Yet Caize rested soundly.
Her dream came flooding back, accompanied with a prophetic feeling. She didn’t understand why, nor could she be sure of its accuracy, but two riders fitting the descriptions Baurdi had given of their attackers was the dream’s focus. The details were hazy at best, aside from the men’s faces and behavior, but one image broke through the haze and forced fear into her heart: a jeweled dagger, blood red gem set in its crosspiece, hung from the lead rider’s belt beneath his flowing overcoat.
“Could it be?” she whispered to the silent room. She didn’t want to believe she’d missed a golden opportunity to end her graduation quest before it even began. But it was just a dream; she reminded herself of the importance of patience.
Secile sighed warily when she could not shake the prophetic feeling. She decided it couldn’t hurt to scry the lands nearby in search of the duo. On the contrary, finding them would put to rest not only her analytical mind but Tuntiload’s injustice as well. With one final look to her contently slumbering companions, she rose and crawled out the open ground floor window; the quickest route to view the open sky.
The predawn air was refreshing, smelling of pollinating flowers and fresh rain. The starlight proved bright enough to see the immediate area about her in great detail, yet not revealing enough to make out facial features from a great distance away.
Except through the eyes of a bird.
Standing just outside the window, for fear of failing to protect the children, the mage first checked one deep pocket in her signature robes to be sure she carried a star orb—the same communication device that Baurdi had mentioned their cunning bandits possessed—then produced a small black quartz from another. Her focus shifted momentarily back to the star orb, for she suddenly realized she’d not considered how the murderers came to possess the magical device, information that might reveal their origin. Did they lie about its magical properties for leverage or intimidation? Or were they truly ignorant as to the star orb’s purpose? Those answers could only be gained by interrogation, she realized, and so she refocused on her task.
The black stone was warm to the touch as she squeezed her right hand around it. Through years of dedicated training, she’d perfected the ability to fall into a meditative state within mere seconds. And she did so now. She focused on the hundreds of various energies swirling within her soul; each containing its own degree of strength, its own character, sound and purpose; and each owning a unique shade and color of light. Amidst the shades of brilliant yellow, she pulled forth a lighter chord for clairvoyance and sent it flowing into the quartz. A high-pitched note deluged her mind; a back draft from the gem informing her it’d attained the sufficient volume of energy for the spell. But she didn’t stop there. She held the portal from her source of energy to the gem open, feeding another color through. To keep the stone’s magic linked to her mind’s eye, she fed it a deep octave of blue to accompany the yellow. Finally she was ready to recite the triggering chant.
As she finished, the hand holding the quartz shot to the sky and opened wide. Out fluttered an energy manifestation of a crow, dark as night and just as silent. The bird soared high above the village and out over the eastern wold. The crow owned no free will. Secile guided its choices and directed its flight with her thoughts. She saw through the crow’s eyes.
The grasslands rolled on. She spotted a small band of orcs feeding on raw deer flesh; a pack of wolves stalking not far from the evil beasts; a bird-sized spider awaiting a meal in its web between two shrubs; a fox and her pups huddling in the warmth of their small den; and hundreds of insects crawling through the forest of grass blades. But she saw not a single human.
She thought of guiding her crow northeast to the valley, but decided the culprits would avoid an army of Chea’Laern if they could. And who wouldn’t notice the passing of five-score armored men?
Chea’Laern. The revelation suddenly occurred to her that a larger population would fall easy prey to their cruel acts, and so she directed the crow’s flight to the southwest.
The bird hadn’t flown far before the mage spotted a pair of human riders just over half a day’s ride southwest of Tuntiload. Despite the crow’s excellent sight, she compelled it to swoop lower for a better perspective of their traveling gear. The instant she caught sight of the same dagger from her dream hanging from the lead rider’s belt, her link with the crow was mysteriously severed.
Secile was torn from the trance with a pounding headache, and she leaned against the wall for support. Fear enveloped her without hesitation. “It can’t be.”
There was no mistaking the identities of the riders. They fit Baurdi’s description exactly.
The mage returned her concentration to the star orb. She managed to keep a firm hold through her senseless instability and brought it out under the stars. Lining up her grip so her thumbs covered the two stars that would link the device to a similar orb in the Headmistress’ possession, she organized the jumbled words she would send through the orb, a difficult feat with the distraction of pain, and blew on it: the triggering action.
The Headmistress of Nimbdell’s face replaced the stars within the orb after a few eternal seconds. “Lady Secile,” emitted her fair voice. “This must be urgent for so early a summons.”
“Yes, Headmistress. It is,” replied the mage.
“You have found your quarry?” the other guessed accurately.
“I fear the worst. Though I truly wish to see Master Prieza’s daughter home, we have not the time. I beg you, send another escort to complete the task. I must begin my quest immediately.”
Secile grew nervous when there was no immediate reply. She couldn’t know the Headmistress shared her nervousness: the cause for hesitation.
“Very well,” the Headmistress finally agreed. “I will send another escort for the child. And one for you as well.”
Secile was about to inform her of Kaia-mei’s friend, but was caught off guard and confused by the need for two escorts. “But Headmistress, the rules…”
“I know you must complete the quest alone,” interrupted the fair voice. “However, as your friend I fear this task is too great for any single person, myself included. By the quiver in your voice and the doubt in your eyes, you’ve informed me that your quarry is not lying in some abandoned hole or mounted as a trophy on an ignorant man’s wall, as I first expected upon choosing this quest for you.”
“Headmistress, you must trust in my abilities…”
“Dear Secile, I do trust you. But even that is not enough for the power I’ve put you against, and the price for our lack of caution would be too great. The law states that no mage nor student nor master of the Hosttowers may accompany you or aid in your quest. He whom I’ve chosen is none of those.”
“The mercenary,” Secile stated dryly.
The floating head in the orb nodded. “The escorts will meet you southeast of the Garden. Expend your spells to hasten your travels if you must, for the mercenary will bring you reinforcements. Good speed, my friend.”
Secile sighed as the connection was severed. She dreaded another meeting with Nimbdell’s most prized, cocky mercenary, let alone enduring her entire quest with the man. But she knew she must set her personal differences aside, for together they would face matters far more serious.
She quickly woke her young companions and led them to the stables where she would enchant the shoes of their designated horses with magical speed. They made only one stop on the way out: to give the sleepy eyed captain a note requesting to send some guards to Chea’Laern, and retain the men fitting Baurdi’s description until her arrival. The mage’s group left before the light of dawn stirred the land, for time was essential. Vaulinquelitaya had fallen into the hands of the most dangerous pawn of all.
Ignorant men.
She wound through the maze of corridors at great speed, throwing all caution to the winds. Ignoring the many awe-inspiring decorative tapestries and portraits of long dead graduates—for she’d admired them all at least a dozen times in her year at the Hosttowers—the young student, waist-length, flat reddish brown hair flowing behind her as if she wore a cape, used her peripheral vision as best she could to avoid collision in the slightly busy halls. She stood barely over five feet with intelligent green eyes, and excelled above the expectations of every mage to mentor her—including the Headmistress. Many jealous heads turned her way, but she paid them no heed. She knew they were aware that she was in high favor of the Headmistress, and none would dare challenge that.
She turned a corner too fast, preoccupied with thinking of possible reasons for which she was summoned to the Esoteric Chambers so urgently, and crashed into a student carrying a tray of various goods. Drinks, pastries and other baked goods flew up into the air and rained down upon them both.
The other sat, soaked and shocked, staring at her with mouth agape as if trying to digest what’d just happened, while Amberley promptly hopped back to her feet.
“My apologies,” bowed the rushed student before running off without waiting for a response, or even offering to help clean up.
She stopped before a full-length mirror in the hallway containing the Esoteric Chamber doors to appraise the damage. She was a mess. Her wet hair appeared more brown than red and was matted to her sticky face and pale neck. Stains adorned her once radiantly white student’s robe, and specks of food decorated those stains. She held no fear of being reprimanded by the Headmistress for her less than formal appearance, for the leader of the Hosttowers was very lenient toward those of promising skills and honest dedication and integrity, but also because her matter of summons was urgent, and protocol was always overlooked in such cases.
Ten quick strides brought her to the chamber doors, and the doors opened before the student finished knocking, the Headmistress still curiously sitting behind her desk.
“Amberley,” she greeted with a soft smile, her pearly whites shining even in the dim glow of half a dozen candles. “So good to see you again.”
She was as beautiful as Amberley remembered; with long curly hair of a hue more white than blond, and oval ocean blue eyes that could peer deep within even the most intricate of souls. The Headmistress was tall, closer to six and a half feet than six, with arms and legs appropriately proportionate to her slender frame. Her skin seemed more yellow than white, unusual for residents this far north, and her thin lips were light pink. It was rumored that the Headmistress was not born into the continent, and that her ears were proof of that. Yet none could honestly claim to have seen her ears, for the Headmistress always concealed them. Amberley wished she were somehow put into a position where she could “accidentally” move the leader’s hair aside, to steal a peek at the famously mysterious appendages. But the opportunity was ever elusive. Whenever gazing upon the Headmistress, Amberley felt the need to cover her own slightly disproportionate body and hide the freckles around her nose and chin—not out of jealousy, but because she vainly, naively felt the leader’s beauty was a necessary step in climbing Nimbdell’s hierarchy.
Amberley bowed before the seated elder respectfully, fighting hard to not snatch the robe hanging on the rack to her right to fully conceal her figure. “The pleasure is mine, Headmistress. I apologize for the mess. There was an accident on my way up.”
A soft chuckle to her left informed Amberley of another’s presence in the room. The man was definitely neither student nor mage, for his garb consisted of leather and chain mail—and dirt, noticed Amberley in repulsion. She looked back to the Headmistress inquisitively; surprised she hadn’t smelled the visitor upon entry to the chamber.
“Amberley, meet Daxe the mercenary.”
“A bit young for this task, eh, Simyna?” he chuckled.
Amberley gasped, expecting the man would be punished for his disrespect, for using the Headmistress’ first name. Instead of gawking at Simyna for not punishing—or even chastising—his insolence, she glared at Daxe.
His bushy brown eyebrows fluttered in response, and he winked.
Only then did Amberley realize one of his eyes were blue, and the other green. She cocked her head to the side as he bowed to her, half out of curiosity and half expecting every other strand in his greasy, curly brown mop of hair to be a different color. She found herself slightly disappointed that it was not, and silently mused that she could easily remedy the disappointment at his expense if she decided he should be taught a lesson in humility.
“Well met, young Amberley. Please excuse my mirth, I mean no harm.” He didn’t rise from the bow until he was finished speaking.
At least he holds a grain of chivalry, she thought. “Well met to you as well, Daxe the mercenary.” She turned to Simyna and awaited an explanation.
Simyna smiled her brilliant smile; confident the two would get along long enough to reach their destination at least. “I trust you both know Lady Secile.”
Amberley’s eyes lit up upon mention of her favorite mentor, while Daxe rolled his in annoyance. Both gestures answered her question in affirmation, though Amberley nodded anyway.
“The two of you are to travel south of Aspen Valley, through to the southeast side of Garden of the Gods then heading toward the southwest corner of the woldwoods, to meet Lady Secile. Your speed is essential!”
Amberley smiled excitedly. Daxe feared what Simyna was getting at.
“Lady Secile’s charge is the daughter of Master Preiza, but she cannot complete the task in bringing the girl home. More urgent matters require her skills. You, Amberley, will lead Master Preiza’s daughter here while you, Daxe, will accompany Lady Secile on her graduation quest.” Simyna saw the doubt in the mercenary’s mismatched eyes, but knew he could be bought. The sudden grin he displayed warned her that her coffers had better be deep. The Headmistress wasn’t worried, though, for the price of the greater good could never be too steep.
“Forgive me, Headmistress, but isn’t that contradictory to the laws?”
Simyna smiled at Amberley; always following the rules.
“Not quite,” piped Daxe before the Headmistress could respond. “I am not a mage nor student nor master. If the law stated that no one could lend aid to a graduation quest, then ignorant villagers could cause the mage to fail simply by speaking.”
Simyna nodded in accord.
“I see,” replied Amberley, silently scolding herself for not catching the law’s loophole. “So I gather you’ve helped mage’s complete their graduation quests before.”
Daxe was rarely stricken speechless. But his surprise in how fast Amberley had accurately perceived his source of knowledge on the matter was evident in his hesitation to respond. He slowly turned to Simyna with a stupefied grin. “You’ve a smart one, here.”
The mercenary paused again, his expression betraying a sudden revelation. “It was a lucky guess!” he accused, pointing a dirty finger at the girl. “I could’ve known the way around the law simply by talking to Simyna, there.”
Amberley shook her head. “I knew, because your conceited personality informed me that your haste in arguing my statement was wrought of knowledge by experience. You wanted to revel in upstaging a student of Nimbdell. Are you jealous? Alas, poor Daxe. Did you fail your studies here?”
Simyna laughed, despite the passing of precious seconds and her worries for the good of humankind, when Daxe scratched his head in confusion.
“But you’re right,” Amberley conceded with a wink. “It was a lucky guess, for I truly don’t know your personality that well.”
Simyna laughed so hard she had to expend great efforts to say, “But you do, Amberley. You know him well enough!”
Daxe joined the laughter at his own expense. “I like this one, Simyna! You best be keeping her,” roared the mercenary when he gained enough breath to speak.
Simyna gradually reduced her laughter to a comfortable smile. “Time is wasting. You will become better acquainted on the road, of that I am certain.”
“Again I beg your forgiveness, Headmistress. But what of my studies?” asked Amberley seriously.
“You are far ahead of the others, dear Amberley. You can afford the break. And the travel experience and responsibility might well help prepare you for your graduation. Consider this task as part of your studies.”
The student bowed graciously. “As you wish.”
“When do we depart?” Daxe inquired.
Simyna opened a drawer in her desk and produced a bulging sack. It jingled as she tossed it to him. “Tonight.”
Daxe bounced the sack in his palm a few times. Satisfied with the weight, he stuffed it into his traveling pack. “I assume the rest will be paid upon my return,” he grinned, familiar with the drill.
If they’d met outside of Simyna’s presence, Amberley would not have trusted the apparently greedy mercenary. But she knew the Headmistress would not put her life in danger, even for Master Preiza’s daughter. She surmised he would both entertain and annoy her for the duration of their trip.
“Let us hope you return to receive the rest of your payment,” Simyna winked.
Daxe’s laugh erupted from deep within his belly as he walked from the room.
When they were alone, Amberley gazed curiously at the Headmistress. “Interesting character, that one.”
“He is a free man,” she explained. “I would worry if he behaved any other way. Fear not, I know him well. As long as you’re within his sight, no harm will befall you.”
“I trust your judgment, Headmistress.”
“Good,” she smiled, lifting the quill from the ink well on her desk. “He will be waiting for you at the south gates.”
Amberley bowed again. “Thank you, Headmistress. I will clean up and prepare.” She turned to leave.
“Pack lightly, Amberley. All the supplies you’ll need, aside from your personal belongings, are tied to your horse awaiting your arrival at the gates.”
*
Brinney’s teal eyes peered out the front window of the hearth-warmed cabin, watching the general approach their front door. More accurately, the girl watched the dancing shadows in the lights around the general. From Brinney’s perspective the lights were the soul’s way of communicating—though she could not yet construct such thoughts into words—whether the person is conscious of it or not. But the dancing beams of darkness within the lights, Brinney had learned, always foretell choices creating paths that lead to grim consequences. She recalled the dancing shadows in Kaia-mei’s lights before the older girl entered the caves, and instantly felt sorrow for letting her fear obstruct her from warning her friend.
She opened the door when the general reached the porch, but only enough so Rahmina could walk inside, and backpedaled to the center of the room.
Rahmina found her anticipated arrival odd, and even more so when both Sholee and Creole were nowhere to be seen. “What’re you doing, hun?” she asked politely.
“Watching,” Brinney simply replied.
Rahmina shivered from a cold chill despite the room’s comfortable temperature.
“Ma and Pa are in there.”
The general followed the girl’s tiny pointing finger to a closed door across the way. “Can you get them for me, please?” she asked.
Brinney nodded and rushed to her parents’ bedchamber door, rapping lightly a few times.
“No’ now, hun,” came a woman’s voice from the other side.
Rahmina was envious. She could sense the level of intimacy on the other side of that door and, though the envy was not for any interest in Creole. She wished she had a love to share the heart-warming experience with.
“Let them be, darling. I will go without his help this time.” The general turned and walked for the door, her step slightly weighted by her slumping shoulders.
Brinney rushed after her, and would have called out for her to stay had she had the courage. She couldn’t dismiss the ominous shadows in Rahmina’s lights. “Run from the big kitty,” she called out the door instead, lacking the confidence to do anything else.
She promptly shut the door.
The front line of the score of soldiers marching behind her perceived the burden in Rahmina’s dragging steps. They worried whatever distracted her would cost them all dearly, possibly some of their lives or even her own. Thus far they’d fought only goblins and kobolds, but even those were inconsistent with typical goblinoid battles. No soldier of Chea’Laern would receive a wound from such lowly pathetic creatures, unless outnumbered, and yet the creatures in that cave behaved unpredictably; and cost one soldier to temporarily lose use of one hand, and two others to fall sick from infected wounds. In the second fight they’d used foolproof shield tactics every soldier was trained to perfect, yet the crazed—perhaps possessed—goblins somehow overpowered their race’s natural cowardice, ignored their wounds and managed to stick a few soldiers through the shield barricade with their spears. The soldiers would be more cautious, more prepared, this time. However, they could only do so much on their own. They needed Rahmina’s guidance.
Two soldiers who stayed with Rahmina since her ascension quietly slipped back a few ranks to discuss the wisdom of inquiring into the general’s apparent personal problem; a violation of protocol worthy of banishment from the army forever and a fortnight spent rotting in a jail cell.
Randal kept his brown-eyed gaze on Rahmina as he whispered to his thirty four year old companion. “If she don’t fix her problem, Kainis, we might all die this night. I mean, it’s a wonder we’re goin’ out ‘neath the moonlight anyway. She prefers the light of day an’ you know it.” He scratched his greasy shoulder length brown hair as he finished, rubbing the dead skin from his scalp on his vest. Randal was in his mid thirties as well, though he looked a decade younger.
Kainis shrugged. “What if she’s just homesick, a state of mind that is easily overcome by adrenaline. Perhaps her energies are spent, also something adrenaline will solve. Then we would risk an early end to our life’s work for nothing.” His clear blue eyes followed Randal’s as they walked, his blond-gray ponytail resting on the inside shoulder.
“What about before the adrenaline hits?” argued Randal. “What if her homesickness or exhaustion leads us to a death trap? Would you rather risk banishment or death?”
Kainis’ hesitation answered the questions; evidently angles of the situation he’d not considered. He was impressed with Randal, and slightly disappointed in himself.
“Thought so. The safest way to do this is to take her aside, just you an’ me an’ the general.”
Kainis reluctantly nodded. After all, she was considered a friend to both. Together they made their way up to Rahmina’s side.
The general stopped, looking to each of them alternately. “We are but one hundred paces from the cave’s mouth. What is it?”
They glanced to each other uncertainly, but Randal knew better than to make her wait and gathered his courage. “May we speak, the three of us?” he asked.
Rahmina sighed, realizing she had hardly spent effort in concealing her depression. “I’m fine. Let’s focus on our task.”
“That’s exactly what we’re worried about,” said Randal as he gently took her arm and led her ahead a few steps, “your focus.”
Kainis made sure the other curious solders would not advance within earshot before he joined the pair.
“Our lives are in your hands, my general,” continued Randal. “Whatever ails you needs release, for we can’t have it distracting your judgment. We’re here for you. Let it out.”
Rahmina knew he was right. She put her back to a tree to hide from the rest of her entourage and looked up through the canopy to the stars above. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m truly grateful to have friends like you in this army, even though we don’t exactly know each other outside of work,” she smiled.
They both nodded, prompting her to continue.
“I really don’t think my sorrow would get in the way of our work, but you’re right. When all our lives are at stake, it’s wise to not even risk it.”
They nodded again, simply listening.
“I’m lonely, Randal. I joined the king’s army at sixteen and have since been too busy to enjoy life’s simple pleasures. I feel I never had a normal childhood, full of fun and games. Even before I joined, I spent my days in preparation for the training because, without a mother, I had only my father’s footsteps to follow.”
“Ah, yes. Your father was a good man. He saved my life once in a battle with some hill giants.” Randal paused, recalling the event with a smile of reverence. “Fortunately I was given the chance to return the favor before he died, though I wish I were there for his last battle as well.”
“Thank you,” she replied sincerely. “I never knew. But that’s the problem. All but a small handful of my memories of him are battle-related.”
“‘Course not, ‘twas before you were born. If I remember him correctly, he didn’t want to scare you with the tales.”
“So you think your prime years will pass before you find a mate, is that it?” asked Kainis.
Rahmina blushed and glanced around her tree to her milling men before answering with an amused chuckle. “It’s that obvious?”
“Your words hinted at it, but yes I noticed the way you’ve been looking at sir Duunlare before now.”
“You’re wantin’ a married man?” Randal gasped. He obviously hadn’t shared Kainis’ earlier assumptions.
Rahmina laughed. “Creole is a good man,” she conceded. “But his daughter frightens me and, more importantly, my jealousy is for his life, not his wife.”
“So let’s recall the motives for your choices up to now. Starting with your interest in the kingdom’s hierarchy.” Kainis’ hands came together, fingers spread out and pointing to the ground as he spoke.
Rahmina felt as though she were meeting with the king’s councilor. “I held no interest in the hierarchy at first. I merely enjoyed sparring with my father. I loved to fight,” she shrugged. “It was all one fun game for me. After a year I noticed the increased agility, flexibility, balance, coordination, and ease with which I performed any physical task. Then my father created games for our training; strange practices to improve my use of peripheral vision, focus, tactical improvisation and strategy.” She sighed. “I was unaware of how much my skills had improved by the time I applied to be a soldier. I thought all the kids endured the same training by their parents. But I turned out to be the youngest, and best trained, of the applicants.”
“If only they were that lucky,” snorted Randal.
“Sounds to me your childhood consisted of fun and games after all,” Kainis commented jovially. “By why’d you aspire for general rather than combat trainer? Our soldiers would be invulnerable if they were trained as your father trained you.”
“Aint that the truth,” Randal snorted again. “Always thought my end would come before his.”
Rahmina’s expression grew ominous. “My father warned me that I might encounter a mission I would not agree with.” It was painful for her to recall those missions, the regret etched so visibly onto her face.
“’Tis well, general. We know the missions you speak of. No need to relive them, curse our tyrant.”
Kainis gasped as he regarded Randal for his treasonous words.
“Fear not,” Rahmina interjected. “We are friends here. Nothing will be reported.”
Kainis’ fearful expression transformed to a smile of relief. “Then I will add a curse of my own while I’m allowed.” He spat on the ground.
“And me as well,” Rahmina snickered. “In fact that is why I refused their offer to train the army. I would find many sleepless nights had I aided in the slaughter of innocents to expand Roanindae’s coffers and land; or the slaughter of innocents without reason in some cases.”
“But are you not still carrying out his orders as general? That fills his pockets all the same.”
Randal nodded in agreement of his friend’s argument.
“Not exactly. As trainer I would be creating weapons for which I would have no control over their use. As general, I control the events during every mission I’m assigned. Though some missions, I’ll admit, involve thievery or brutal words. But never have I allowed, nor will I allow, the rapes or murders of innocent men, women and children. The disobedience nearly cost me blood once. Instead, the rat sent out another general to complete what I would not.”
They bowed their heads respectfully. “You’re a good general, the best we’ve ever served,” Kainis offered sincerely.
Randal smiled as he added, “And most of your men continue to travel with you because they know you’ll not force them to do evil deeds.”
“Not to mention your cunning words with Roanindae are what allows us the luxury of choice in who we follow.” Kainis bowed deeply.
Rahmina chuckled. “That was a tough battle.”
Silence befell the group, but Rahmina’s problem had not yet found a solution. They must have shared the feeling, for none moved to leave.
Rahmina broke the silence. “I noticed a few new faces this time. They will not cause any problems with the villagers while we’re away, will they?”
Kainis sighed as he shook his head disapprovingly.
Randal didn’t hesitate to inform his general of the few bad apples in the bunch. “We overheard two of ‘em talkin’ of having their way with the ladies.”
Rahmina’s glare was a look more befitting of winter than spring.
“But we warned them that they might be missin’ a certain appendage if they did,” he added with a wink.
Rahmina truly believed they would carry out the threat. “Let’s hope they value their loins more than the physical pleasure the tiny appendages would give them,” she growled. “For I will look the other way long enough for you to exact the punishment if they treat these people so horribly.”
“You’re slowly reshaping the kingdom, it seems,” Kainis reasoned, shifting their conversation back on track.
“The old bag has not much time left,” added Randal. “You plan to be there for his death? Rumors say he has no heirs.”
Rahmina nodded. “They are true. And I hope to rule when he’s gone, to return this land to the light it once was, but more likely the Hosttowers will send someone to take his place.”
“Not if the army can convince them you’re more than qualified for the responsibility.”
“I’m flattered,” she bowed in response. “Though I command but one tenth of Chea’Laern’s army. That will not be enough to persuade them.”
“You underestimate the power of gossip,” Kainis winked.
Her colossal smile infected them both. For once she felt optimistic about the aftermath of her king’s death. “Then let us hope there are more like you two out there.”
“And as for your loneliness, friend,” Randal offered. “Cast it aside. Love only brings problems with solutions that bring more problems. Friendship is all you need, and that you have.”
“Why do you think we joined the army?” the other mused. “Love is too complicated.”
Kainis and Randal walked back to the impatient and bored soldiers to await the command to continue their march.
Rahmina spent a moment in reflective silence, collecting her thoughts and digesting their conversation. She felt much better, and knew her friends’ wise words were true to their mark. Finally she had allies in her struggles.
Finally, she was no longer alone.
The tunnels were eerily quiet this time. Halfway through the tome’s subtle directions without conflict, or even a hint of life within the maze of cool stone, Rahmina started to think they’d merely had a streak of luck. She knew better than to let her guard down even with their good fortune, but found it hard to sublimate the excitement for their progress despite the difficulty in keeping their sense of direction. Thus far, every step guided by the tome had been accurate: every change in direction ended in the center of the tunnels. Without battles to interrupt their pace, following the directions had been quick and simple, even boring—evident by some of the soldiers’ yawns and blank expressions.
The general stopped in mid count. “Mark this spot as twenty three, north,” she whispered to the nearest soldier.
Randal was by her side in an instant upon hearing the sudden excited murmurs of the possibility of action. “Hear somethin’?” he asked anxiously.
She nodded. Then he heard the faint whiny voices as well.
“Sounds like squabblin’ ugly men who’d received a boot to the groin,” chuckled Randal.
Rahmina smiled for the humor, but kept her focus. “Not far ahead would be my guess, around a bend or two perhaps. I’ll investigate. You all wait here.”
“M’lady, Kainis an’ I…”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, “wait here.” She grabbed his torch and rushed off before her friend could respond.
After only a score of paces the tunnel curved hard to the right, bending back to parallel the first half, and a mere dozen more would end at a wall with a small opening to the left. She hadn’t gone half the dozen paces before she realized the kobolds were just beyond that left turn. With no alcoves nearby, Rahmina figured the wisest choice was to return to her soldiers and prepare for battle. Then Creole suddenly entered her thoughts, the last battle they shared inspiring a plan. Rarely had she exercised creativity while ridding the world of evil creatures, but she figured it couldn’t hurt to increase frequency in the practice now.
The tunnel’s ceiling was low enough for her to reach without stretching her arms to their limits, and conveniently jagged enough for firm handholds. She reached up after extinguishing her torch and quickly searched for the best jut of rock to support her weight. Through years of discipline and training her muscles were honed to endure tasks such as this, and now she could not have been more grateful for her past choices in life.
Her steady hands, calloused from daily training with swords, independently investigated the many nooks and crannies until they finally found a grip worthy of performing their required duty. She didn’t hesitate to lift herself off the ground; her legs suspended straight out for lack of footholds and toned muscles rippling from the strain. She ignored all protests from her limbs and joints, tuning them out as she would a tavern drunk. They cried for her to stop, to relax, but found no response. Her only focus: the bootless clawed feet scratching at the stone, advancing slowly. She couldn’t close her eyes, for she needed to know if the beasts used infra-vision or a torch; or perhaps candles like the strange meditating goblins. She managed to peer between her feet when her enemies’ voices revealed they neared her tunnel, and was relieved to see the orange glow of firelight reflecting off the wall at the bend. If they viewed in the infrared spectrum, her precarious position would prove useless. However, the dancing shadows created by fire would likely conceal her from the creatures’ low angled view.
Finally they entered the tunnel. Rahmina’s arms shook from the strain, her white knuckles hurt for lack of circulating blood. But she called upon meditation to push the growing discomfort to the back of her mind. It felt a moment of eternity before the creatures tread the ground below her, and she allowed her focus to expand enough to interpret their whiny language: they searched for food. To help pass the time, and keep her focus, Rahmina counted their slow steps.
Until they stopped directly below her head.
Her heart beat to the rhythm of her speeding thoughts, or worries more accurately. Had they looked up? Were they readying sharp blades to throw and stick her, to drop her into their hungry group’s eager claws? Perhaps they stood peering at her, trying to discern what clung unmoving to the ceiling. She nearly let go, almost dropped upon them to at least retain the advantage of surprise. By their clumsy footsteps, she counted at least six kobolds; not too difficult of odds for her expertise. She prepared to abandon her plan, and would have if their march hadn’t suddenly resumed.
Rahmina allowed the escape of a short, quiet breath of relief. She noticed their march was quieter now, as though they stalked cautiously ahead. The soldiers, she suddenly realized. They’d either heard or smelled her men around the bend, and she mentally noted to thank them for possibly saving her life—even if the rescue was unintentional.
The kobolds shrieked an ugly battle cry, and the thudding of hard-pumping legs echoed through the tunnel.
Rahmina dropped from her position, then nearly dropped face down on the stone as well from the instant re-circulation of her blood flow. She managed to push through the tingling in her legs and arms, to reset her footing, and intended to rush and complete the closing maw around the kobolds.
But a second high-pitched battle cry reverberated behind her.
Instinctively, before she even glimpsed her target, she unsheathed one of her daggers and let fly as she turned to face the second group. It soared through the windless tunnel and clipped the leading creature’s cheekbone, drawing a thin red line to its ear. But the weapon’s momentum was great, and the kobold’s bone ricocheted it into the eye socket of the next in line. It fell to the floor, quite dead, and three more came on.
As her first dagger hit the mark, she drew her second and bid her time to aim before throwing it. The dagger soared in, the bloodthirsty beasts not even attempting to block the fast-flying missile, and easily pierced the meager leather vest of the leading kobold; biting into its heart. She suddenly realized this batch carried a torch as well when it dropped to the floor with the second corpse. Luckily the flame burned on.
Two down.
Rahmina drew her sword to finish the fight. She worried not for her soldiers, for they were a score of well-trained men pitched against a half dozen clumsy, primitive kobolds. She patiently waited, both hands on her sword’s hilt with the blade resting at her hip and extended behind her, until the beasts closed within five feet; partially for strategy and partially to allow time for her blood flow to return to normal. They obviously intended to use typical kobold tactics—uncalculating, predictable brute force—for they charged with swords raised over their heads. Rahmina watched, amused, as they started to swing, both expectedly in an overhead downward chop. She let go of the hilt with one hand and pivoted backward with her leading foot, twisting her hip to propel the sword across in front. She didn’t even need to listen for the clang of metal as she knocked both swords aside; for she knew her timing was true. Instead, she focused on the next strike. The instant her pivoting foot touched down, it lifted up and kicked forward in a graceful roundabout arc. At the same time she switched her grip from right hand to left and extended the sword to arms length. The tip entered the throat of the kobold on the left, and she used her kicking foot’s momentum to spin a one hundred eighty degree turn. Her sword sliced through the kobold’s throat and entered the second’s advancing neck, severing the head from its body.
With her back to her enemies, she need only feel the three thuds on the ground behind her to know the battle found an end: the thuds of two bodies and a head. She would retrieve her daggers later, for another priority needed tending. She rushed to her soldiers, her friends, to become the closing maw of justice.
But the battle was already over.
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This was another great chapter. I am anxious to find out what happened next. There are definitely similarities between your novel and some of R.A. Salvatore’s, but so far the plot is uniquely your own. I have read a lot of published novels, many best sellars where I can see an influence from other writers. Although sometimes it’s a coincident.
“Sholee nearly punched herself” Something to think about, I can’t picture Sholee nearly punching herself. I think it’s the word punching that bothers me. It seems like hit or strangle herself would seem more in character, but I am just getting to know the characters and you know them quite well.
Sholee’s jealousy and guilt is a great addition for upping the tension.
“Creole fought valiantly to not” POV shift.
“Beneath the strength of her” POV shift
“through false ignorance.” We don’t need this. You’ve made it clear that he knows more than he’s saying.
“Sholee shivered.
She considered it inappropriate” You put in a line space to indicate the passing of time, but you don’t introduce who is doing the thinking here. After reading further we realize it’s Sholee. In the second paragraph you switch without warning to Brinney’s pov.
“Sholee noticed” Now we’re suddenly back in Sholee’s head.
“blonde haired,” ‘blond’ is for male, ‘blonde,’ female.
“obviously timid” Can you describe this instead of telling us.
“blue eyes coveted her and her escorts alternately,” Not sure what you mean by coveted. The conventional meaning does seem to fit.
“no one could be sure.” Whose pov is this? How could they know what everyone was thinking?
“Why are you so nice to them?” pov shift.
“stole that jeweled dagger” You probably won’t tell me, but is this the jeweled daggar the wizard in the prologue was looking for?
be gained by interrogation, so it’s obvious to the reader already that she has realized this.
“Those answers could only be gained by interrogation, she realized,” you’ve used realized twice in the same paragraph. In this case she’s already said the answers can only
“as she squeezed her right hand around it.” as she squeezed it in her right hand.
“Amidst the shades of brilliant yellow, she pulled forth a lighter chord for clairvoyance and sent it flowing into the quartz.” This is an interesting way to use magic. I like it!
“Fear enveloped her without hesitation.” I don’t think ‘fear’ is capable of having hesitation.
“They fit Baurdi’s description exactly.” Delete exactly.
“no mage nor student nor master of the Hosttowers” no mage, nor student, nor master, of the
“Secile stated dryly.” Try not to use unnecessary adverbs.
“She quickly woke her” quickly is not necessary. We already know she is in a hurry.
“while Amberley promptly” give name sooner. It causes confusion, first I thought Secile, then I thought headmistress , then I didn’t know who I was reading about.
I am looking forward to when Daxe and Secile meet up!
“Forgive me, Headmistress, but isn’t that contradictory to the laws?” It’s not clear who’s saying this. After the next two lines I did figure it out, but it made me stop and go back.
You do a great job jumping from destination to destination without missing a beat. All the pieces seem to fit together even though they haven’t been connected completely yet.
“Rahmina found her anticipated arrival odd,” pov shift.
“She could sense the level of intimacy on the other side of that door and, though the envy was not for any interest in Creole. She wished she had a love to share the heart-warming experience with.” Consider, ‘She could sense the level of intimacy on the other side of the door. Though the envy was not for any interest in Creole, she wished she had a love to share…”
“Brinney rushed after her, and would have called” pov shift
“The front line of the score of soldiers marching behind her perceived the burden in Rahmina’s dragging steps. They worried” Can you give these thoughts to a specific character? It would draw the reader in more effectively.
“all dearly, possibly” two adverbs in a row, awkward
“Kainis made sure the other curious solders would not advance within earshot” how?
Wouldn’t it seem suspicious the two soldiers taking the general to the side?
“I’m truly grateful to have friends like you in this army,” It seems odd to me that they’d stop in the dark to have this conversation not far from the cave. Maybe it would have been more appropriate before they set out. Also it seems somewhat forced. Maybe I missed something, but it didn’t seem like she had any friends in army and now she has friends she’s will to discuss intimate details. It seems convenient. She must have been a hurry to go or else why would she leave at night?
“And me as well,” Rahmina snickered.” You’ve done this a few times. Snickered as well as snorted it an action tag, not a dialogue tag. So there would be a period after well.
“But are you not still carrying out his orders as general? That fills his pockets all the same.” This needs a dialogue tag.
“Kainis offered sincerely.” You don’t need ‘sincerely.’ It already obvious how Kainis feels.
I liked the ending. Very exciting.
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