Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (33 page)

“On Judgment Day, which as you know happens once a month on the full moon, the first day of next week, I will announce the changes.” Rolling over as his masseuse directed, he gasped as she shifted her attentions away from his legs.

“What changes?” Malvornick guided the young woman under the water, leaning back to enjoy a task for which she had been chosen.

“I will announce the traitors, I will proclaim martial law under the church, and I will place anyone suspect that is in church jurisdiction under suspension.” The priest shuddered and let out a small moan as the tender ministrations of the girl continued, her hands stroking and gripping him.

“But Lord Father Alixin, the whole church may be corrupt.” He watched as the young girl began to struggle under the water, bubbles rising to the top as she tried to rise up. He placed a hand on her neck.

“Then I will have to place the whole church under suspension and bring only those I trust into my confidence.” Crying out, the priest doubled over as his body’s natural reactions released.

“You mean, dissolve the church council? What would that make you?” The girl’s eyes bulged as she fought to reach the air above the water. The Duke’s held her under by the back of her neck with one strong hand, as his other hand stroked her hair and forced her back to her task. He smiled as the struggles created a unique movement and friction.

“Yes, I mean exactly that. It is not a title I wanted; you know well enough how I have only risen in power and title to serve the church. But if I must, I will take the title of High Lord Father and do what I must do.” Pushing the girl away, he leapt from the table. Alixin snatched his towel, covered himself, and he fell to his knees. “I need to pray to Jonath for direction.” The young girl approached him again and kneeled with him, placing her hands in his. He brought them to his lips, smearing the oils and other liquids across his face.

Malvornick pushed the limp form of his attending girl across the large tub and grinned as the priest prayed for guidance, and the attending slave kissed away the priest’s tears.

Three of them napped during the early evening hours while Gruedo scouted the area for herbs and minerals to use in her concoctions. Rogen tended to his weapons while he kept watch. The sounds of the sharpening stone on a blade and the steady drip of water on the overhead canvas were as soothing to Dawn as the lap of waves on the sides of the Lady Luck. Cyril snored softly as he slept in the way a soldier learns to sleep, at any available opportunity. Cite had dozed off as he let his mind wander, his pipe lying in the wet leaves beside his hand.

Rogen stopped the sliding his weapon along the oiled stone and looked into the gray mist. It was silent except for the rain. The birds’ calls had stopped and the insects went quiet. The Rokairn cursed under his breath and wondered how long it had been this way. He stood and nudged Cyril with his foot as he stepped to the edge of the makeshift tent, staring outward.

Cyril opened his eyes and looked at Rogen as the shorter man turned away. The priest saw the tense set of his shoulders and his grip on the double-bladed great axe. Cyril reached over, shook Dawn, and then picked up his short sword. He stood, ducked so his head didn’t hit the top of the canvas, and stepped beside Rogen, making as little noise as possible.

Dawn sat up and saw the two men readying for something. She reached for her cutlass and - leaving Cite dozing to the side of the tent - checked for the ley lines in the area. A strong fire line (or heat if Cite was correct) rolled through the area, as it often does in heavy growth areas, and a water line moved along the river.

A noise came from the north as something in the underbrush rushed towards them. Gruedo burst from the mist and skidded to a halt inside the tent, turning around to look back towards the direction from which she had run.

“Something’s out there,” she panted, hands on her knees. Rogen grunted and Cyril whispered a prayer to Jonath for protection, and felt the air around him quiver for a split second.

“Not just something, the spirit of this forest.” Cite spoke from behind them, making them jump. His voice was loud, bolder than his usual tone, and filled with a calm confidence.

The rain pattered around their dry island of shelter. The ground mist turned an eerie green and grew thicker. Dawn drew upon enough energy to create a breeze to swirl the fog and to clear it away from their camp. Figures appeared. Tall, gaunt figures that blended with the trees around them. It was hard to tell how many there were, because they disappeared a moment after they were exposed, melting into the forest.

Dawn threw her arms wide and the light breeze became a biting wind that whipped through the trees, tearing the fog away, and exposing the area around their camp in all directions for about thirty meters. The thin beings came into view again, bows in hands and arrows prepared to fly. They released twenty arrows on a deadly track. With a grunt, Cite waved his hand and the arrows were swept from the air.

“They will not stop,” Cite said in an unruffled voice. “They don’t care whether they live or die. They already feel more dead than alive, like this forest, they are dying from within. The trees may live, and their bodies, but the soul is gone.”

The Dasism had fired twice more. Both times Cite snatched from the air with a wave of his hand. Rogen looked to his left and saw three bundles of shafts floating in the air beside the camp. The attackers, realizing the futility of theirs bows, discarded them. With graceful movements, they drew long, slim swords with curved blades. The blades became an extension of the attackers’ arms as they moved forward.

Rogen twirled his axe as they approached, unsure if a show of prowess would unnerve the foreign beings. He set his feet and let out a deep breath, grounded his body and mind, and released his fears and doubts. Twenty against five was not good odds, but he hoped the others could use some other magics to help even the odds. Gruedo drew her daggers and looked for cover as Dawn limbered herself by rotating her neck until it popped and shaking her sword arm to loosen it.

Cyril looked confused as the enemy closed the distance. “They have no ill will in them, no evil. They do this for a reason, but it is not their own. Jonath guide me, I know not how to judge these beings.”

Cite stepped in front of his companions and made a motion as if he was inserting a key into a door and turning it. Rogen began to warn him to move as the first willowy being crumbled to the ground. The Dasism rushed in. They moved as one, their movements coordinated as they circled the camp. Their swords swept towards the companions from all angles. Some spun to get behind the five invaders; some knelt and came in low, as others thrust high above them.

An invisible shield set in front of them deflected every sword. Gruedo could see the barrier appear for a moment as the sword strikes were deflected. She stepped back and heard Cite sigh. Looking at the mind mage, Gruedo watched as he linked his fingers and twisted his hands, bending his elbows then drawing his arms away from each other, forcing the fingers to unlink. The beings in front of them stopped and their eyes began to clear. Some shook their heads and others rubbed at their temples.

“Rogen, banish them,” Cite said, in a peaceful tone. Rogen turned his head to look at Cite, surprised. “Use your sorcery and undo the magic that keeps them where they do not want to be. It is their will.”

Rogen gawked at Cite for a moment. Then he closed his mouth, set his jaw, and nodded. Setting his axe down and closing his eyes, he withdrew into himself and found the bonds that connected him to this world and showed he belonged here. He anchored those ties in his mind then reached out. He felt the ethereal bindings of his friends and passed beyond them. He then felt the fae-kin. There was a duality to their connection. They belonged here, but they also had ties somewhere else. The second set of bonds forced them to stay in this world and he began to release them, allowing the former links to draw them to the other place where they belonged.

The others saw Rogen close his eyes and tighten every muscle. His face reddened as he strained. Small light popped along his body, starting at his feet and working the way up his body. Beginning with two at the juncture of his legs, and moving up to his stomach, chest, neck, forehead, then above him, the lights flashed a dim red at the beginning and shifted through the color spectrum to end with a violet spark. Lights then sparked around the beings outside Cite’s telekinetic shield. In reverse order, they worked their way down the Dasisms’ bodies. They collapsed one by one, and as did, they faded. By the time each body reached the wet ground, it had disappeared leaving clothing and weapons behind.

Cyril turned to Rogen in amazement, and saw the Rokairn falling to the ground. The priest grabbed the falling man. Rogen lay in Cyril’s arms gasping as Dawn and Gruedo rushed over.

“Wow!” Gruedo said. “You can do shit, too! You killed them all, way to go big guy!” Rogen shook his head, trying to catch his breath while explaining what just happened.

“Let him pull himself together, that took a lot out of him.” Cyril told the excited young woman.

After a minute or so, the color returned to Rogen’s. He sat up and accepted a cup of water from Dawn.

“I did not kill them. Remember when I told Cite that he did not quite have the whole truth about summoning?” The others nodded. “I know a bit more than the lad. I have studied it extensively. Now, before you get upset that you are traveling with an evil man who would summon demons, let me explain.”

“I don’t think we were worried about you summoning demons, Rogen.” Dawn smiled and Cyril frowned. Rogen looked up at her with a grateful smile, then pushed himself upright and moved out of Cyril’s supporting arms.

“I know of three places where summoning has been used for evil. I studied it so I may know my enemy. I learned how to summon, but more importantly, what ties beings to our world. With that knowledge, I can banish them. Normally, I only have one bond to release, but these creatures had all seven bonds that most beings native to this world have. If they had not been willing to help me, I would have been in worse shape than I am now.” Rogen felt he had enough attention and credit and decided to turn the focus away from himself. “I am just curious how Cite suddenly could deflect that many arrows, hold a shield that could stop twenty swords, and break a mental control over ancient beings that could not do it themselves. Not to mention how he knew about my other talents. Where is he?”

They all turned to look at Cite and saw him lying as he was before, asleep with his pipe in the wet leaves beside his hand.

The next day the rain went away but the cold weather settled in. They rode listening to the crunch of frost underfoot, rather than dead leaves. Branches fell from trees as they passed as the forest gave up its life. They had broken camp early and set out with little more to eat than some bread and a bit of cheese each. Rogen did take the time to boil water to make beanut. Cyril told them they should reach the river’s end by midday and could begin heading west.

Cite had slept through the night and spent the morning writing in his dream journal. He didn’t seem to notice the others watching him. Rogen had suggested they wait to bring up Cite’s unusual behavior yesterday. When they did mention it after they had begun the day’s journey, Cite was as amazed as they were.

“I dreamt about that,” Cite exclaimed, “not quite how you describe it, though. I dreamt of a huge horde of beings from other worlds. I couldn’t quite see what they were. They were hiding in mist, fog, and smoke, but I knew there were many kinds. I broke mental holds on some. I also shook the earth with my telekinesis as I flew above it, ferreted out traitors with my telepathy and paralyzed enemies with a thought, then turned them into allies. Rogen was incredible; he stepped through portals to other worlds and came back in behind the creatures with his axe, slicing them with his axe to banish them. Cyril called down power from his god that just disintegrated them and sent them back to their world. Dawn had dozens of beings made of fire and water sweeping across the land at her command, and tornados and men of stone fought as her army. Gruedo stunned me the most though.” Gruedo looked at him with surprise of her own, wondering what he saw about her. “She sang to the earth and trees. They laid eggs and she harvested them, and in her hands they hatched into phoenix and other incredible things. She cured the sick by sprinkling gems on them, made men impenetrable to weapons with a powder and created things that held magic for centuries that she gave to certain people. I can only guess that I was seeing our potential selves, though I cannot be sure if this was literal or symbolic.”

They all stared at him. Dawn spoke first. “I sure hope we reach this potential before our enemies reach us.”

“Strife breeds conviction, challenge creates character. No one who does not face adversity will ever find their true self.” Rogen said.

“Yeah, yeah,” interrupted Gruedo. “So I made birds of fire from eggs that trees laid?” The rest of the morning passed with Gruedo enjoying a healthy daydream fantasy of ‘What If’.

Essude knelt in front of Kala, the five empty crystals spread on the carpet of leaves between them. He stared down with his arms crossed, his brow knitted, and his lips pursed in anger. He lashed out and kicked the stones across the clearing that was his royal court, just missing Essude with his foot.