Farmers & Mercenaries (31 page)

As if on cue, their instructor, Vanria Delmith, came striding around a copse of squat fruit trees. The snow-white silk robe draped over his shoulders swallowed his too-thin limbs and lithe, blue-gray body. His sandaled feet whisked across the crushed stone path without making a sound. A second Elmorr’Antien walked by his side wearing a silk robe in much the same cut. As with all the clothing Alant had seen the Elmorr’Antiens wear, the pale blue robe accentuated the thinness of this one’s body rather than hiding it. What surprised Alant was the red-laced trim at collar and sleeve covered with gold embroidery throughout, and the large gold ring, the center of which held a red stone that glinted in the noonday sunlight, perched on the finger of his right hand.

I have never seen any
of
the Elmorr’Antiens wear either trimmed robes nor jewelry before.

Alant let out an involuntary gasp and bent forward as a ting of pain bore into his chest.

“Yes, my Prince. I do feel that the Humans are advancing. So are the younglings. We have quite a skilled group.”
Delmith’s words sounded strange to Alant as he fumbled with the front of his robes to find the source of his discomfort. The first syllable his instructor spoke sounded as if the Elmorr’Antien sang in a flighty, musical tone—nothing Alant recognized as a tongue. He assumed they spoke in their native tongue. Yet, before the first word slipped from the Elmorr’Antien’s lips, Alant knew its meaning. Now he could not tell if his Vanria spoke in the Human tongue or if the weird speech coming from him simply sounded like words Alant recognized. Still, Alant was certain he understood. His hand closed around the Tarsith that dangled from his neck, hidden behind his plain white robe. Frigid cold radiated through the thick cloth. The coldness of it numbed his fingers.
“I must agree, my Prince, you are correct about the Essence, it is on a steady increase in power.”

I should not understand the words escaping his mouth, yet somehow I do.

The Tarsith pulsed with cold now. Adjusting his grasp to hold its chain between his fingers, he let the amulet dangle by the loop, being careful to keep it from touching his chest.

The Elmorr’Antiens approached and all four Humans rose to their feet. The students stood with arms at their sides—except for Alant who clutched the front of his robe to keep the cold Tarsith from his skin—waiting patiently to be addressed.

It is weird the Elmorr’Antiens feel it is proper for the superior to address the subordinate first. Back home it is the other way round.

“Greetings, young Initiates.” Vanria Delmith was the only Elmorr’Antien who, as far as Alant knew, had ever spoken directly to any of the Humans in a conversational way. This nagged at the back of his mind. Still, Alant had grown fond of his new teacher.

“Greetings, Vanria Delmith.” The four Initiate’s voices rang together, their answer echoing loud in the normally tranquil garden area.

“Greetings, Prince Aritian.” The other’s added greeting shocked Alant, and he gaped open mouthed at the Elmorr’Antien with the ring. Shaith dropped into a curtsy as the two other young men bent over at the waist in unison. Alant regained his composure and bowed a fraction behind the others. He hoped his awkward bow imitated the others well enough to keep him from looking like a country lout.

A Prince!

The Elmorr’Antien with the ring on his hand, the one the other Initiates had called Prince Aritian, cast a cold gaze over the small group of Humans. The pair came to a stop in the small entrance way that led into the hedge-maze. A shiver ran through Alant that had nothing to do with the Tarsith’s frostiness. The blue-gray being’s face showed no more emotion than any Elmorr’Antien’s face Alant had seen while on the Isle, yet somehow it radiated…

What? Disdain? Hate?

“I still fail to understand why you try so hard with these…”
The Prince let a gasp escape his lips.
“They are not worth the time.”

Bowing his teardrop shaped head in deference to the Elmorr’Antien at his side, Delmith looked over his students.
“I find Humans to be interesting. Full of such raw emotions, ambitions, desires.”
His voice took on an airy cadence.
“They live such short lives and have much to off—”
The Vanria cut his words off as if just realizing to whom he spoke. Turning back to Prince Aritian, who held an obvious look of disgust on his face, Delmith inclined his head once more.
“It is only my curiosity, my Prince, of which I speak.”

“Mayhaps, be that as it may.”
The Prince looked back at Alant’s group standing in the green grass, their food baskets forgotten by their feet. Alant thought he saw the beings lips tighten into what he could only describe as a sneer.
“Do not lose sight of why they are here, Delmith. Becoming attached to any of them will cause you nothing except grief.”
The two headed toward the entrance to the hedge-maze, yet the Prince never took his eyes from Alant.
“You will need to pick one for the Melding. The Chi’utlan is nearly full. Mayhaps the new one?”
A thin, bony finger pointed at Alant.
“You said he shows promise, and I do not like the way he looks at me.”

Quickly, Alant diverted his gaze, catching Delmith’s eye as he did. The Vanria had a look that almost seemed mournful painted on it. Seeing this caused Alant to drop his gaze to the ground.
“He has just arrived, my Prince, and has not yet reached his full potential. It would be difficult to explain if
anything happened to him so soon after his arrival. Besides, I feel if
we wait with this one, he may have the greatest chance for success.”

“Any skill they have with the Essence is moot! A Mah’Sukai will not be created until the Essence wills it. We simply need to keep attempting to Meld the Humans with it until we succeed. Then we will know it is ready.”
The Prince stopped abruptly and turned on the teacher.
“Or would you prefer I sacrifice members of our own race? Mayhaps you are willing to undergo the Melding yourself in their stead? Become the first Elmorr’Antien Mah’Sukai ever in the history of the Plane? Alas, if
the Essence is not ready…”

Taking a step back, Delmith looked on the brink of fleeing.
“No, my Prince! I was suggesting no such course!”
The Vanria looked over his small group of students and did not look happy.

It is as if
he regrets something he has done or is about to do.

Delmith’s gaze came to rest on Quiln.
“Mayhaps the other Ro’Arithian would be a better choice.”

Waving a dismissive hand, the Prince turned and walked into the hedge-maze.
“A whore’s son will not be missed should the worst happen, that is why we decided to bring him here. I will leave the details to you and we will attempt the Meld upon my return within the tenday.”
The Prince’s voice trailed off as the two withdrew deeper into the hedge-maze. Delmith’s response was too faint for Alant to hear.

“Why do you hold your chest?” Shaith’s words gave Alant a start and he cut his eyes at her.

The Tarsith, no longer cold, fell back against Alant’s skin when he released it. “Did you hear that?” He made no attempt to keep the fear from his voice.

“The Elmorr’Antiens? Aye.” Quiln sat back down on the bench and started eating once more.

Looking at the boy as if he were mad, Alant thought he might never eat again. “Are you not worried? What is the Melding they spoke of?”

Shaith cocked her head to the side. “What do you speak of, Alant?”

Alant stared back at her, puzzled. “The Melding they just spoke of.” He waved his arm in the direction of the hedge-maze. “It sounded like nothing I would want to try! Even Vanria Delmith looked frightened!”

“Have you no heard them speak before in their own tongue?”

“Own tongue? They were speaking in the Human tongue.”

She giggled. “Mayhaps you be sick, Alant. Their tongue flows like the script of the finest calligrapher, more akin to music than words. And it do have a way of tickling the mind, yet that be no Human tongue they did speak.” Cocking her head again, her jade-green eyes twinkling, she reached out, took his hand and pulled him down onto the grass next to her. “You need to finish your food. Class starts soon and I no want to hear your stomach growling.”

Casting a quizzical look over all three of them, he retrieved his food basket from the ground yet did not eat.

The others, they did not understand. Yet I did!

Reaching a hand to his chest, he placed his palm over the now warm Tarsith. Sier Sarlimac’s words flooded back to him. ‘
Few have returned from the training unscathed. Some have even perished.’

What have I been thrust into?

A
rderi Cor awoke with a start. A bright glow filled much of the dark sky. The crackling of a massive fire drowned out all other sounds, and a sickly-sweet smell penetrated his nostrils. Sitting up in the small tent, he was pleased to note that he felt no pain in his arm. Reaching out a hand, he flexed his fingers and experimentally rotated his shoulder.

The break is healed! Whatever was in that Oolant drought is amazing!

Sliding out of the tent, Arderi stood and took in his surroundings. Through the hazy, pain-filled memory of the past day, he realized he was still on the lakeshore. The small fire Master Rillion had started earlier that morn had smoldered out and now lay cold and forgotten. Cresting the small rise, Arderi saw that a large fire took up much of the center area that was once the site of the base camp. Its flames licked high into the air and burning embers raced over even the tallest trees standing nearby. The silhouette of two men stood some distance off from the fire itself, and Arderi recognized the outline of Jintrill next to Clytus. Heading over to them, it surprised him that neither turned at his approach. A sudden understanding of the situation broke over him, and with no wish to break the silence, he quietly joined them in their vigil by the fire.

This is a funeral pyre. All those men; Master Gartin, Mir’am Trilim, Alimia, gone.

For long moments, the three stood in reverence, watching the blaze. The wood crackled and popped as it bore the essence of those who had fallen here to the aftermore.

“We must be on our way.” Clytus broke from the group and headed toward the lake. “This large a fire shall attract attention that I do not think we can handle.”

Looking at the Shaper, Arderi saw that the young man seemed different, older. The grim look now set into the Sier’s jaw had not been there before. Noticing Arderi’s stare, Jintrill nodded to Arderi, then followed after Clytus. Arderi took another few moments to watch the pyre before he joined them.

Away from the rubble that used to be the base camp, several packs lay in a pile. Clytus shrugged one over his shoulders as Arderi arrived. “I set the horses free. They can not go where we are headed. Each of you lads grab a pack. I salvaged what I could while I cleared the dead from the debris. We have enough food to last us at least a moon’s span. Now that I know a Drakon is nearby, that should give us enough time.”

“Enough time?” The Shaper’s voice carried an edge. “Enough time for what?”

Master Rillion looked hard at the Sier for several moments. “Enough time to finish what I came here for.”

“You cannot be serious! You intend to continue? Surely, you must see that all is lost! The only choice left to us—”

Grabbing the young Shaper’s robe and choking off his words, Clytus lifted him by the neckline. “All is not lost!” Master Rillion’s growl came out ferocious, like that of a wild beast. Arderi stepped back, grateful he was not the object of the man’s anger. “The only choice left to me is to finish what I came for!” The Commander shoved Jintrill away, causing the Sier to stumble and land hard on his rump. “Go if you wish! I never wanted either of you along to begin with!”

Arderi quickly stepped between the two. “Master Rillion, sir. We will not survive out here alone. Neither of us have the skill. Do not blame the Sier for his fear, the Gods know I am afraid as well.”

Bowing his head, Clytus ran a hand through his hair. “Nix, I do not blame you, lad.” Raising his head, he looked directly into Arderi’s eyes, and Arderi saw death within their depths.

It is not what is out there that I need be frightened of, it is here in front of me.

“I have paid much, too much. Yet I will pay more if needs be. My son, Sindian, will die unless we succeed here.” Pulling out a small pouch, Clytus produced a strange metallic object. “This is a collector. We are here to collect the blood of a Drakon. Within the creature’s blood is the Essence needed to cure my son.” He wrapped the device and returned it to its pouch. “Only my death will stop me from continuing. Neither of you have to join me, there is food enough in the packs for you both to return home. Yet, I will not leave these mountains until I have what I came for. The choice is yours as to what you will do.” Brushing past Arderi, Clytus headed up the slope that led deeper into the jagged peaks of the Nektine.

Arderi watched the man for a moment before turning his attention to the Shaper. Leaning over, he offered a hand to Jintrill and helped him stand. “We will never survive without him. I am not sure the man is still sane, however. I do not mind admitting he scares me as much as being in these Gods forsaken mountains alone.” With that, Arderi bent over and picked up one of the packs. Under it sat a sword that he recognized at once.

Master Gartin’s blade!

Kneeling, Arderi brushed a hand over the worn leather of the scabbard. He stared off in the direction Commander Clytus walked, and did not think the man had even looked to see if they were following him. Dropping his eyes to the sword once more, thoughts of the grizzled old weapon’s master flooded into him.

This sword has seen so much, I do not feel I would be worthy to hold it if
I left the Commander alone out here on his own. Master Gartin surely would not!

Rising to his full height, he glared at the Shaper. “If it is your intention to head toward home, Sier, you will be doing so alone. I will not abandon Commander Rillion.” Spinning on a heel, Arderi started off at a brisk pace up the slope.

“Wait!”

Arderi heard the rustle of a pack and the swish of the Shaper’s robes.

“Wait on me, Arderi. I am coming as well.”

A grim smile came to him. Arderi did not stop his steps, yet he cut his pace to a walk.