Sacrifice (Book 4) (10 page)

But when he regarded his body and came into his mind, his amazement stunned him. Only his branding to the Chalaine remained, the rest of his grotesque scars having disappeared altogether, his skin a healthy, burnished hue that seemed just a shade darker than he remembered. He could sense the Chalaine in the distance only a scant few hours from where he was. She had survived!

Alive with renewed purpose, he clambered out of the boulder to find his second shock—four dead Millim Eri, including those who had concealed Mikkik’s lessons on Trysmagic from him. The two others he did not recognize. He would have to sort the mystery out later. He had to reach the Chalaine, for he didn’t doubt that Mikkik would pursue her relentlessly until he unmade her just as he had done to her pathetic husband on the bridge of Echo Hold.

As Gen cast about for something to wear, he felt the familiar awareness of Trysmagic. The Millim Eri had returned it to him! Reaching within, he sought to use its power to fashion raiment for himself. As he turned inward, he found more. Two other forces awaited his command, and he found the knowledge of the phrases and gestures needed to use them at the tip of his tongue.

Reeling under the weight of his new knowledge, it became clear. The Millim Eri had changed and empowered him, but to what end? Tentatively, he used the magic of Duam to change his face and disguise himself, growing a close-cropped beard and lengthening his hair so it hung about his shoulders. Pleased with the results, he drew upon Trys to fashion the simple leather garb of a woodsman about himself, including a wide-brimmed hat to further conceal his face.

Casting one last look at the strange bower and his stranger benefactors, he turned westward toward where he felt the Chalaine waited, feeling through the Im’Tith her exhaustion and the dry, itching discomfort of her skin. If she had fled into the wood, then they were indeed desperate. Calling on Duam again, he fortified his body and ran with the fleet foot of Maewen’s father, the thicker trees giving way to thin ones that clumped more tightly together the farther he ran from the bower. The joys of Duammagic infused him with the agility and speed of a deer, dodging and jumping through the tangle with such alacrity that he couldn’t help but smile within himself.

He had run for an hour when he caught sight of a solitary figure making her way through the forest in his direction. Upon seeing him, she stopped and leaned against a tree to rest. Maewen. Gen rejoiced and ran to her. As he approached, she squinted at him, unsure for a moment of who he was. At last the glimmer of recognition bloomed on her face and she smiled one of her rare smiles.

“It is you,” she said in Elvish. “But, it is not you.”

“I am not sure what I am, either,” he answered in kind. “But I am the Gen you knew. I still bear the brand of the Chalaine and know she is not far from here. Is she in danger?”

“Grave. I’ll tell you while we run. Let’s see if you are as good as you once were!”

They pressed forward against the clawing tangle of branches and underbrush with as much celerity as they could manage, Maewen’s tale souring his mood the more she told. Mikkik had played them all masterfully, and whatever the dark god had in mind was clearly within his reach. He wanted the Chalaine, sending Athan for her, which evidenced there was some purpose left that Mikkik had not yet fulfilled.

“So I do not believe it will be wise for you to return as Gen,” she said, stopping as they approached. “Your appearance is so different now that if you keep your distance and talk little, you can pass for someone else. You need a new name, something humble and nondescript.”

“Call me Amos. I will be a woodsman you met on your excursions searching for Elde Luri Mora. Explain that I am an expert in the healing arts, and if I can help the fallen men, I will. We must keep my existence secret. If Mikkik learns that I am alive, I will be a liability to the Chalaine, not to mention that most of the men may not trust me as Gen, no matter what Mirelle tried to tell them or how different I look.”

“I agree,” Maewen said, “but it cannot last. Gen, you must see that you have been given great gifts for a greater purpose than just protecting the Chalaine. Think on it. But we must hurry. I fear the Uyumaak will again come for us with nightfall, and it already approaches midday.”

Gen nodded and used Trysmagic to conjure up a phony bag of herbal remedies to mask his use of Duammagic’s healing power. They ran forward again, emerging into the clearing to find that most of the fallen men had gone, Gen sensing the Chalaine on the other side of the glade within the confines of the forest. Some few corpses remained, and he and Maewen inspected them, finding gaping wounds and blood around them as if something had burrowed out of their insides.

“This does not bode well,” Maewen intoned gravely. “They were all unconscious when I left. Let’s see if the soldiers can move. We must leave before the beetles or the Uyumaak arrive again. Remember, keep your hat low and talk little.”

They crossed the clear brook at the center of the glade, passing some men filling water skins, all bearing bloody bandages on their extremities, all wan and shaky. Crossing into the wood on the other side, they found General Harband and Lord Kildan leaning against the tree trunks, a tired Ethris nearby. They all gave Gen the once-over as he approached, but no flicker of recognition sparked in their troubled eyes, their attention turning to Maewen.

“Did the stupor pass?” she asked, noting the bandages on Lord Kildan and General Harband.

“Oh, it passed,” General Harband answered grumpily, “after we all birthed a beetle or two out of those bites they gave us last night. Mikkik’s beard! I’m not a fainting man, but the little baby beasties damn near crippled the entire army before scurrying away into the woods toward the rest of them! I will not be used as a breeding cow for beetles! I won’t!”

“At least the Uyumaak didn’t come for us,” Lord Kildan said. “I had feared that the beetles were meant to weaken us.”

“The Uyumaak may fear the creatures,” Maewen said. “They ceased their speech when the beetles neared. They only do that for stealth, to hide.”

“Whatever it is, the beetles’ emergence claimed the lives of some of the weaker men,” Ethris explained. “Most survived, but the wounds are painful and infected. I healed what I could, but there are many more that could use your herb craft, Maewen, though there are likely too many for you to help.”

“I will try,” she said. “This is Amos, a man I met in my travels. He knows herb craft, as well, and he has some small skill with Duammagic to aid us.”

Ethris raised his eyebrows. “That is welcome news, indeed.”

“We’ll get to work immediately,” Maewen said. “We need to get this army moving. I’ll start near the center of the camp.” To Gen she said, “Go to the north and start anywhere.”

Surreptitiously, Gen angled his way near the Chalaine, seeing Volney, Dason, and Gerand surrounding her as she slept beneath a small lean-to. He had to resist the urge to run and embrace his old friends, though they obviously needed assistance, and instead he went to the first man he found upon the ground, a Rhugothian soldier who appeared half out of his wits.

As General Harband had described, the beetle bites had indeed turned to beetle nurseries, and as the young had burst forth, they left ragged craters in their victims that were grotesque and painful. Gen sprinkled the innocuous herbs on the soldier’s wound, and, while rebandaging it, used the gift of Duammagic to heal it enough to take away the sting of the pain.

After treating the first few men, he realized the enormity of the task; there were simply too many men scattered throughout the woods, and he would run out of strength long before even half of them were well. He could also use Trys to knit the flesh back together, but that wouldn’t last him long, either. He tried to perform triage to treat the most severe cases, but time seemed to run on the fleetest of feet, the afternoon sun was angling down at a hurried pace.

And then he felt it, the slight tickling in his mind. The touch upon his thoughts was dark. He stood and turned toward the glade, wondering what it portended. It felt similar to what he had experienced with Ghama Dhron, but he did not feel it as strongly. A powerful mind approached, something not human that was bent on destruction. He reached out to it with Mynmagic, gesturing the proper patterns instinctively. When the contact came he staggered, nearly stumbling into a tangle of branches.

Who dares to see my mind?
the ancient evil clicked in odd tones.
You think to challenge the might and will of Hekka Dhron? Come, and let my children feast upon your blood and use your flesh as their womb! From those that stand against me, I gather might!

Gen gasped and broke contact. Hekka Dhron. Wrath of Blood.
 

Gen worked his way back to the edge of the clearing. Ethris stood by Lord Kildan, face transfixed. The old Mage had sensed the presence of the foul mind as well. Rather than expose himself to questions, Gen backed away and let Ethris deliver the bad news to a haggard Lord Kildan, who swore in response.

“Get up!” Gerand’s father yelled, voice echoing through the trees. “Get the men up! Anyone who can move, retreat southward into the woods! Anyone too ill to be moved must be left behind.”

Gen retreated, watching to ensure that the Chalaine was up and moving, Maewen there urging the Dark Guard to better efforts. Gen signaled the half-elf over as the retreat began in earnest, more men than Gen would have liked simply giving up, lying in the pine needles and waiting for their doom. Ethris, already spent from healing the men, left with Lord Kildan, joining the Chalaine’s entourage.

“I’ll stay behind. I may be able to slow it,” Gen said. “I’ll come when I can. The Chalaine will guide me.”

“Don’t throw your life away again,” Maewen lectured him sternly, then lowered her voice. “I know you would save all these men, but your life and your abilities are worth more than all of them. Come quickly.”

Gen understood her point, but it was not in his nature to feel above anyone. He would save whom he could. Gathering his wits, he strode out of the forest into the beautiful glade. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows and warm tones across the wildflowers and green grass. With every passing moment, the mind of Hekka Dhron pressed upon his consciousness, ever inviting him to open up to let it in. Ghama Dhron he could command because he was Mikkik’s creature, but he understood instinctively that Hekka Dhron would not respond to any wish of his.

A swarm the beetles poured out of the tree boles on the opposite side of the glade, though they caused little more than a slight agitation of the tall grass and wildflowers across the length of the field as they skittered toward him by the thousands. The hard carapaces and the clicking sound of their mandibles and legs filled the air with a harsh noise that chilled Gen’s spine. He breathed, remembering Shadan Khairn’s training, seeking the stillness of mind and emotion he needed to confront an enemy that would overrun him in seconds.

As the first of the obsidian beetles emerged into view, Gen sifted through his mind for some way to deal with them. The Dhrons had come late to the war, Mikkik’s last innovation of destruction before he weakened and disappeared, and none of the memories of the masters in the Training Stones and none of the instruction of the Millim Eri could aid Gen. The purpose of the Dhrons became immediately clear as he watched them roll in like a tide. To take down a single large creature would be easy for a Trysmagician. Trying to deal with a horde would be nearly impossible. Some few could be disintegrated or disabled, but not enough to keep the whole from its dark path of destruction.

He needed time to think, but that luxury was denied him. With an incantation he brought down fire around him, blasting a charred circle in the meadow with him in the center. The beetles burned and died, but where any fell, others simply swarmed forward to take their place. They made no attempt to avoid the flames, pushing forward heedless of their lives as if driven by some implacable force. For every one he burned, twenty passed by, and Gen panicked, realizing the futility of his efforts.

Helpless and his Duammagic draining, he turned and fled the wave, hoping to outpace the insects. His mind raced with his legs, and as he reached the forest edge, a thought struck him. While he couldn’t destroy tens of thousands of beetles, only one mind controlled them. Was the mind imbued within them all, or did it reside outside the swarm? He turned inward, feeling the pressure of the evil mind still trying to break down and enter. But this time, he found something else—directionality. The push came from somewhere, and he could feel it.

Pushing away his fear, he turned back toward the wave, running to where he felt the vile intelligence moving amid the cover of its fellow creatures. Again calling upon the virtue of fire, he scoured the path before him, boots pulverizing the crisp remains of the beetles as he charged past. His power over Duam was fading fast, and with it the ability to keep the creatures from attacking him. The presence was moving with the rest of the swarm, and in dismay he realized that finding the right one would be akin to singling out an ant in its hill. He had to find a way to reveal the one among the many.

A sting on his calf let him know that his efforts at self-protection were failing, the pincers of one of the creatures puncturing his boot leather and his skin. He kept running as the beetle’s tubule sank into the meat of his lower leg. The pain he could ignore, and the beetle fell away almost immediately. Nearing exhaustion, he knew he had one desperate chance left. He would have to do war with its mind. Preparing a mental attack meant to daze and confuse, he opened a connection to Hekka Dhron and unleashed it. The effect was immediate but short-lived. The linear march of the beetles suddenly broke, the insects running to and fro in a mad dash of disorientation.

Fool!
Hekka Dhron roared into his mind, the impact staggering in its weight of ill will and singular purpose. The enslaving force was again reasserted, and the beetles regrouped, moving into the wood as one. The wounded and weary men who had been left behind began to scream as they fell victim to the vanguard.

Desperate, Gen struck again, but this time Hekka Dhron was ready and pushed back with the weight of an anvil and the force of a hammer. Gen reeled and nearly fell to the ground. Two beetles latched onto his legs and cut in as Gen tried to keep his focus and move toward the being attacking his mind. Again, the snaky tubules penetrated his flesh, but as he looked down to swat them off, they fell away dead.

The blood of the Millim Eri that ran through his veins was poison to them. He stowed that fact in his mind, trying to keep calm to let his mind work.

Resuming his sprint, he tried a new tack, sending the sharp, stinging emotion of fear into the intellect of the mind that sought to overwhelm him. He knew he could chance no half measures with something so determined and strong. He pulled on every last ounce of Mynmagic he could muster to inject terror into the thoughts of the enemy. As one, every beetle turned from its forward course and flowed toward a central point some fifty yards away. Like scared children trying to shove their way through a single door, they piled on one another, a black mound swelling, rising from the floor of the glade.

They are forming a shield around the one,
Gen reasoned. The power of Trys was all that remained within him. He would form a large rock high above the pile and crush the beetles and, with any luck, the corporeal vessel of Hekka Dhron.  Concentrating, the rock, large and flat, formed some twenty feet in the air, but just as it began to fall, the entire mass suddenly shifted and rose, powering at him. The rock fell uselessly behind it, smearing a handful of stragglers into the earth.

But what faced him now was not just a shambling mound of beetles. Thousands of the creatures clung to the carapace of a single, massive parent, pincers wedged within it. The tubules of the many injected their sack of blood into the chosen host, inflating it. As it moved, it swelled ever larger, the hides of its children forming a shiny armor. With the instinctive will to attack the enemy that had triggered its fear, it barreled at Gen with a ghastly hiss.

Magic gone, Gen fled, but only for a moment. At once he knew what his last chance would be, and he turned to the creature, letting loose a mighty yell and charging it without a weapon. The sudden assault brought it up short, and with another hiss it stopped, a tubule the size of Gen’s forearm snaking out between the mandibles. Gen raised his arm, and the hooks of the tubule enveloped his wrist and began their work, his golden blood pulsing down its length. He immediately weakened and fell, pain lancing up his arm and into his chest. Vision dimming, he watched as the first bulge of blood pulsed down the tubule and into the creature.

It staggered, the suction on his arm ceasing. The beetles along Hekka Dhron’s outer shell fell away limp, cracking and popping as they dropped to the ground in heaps. The massive beetle released the hooks of its tubule, stumbling drunkenly about as if trying to find somewhere to flee. With a final hiss, its legs collapsed and it crashed to the ground, the remaining beetles scattering in every direction. The powerful mind had gone. Hekka Dhron was no more.

Gen rolled over, weakened and weary. It was done. He felt far too dizzy and weak to even consider marching into the woods. From his supine position he watched the sky dim toward twilight, remembering Ghama Dhron’s first words to him:
I am one of four fell servants of Mikkik.
What were the other two horrors at Mikkik’s command? Ghama Dhron was still out there, too, and its poison was likely worse than the bite of the blood-harvesting beetles he had just tangled with.

After what seemed like an hour, Gen rolled and sat up, dizziness swirling his mind. Full dark had nearly come when he noticed Maewen approaching cautiously out of the woods. He raised his hand to signal his position and she jogged to him.

“Are you well?” she asked.

He briefly related the tale of his encounter and then asked, “Do you have any sunlock leaves?”

“I’m afraid not,” she said.

“No matter. In a couple of hours I’ll be well enough to heal myself.”

“Have you seen any sign of the Uyumaak?”

“No,” he said. “But I’ve been flat on my back for some time.”

“Stay here and rest,” she ordered. “I’m going to scout forward. With the beetles gone, they may yet pursue us.”

Gen put his back on the ground and closed his eyes, soaking in the rays of the radiant moons above him, their soft light slowly filling the wells of power within him. Maewen returned an hour later, face twisted in a scowl, and helped him stand.

“They are coming,” she said. “The Hunters will get here within the hour. Can you walk?”

He nodded and took Maewen’s proffered hand to help himself up. As he walked carefully through the wood, following Maewen’s lead, his strength slowly returned, and he healed what he could of the beetle bites on his legs, hoping the blood would ensure that no grotesque insects were breeding within his skin.

The main party had continued on into the night hours, and by the time he and Maewen caught up, the night was deep. A single lantern burned to provide some light for moving about, but the tree boles cast wild shadows everywhere.

“How long until we reach the ridge?” Gen asked Maewen as she prepared to leave to report to Lord Kildan and Ethris.

“I gauge it at two days with a steady march,” she replied. “You and I could make it in less than a day, but with the wounded in the party and the difficult path, two days may be an optimistic guess. I hate to say it, but as much as I love the woods, it will be nice to get somewhere where we can have a clearer vision of what’s around us. Once we get to the ridge, we’ll need to take a short jog to the east to catch a sheep track that leads to the other side. It will be treacherous going for those with unsteady legs.”

Gen nodded, and Maewen turned away. He needed sleep. He could sense the Chalaine nearby but stayed out of sight, curling up on the forest floor with little care for any kind of protection.

For the next two days, they rushed to stay ahead of the Uyumaak army. Gen kept mostly to the rear away from everyone, and only Maewen knew that he was to thank for their remaining just out of reach of their pursuers. While the company of soldiers rested, Gen would perform his healing on whom he could, and when they marched he would turn back and deal as much death to the Uyumaak as possible to keep their pace cautious.