The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) (40 page)

Not as much of a
full-fledged trickster as Trance, but certainly not as stuffy as
Kelin and Telin.

“I think you may be disappointed in the
length of this journey,” Domma said. “We are nearly there.”

“Perfect,” Angloriel said. “I have many
other things to do. Kingdom's not in an uproar about this whole
Foglin thing yet, but secrets have a way of getting out
eventually.”

After crossing the boulder field they stood
on a wide plateau. A mass of trees stood on the horizon and they
walked towards it.

The placement of the forest was strange, and
even Halimaldie could feel that there was power within it.
Angloriel cut the occasional branch with his sword to make enough
space for everyone to get through, and soon they saw a large
building that towered over them.

“This is it,” Halimaldie said, very certain
of his assessment. He noticed a small group of people and animals
standing in front of the building already. “Who are these people?
Some kind of clerics or priests?”

“I'm not sure,” Domma said, “but they have a
Monk in their midst, and he glows as we do.” Halimaldie could pick
out three people with glowing symbols, bringing the total to five.
Domma had told him about the five aspects of God as they had
walked. The number seemed right. Everything seemed to be in order
here.

Domma adjusted her hood so that it covered
her head and the top of her face and walked over to greet the group
in a slow, almost regal way. Halimaldie supposed that, for her,
this meeting of Godly chosen was something special; something
holy.

He decided to treat it as business as
usual.

Find out what's going on.
Find out the problem and what resources are available. Try to solve
it. Move on.

That was Halimaldie D'Arvenant. And here he
was.

“S
o this is us, then?” the heavyset man with the brown beard
asked. His forearm held the symbol of a black and white coin. He
smirked a little. “What a fine group of heroes we look to
be.”

He was right. Wren took stock of everyone
who was there. They had all formed a small circle, and no one
looked to be in fantastically good condition.

There was Wren herself, ragged and bloody
with her red and gold vine symbol, and Heather, an old woman by
anyone's standards. Crasher stood next to Wren, giving her
stability while she leaned on his powerful shoulder. Tessa was
nestled in her pocket. The white foal - still smeared with a little
bit of red blood - danced giddily.

To Wren's left stood a hooded figure that
Wren thought was a woman, but couldn't be sure as all she could see
was her lips and chin. Her robe was of blue and yellow and the
woman had a colored forearm symbol to match: the sun in the sky.
She stood, slumped and tired.

Next to the robed woman stood the heavyset
man with the glowing coin on his arm. He looked bedraggled to say
the least, but had an expression on his face that told Wren he was
sure of himself..

A strong, powerful man dressed in purple and
silver stood next to him. The man was some sort of royal guard to
be sure, but he wasn't wearing Shailand colors, so Wren didn't know
where his allegiance lay.

Then there was the talkative, black-haired
woman, Raven Icehall. Wren had felt an instant dislike for her when
she had introduced herself, but she wasn't sure why. Something
about the way she opened up so quickly to everyone, as if she were
everyone's best friend. Or the way she held her chest so high,
almost leading with it.

Raven was sort of hanging on Otom's
shoulder. He was thick and powerfully built with a full beard and a
totally shaved head. He hadn't said a single word so far. It was a
good thing he had his talkative envoy there to cover for him. Otom
had the symbol of some type of fish that glowed brown and
orange.

The last member was someone that Wren
thought she recognized in the back of her mind, but couldn't be
quite sure. He had introduced himself as Krothair, and that name
tickled at her, but she let it go for now. There were more
important things to think about. The boy, who was probably just a
little older than she, was powerfully built. He had a scraggly
beard that he was scratching at. A silver and purple sword glowed
on his forearm.

“It appears as if all the magics are
represented,” Heather said. “If there was ever a time to do
something, now is that time.”

The large man in purple and silver spoke.
“What say you, D'Arvenant? How does your hand feel?”

The heavyset man, D'Arvenant, raised his
hand towards the Temple and stared at it. “Seems to be fine,
Angloriel.”

“Should probably head in, then,” Raven said,
her voice annoying Wren immediately. “On with the quest, as they
say. Well, I don't know who says that, but somebody must, mustn't
they?” She laughed a little. “Come on, Monk.” She grabbed his arm
and began to walk with him up the large stone steps of the Temple
of Sin'ra.

The white foal had already started up as
well, and Wren looked at Heather who nodded her approval. Wren's
heart began to pound faster as the party ascended the steps.

“Do you think we're going to die here,
Crasher?” she asked the bear quietly.

“I do not know, mistress. I will protect you
if I can.”

“That's not very reassuring, bear,” Tessa
said, popping her little head up.

“But it is the truth, mouseling.”

“Thank you both,” said Wren. She started to
get tears in her eyes but she blinked them away. She had no idea
what was happening next, but somehow she was glad that her life had
taken her here, as far away from her past as she thought she could
possibly get.

T
he inside of the Temple was as dull and uninteresting as the
outside. There was a large main hall with a high ceiling that was
probably about twenty times the size of Wren's farmhouse. She was
surprised at how large the building was inside. The trees had
hidden its mass well.

Columns ran from floor to ceiling, but that
was about as far as the decoration went. The only light that
entered the place came in through a few windows cut into the walls.
There were torches in sconces on the walls, but none of them were
lit.

Otom stepped forward and pointed at one. It
burst into flame. He repeated the same thing with several others.
Wren had never seen the powers of a Monk before, and the creation
of Fire startled her. Flames were almost always a bad thing back on
the farm and her instincts to extinguish them hadn't been
diminished from her journey.

The place – empty though it was now - had
definitely been used over the ages. Walking paths were worn smooth
into the stone floor, polished by human feet. It only added to the
oddity of the place, though, conjuring images of ghosts in Wren's
mind.

“Hello!” Raven shouted. Her voice echoed
many times, taking at least five heartbeats to die away.

“Quiet, child!” Angloriel scolded her.

“I don't like this,” Krothair said He was
tense, his hand on his sword. His eyes scanned the hall
nervously.

“Well someone should be here to greet us,”
Raven said. “I'm only trying to tell them that we've-”

She was cut off by a scraping sound that
chilled Wren.

“Who's there?” Angloriel bellowed,
apparently forgetting his earlier warning. His sword was out of its
sheath now. It was massively long and heavy-looking, but he held it
with ease.

“We're jumping at shadows,” the robed woman
said in a whisper.

One of Heather's deer's hooves skittered on
the stone floor and then the animal was bolting back out the door,
the way she had come in. Wren had just enough time to sense the
fear in the animal before it exited. She knew to trust those
instincts.

“We should leave,” she said.

“Don't be frightened,”
Angloriel said. “Don't you five know what you're supposed to be
doing here? Let's get on with it and then we
can
leave this ghostly
place.”

“No, we don't know,” D'Arvenant said,
seeming a bit flustered. “This is stupid. Do we need to search? I
don't care if we move as an entire awkward group, but we need to
find out what's going on in this God-forsaken Temple. I am sorry,
Domma.”

The robed woman held her hand up as if to
say it was okay.

“Wait,” Krothair said. “Someone's
coming.”

He was right. At the opposite end of the
hall a figure strode towards them. It was impossible to tell who it
was in the light of the torches and small windows, but Wren put her
hand on the knife that still hung at her hip.

“I know what you're thinking!” the person
called to them.

“I rather doubt you do!” Angloriel yelled
back.

“You're impatient,” said the figure. “I even
know what you'll be thinking in a few moments.”

“I don't like riddles,” Angloriel said. “Are
you the caretaker of this place?”

“You'll be thinking 'Why didn't we see this
coming'?”

Then the scratching sound got much louder
and dark shapes began to fill the large hall. Wren's stomach sank.
The shapes were monstrosities. All were animal in some way, but
their forms had been so twisted that it was hard to recognize what
type. There were legions of bears, hawks, insects, horses, crabs,
turtles, so many others. Some walked on two legs, some on four,
some on six, some on more.

They were Foglins.

She knew it.

D'Arvenant looked dumbfounded.

“It's always important to know your prey,”
said the figure. Then he pointed to the group and the Foglins
rushed.

W
ren only had time to worry about herself in the frenzy. Three
Foglins charged her, their mouths open wide and showing rows of
horrible serrated teeth. Just as they reached her, Crasher was
there, pounding into them from the side.

Wren drew the long knife from the termite
sheath and brandished it in a shaking hand. Her heart was pounding
so hard she swore it would tear through her chest and end her life
before any Foglin ever could. She moved nervously away from the
small pack of Foglins that were now attacking Crasher. The bear
fought valiantly, but he was over-matched. He gave ground slowly,
dodging back from swinging appendages. He roared and the sound
filled the hall.

I can't let him
die.

Wren charged in and swung, putting all her
strength behind the blow. The knife crashed against one of the
Foglins, but didn't cut very deeply. The impact made her arm numb
and Wren fell backwards onto the ground while dodging the
retaliating strike.

“Mistress?” Tessa asked. Wren could feel the
mouse shaking in her pocket.

“We're fine,” Wren said. “We're fine.”

She scrambled to her feet and lunged again.
She was tackled from behind just as she felt a whoosh of air over
her head. She fell heavily on her side, knowing that she was likely
dead. She felt serenity about that, surprisingly. But she didn't
have time to contemplate philosophy. She hadn't been tackled by a
Foglin. It had been the robed woman, Domma.

Wren and Domma rolled away from each other
and regained their footing. Wren saw that Crasher's thick brown fur
was covered in blood. One of his eyes was shut as well.

Wren patted her pocket,
looking for Tessa, but the mouse wasn't there.
She must have fallen out!
A Foglin
with a head like a hawk careened at her then and it was all Wren
could do to get her sword up to block the incoming attack. The
Foglin's arm – a disgusting thing covered with oozing sores –
crashed into the blade. Wren's strength wasn't enough and the
impact made her arm buckle, dragging the sharp side of the knife
that was facing her across her chest. She screamed as she felt her
flesh part just below her collarbones.

The Foglin drew its arm back for a second
blow and then stopped. It tilted its head in pain and tried to swat
at its neck.

There was a small, furry bundle running
around on its shoulders.

“Tessa!” Wren cried. Blood was running down
Wren's chest like a hot river, but she managed to swing her blade
into the thing's head, catching it just above its misshapen beak.
The Foglin stumbled back, hands now clutching at its ruined face.
It let out a terrifying shriek as Wren turned her attention
elsewhere.

Crasher was holding off at least five
Foglins. It was hard to count as they writhed and danced. The bear
seemed to be more blood than fur at this point.

“Crasher!” Wren yelled.

She saw the limb falling, but Crasher didn't
seem to. Wren knew she wouldn't be fast enough to get there. She
reached deep into her Well and drew the power out, aiming it at
Crasher. A pale blue barrier sprang up around the bear, and the
strike that had been meant to end his life skittered off the top of
it.

Crasher took advantage of the momentary
Shield to swipe out with his powerful paws. He raked through three
of the Foglins in one massive swipe. Two more were crushed to the
ground when he charged at them and he opened his powerful jaws wide
to dispatch the last one.

The bear, panting heavily, fell to his side
on the ground on top of the pile of Foglins he had slain.

Wren tried to make her way over to him, but
she became faint and fell before she got there.

“What are these things, mistress?” Crasher
managed to say.

“Foglins,” she wheezed.

“Foglins,” said the bear. “I shall remember
that.” Then he closed his one good eye and was still.

“No!” Wren screamed, but the effort cost her
much.

The last thing she saw was another pack of
Foglins around her. The terror almost kept her from passing out,
and she struggled as blood ran from her, but the world inevitably
went black.