The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering (29 page)

“Your words
have been proven,” Tryton exclaimed, his voice pleased, “And you have earned my
friendship.”

Taryn nodded, exhaustion
and the sense of triumph making him light-headed. Turning, he found his friends
sprinting towards him. Liri reached him first, concern written on her face as
she bounded to embrace him.

“Are you OK?” she
asked in his ear but he didn’t get the chance to answer before Siarra yanked
them apart.

“Nice job,
little brother," she said, her eyes rigid with concern, "but we need
to stop that bleeding.”

As she reached
into her pack he realized the various pains reporting from his body. A severe
stinging from his cheek and forehead registered first and he reached up to
touch it, but Siarra slapped his hand.

“You’ll get it
dirty,” she said irritably. “If I act fast you might not scar.”

Something
dripped in front his eye and before he could resist he reached up to wipe away
the sweat. He winced as the reflex brought his hand in contact with the open
folds of a cut. Grunting in pain he brought his arm down and saw it smeared in
blood.

Siarra shook
her head but didn’t scold him further. Instead she reached out and placed some
sort of herb against the cut as she began to murmur under her breath. Energy ebbed
from his body as Siarra worked to heal the wound. Drained, he had trouble
responding to what Trin and Jack were saying.

Heat blossomed
across his face, collecting on the open wound and he clenched his teeth against
the pain. After a moment the warmth shifted to a relieving chill, and then
faded to a maddening itch before disappearing.

“Thanks Siarra,”
Taryn said, and gingerly touched his healed face. The skin felt raw and tender,
but at least it was closed.

She smiled
with pursed lips. “I took care of your face because it was so deep, but your
arm will have to heal on its own.”

Her glance
pulled his gaze down to his right forearm where he saw a shallow but long,
curving gouge along his forearm. Surprised, he ran through the battle in his
mind, trying to find were he’d been injured but was interrupted by the deep
voice of Tryton.

“If you choose,
you may join us for our noonday meal,” the king said and Taryn looked to see
him smiling.

Siarra
accepted and they moved to follow the king and Kythira as they strode to a nearby
tunnel. As they entered the corridor, Taryn glanced back and saw Solus, Kaber,
and Kell fall into step behind them. Although Solus appeared calm, Kaber looked
angry, and Kell seemed confused. The moment they saw Taryn looking, their
expressions morphed into inscrutable stone. Once again Taryn found himself
impressed by the discipline of the rock trolls. As he considered everything
since they had met them, several things became apparent.

On the surface
the rock trolls acted as if they had been trained well, but there was something
deeper to their behavior. Before and during the challenge, none of the soldiers
had broken rank for even a moment, or even spoken to each other regarding the
fight. That type of discipline implied specific and enduring training. If he
had to guess, these rock trolls had been educated on war before they could
walk, and its perfection consumed their lives.

Everything around
him demonstrated their dedication to their warcraft. Each rock troll they passed,
moved with the grace and fluidity of an elf, and just as silently. Their eyes absorbed
everything around them, analyzing possible threats. Scars and tattoos alike
told the tales of even the younger trolls they passed. Battle was easier than
breathing to this people.

Ahead, Tryton
stopped and slipped through a high arched doorway to lead them into a large
dining chamber. Even here, the smooth walls bore massive oval shields made from
some kind of metal, interspersed by weapons. In the middle of the room, a huge
wooden table rested, already spread with food. Tryton indicated the oversized
stone chairs on one side and then sat at the head.

As Taryn took
a seat between Siarra, who sat on Tryton’s left, and Liri, he heard a low
chuckle from behind him when Jack climbed up to sit on the chair. Kaber took
the chair across from him, his gaze unusually intense on Taryn, while Solus and
Kell grabbed chairs to the left of their more tattooed companion. Kythira, the
wind mage, took the seat on the king’s right.

Tryton grunted
and swept his hand to them, “Eat, my friends. It is very unusual for us to have
a guest sit at our table.”

“Only because
you went easy on him,” Kaber grumbled, without taking his eyes off Taryn.

A hush filled
the room, but Tryton surprised Taryn by grunting in humor, “Just as he didn’t
use his full abilities. I have no doubt there would have been more blood spilt
—
by both of us
—
if we had sought to kill.”

The gracious
comment caused Taryn to face him and catch the partial smile as their eyes
locked. Then Tryton’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “But there
remains the question of
how
. . .?”

From his left
he heard Trin answer, even though his mouth was already full. “He’s part human,
elf,
and
dwarf.”

Solus, Kell,
and Kythira all started laughing, but Kaber’s expression darkened and he rose
to his feet. “So he survived because of trickery!”

Before anyone
could respond, Tryton exclaimed, “Kaber my friend, the challenge has been
passed. He survived due to
lineage
.” A ringing silence passed until
Tryton added, an edge creeping into his voice, “It is reason enough for me.”

Kaber looked
at his king, and Taryn watched as the anger melted away, replaced by respect. “Yes
King,” he said with a bow. Then whirled and left the room.

Kythira
sighed, breaking the awkward silence after his departure. “Kaber is one of our
greatest warriors, and is fiercely loyal,” she said, her gaze touching on
Tryton, “And he did not like to see you without a victory.”

For a moment
the two looked at each other in a manner that felt strangely intimate, making
Taryn feel uncomfortable enough to turn away and reach for the mug in front of
him. Taking a cautious sip, he found it to be clean water that tasted of mint.
Unable to resist, he drained his glass. When he set it down and looked back the
moment had passed.

“Forgive me
for asking,” Liri began, “but why did he not like to see you without a victory?”

Solus
chuckled, “Because just two have defeated Kaber, and Tryton is one of them.”

“Who is the
other?” Trin asked, and the rock troll’s grin widened.

“Me,” he said,
stabbing a large thumb into his chest.

Kythira began
to break the loaf of bread on her plate. “For our people, rank is determined by
skill in combat as well as leadership skills. Part of advancement is
challenging a superior.”

Tryton cleared
his throat and the atmosphere in the room grew serious as he changed the
subject. “Oracle, I believe it best if I am forthright." Siarra gave him a
curt nod so he continued, “I believe your words about Draeken, and your
champion has proved your honesty, but gathering our people is not a simple
matter. How much time do we have?”

Siarra met his
gaze without flinching. “You have thirteen days before the battle begins at
Azertorn, and less than that before they reach here. You have ten days, at best,
before they surround your home.”

Tryton closed
his eyes and his shoulders hunched as he inhaled. Then he blew out his breath
and looked at Solus, his gaze intense. “Send messengers to every clan. It’s at
least a two-week journey to Azertorn, so we must leave tomorrow night. If we
hasten, we will reach the battle soon after it begins.”

Solus rose and
departed, flashing the ghost of a smile towards them as he turned away. The
anticipation in the troll's eyes was unmistakable.

Tryton returned
his gaze to Siarra. “I wish you luck on your quest, my friends. If there is
anything I can offer to aid you, you have but to ask.”

Siarra began
to shake her head but Jack impudently spoke up, “Some food for the journey
perhaps?”

Siarra threw a
sharp look at him but the king’s lips twitched upward. He glanced at Kell and
the younger rock troll stood, but didn’t leave. Tryton frowned, but his head
bobbed once.

“I wish to
travel with them, if you will allow it,” Kell said, his eyes straight forward.

Taryn glanced
back at Tryton but it was Kythira’s expression that caught his eye. A deep
concern flashed across her face before evaporating, but Tryton paused only a
moment before nodding. “You may go. Be safe and guard them with your life.”

Taryn’s head
swiveled to the king and he saw the current of emotion that King Tryton felt
written on his face. Before anyone could say another word, Kythira spoke up as
well, “There is one more thing I would like to add to this quest.” Rising to
her feet she moved to one of the walls and reverently detached a carved bow
that shimmered as she touched it. Returning to the table she looked at Liri. “You
are the princess of Azertorn?”

Surprised, Liri
said, "Of the house of Runya, that is correct."

Kythira smiled
and lowered the weapon towards her. “This is a wind bow, and I created it for
you. It is very powerful and very rare, but I was told it will serve you well.”

“I . . . I,
cannot accept this,” Liri stuttered, but Kythira held up a hand.

“The last
Oracle visited us long ago, accompanied by a human. She told me I was to make
this for the princess of Azertorn . . . who would be accompanied by a warrior
‘equal to a rock troll.' I must admit I doubted her words until today, but she
said it in a way that I couldn’t refuse, so I enchanted the weapon as
instructed.”

Taryn barely
heard the rest of what she said, his eyes snapping to his sister’s shocked
expression. Open mouthed, Siarra somehow managed to speak first, “Did the man
have red hair?”

Kythira
paused, thinking hard before replying, “You know, I think he did. I must say he
looked like a dwarf. . .”

A thousand
questions exploded in Taryn’s mind, but one managed to fight its way to the
surface.
His mother and father knew that he would come here
?

Chapter
23: Armored

Gaze dismounted
his trembling horse, stumbling when his feet hit the ground. Moving gingerly,
he tried to stretch the soreness from cramped muscles as he tethered his mount
and moved to the small fire that someone had started moments before. The open
plains could not be lit by the pinprick of light, and the stars were blocked by
the vast plumes of smoke from the forest they had lit that morning.

A sudden gust
sent a cloud of the noxious fumes swirling, causing him to cover his mouth and
cough hoarsely. Looking east he could still see the glowing remains of the once
beautiful tract of trees that they had destroyed to slow the massive army,
something that had proved to be almost impossible.

For ten days
they had fled westward, burning forests and villages or destroying bridges.
Time and again they had struggled to get trees burning just as the evil army
reached them, each time trading lives for time, but they were running out of
lives to give. Of the five hundred hardened men they had set out with, less
than thirty remained.

Grunting into
a seat on the hard ground, Gaze returned the tired nod from Anders a few feet
away. Dirty and smoke stained, the once handsome prince looked haggard, with
his clothes torn and spattered in dried blood. When Anders blinked at his
weariness, Gaze saw that his eyes were red from smoke and lack of sleep.

Gaze wondered
if he looked just as filthy, and involuntarily reached up to rub his face.
Pulling his hand away he looked down at his dark fingers, and then realized he
couldn’t tell if the dirt had come from his face or had already been there.
Sighing, he tried in vain to wipe them clean on his tunic.

“It’s not
going to help my friend,” Anders said, his voice rough. “You have no clean
spots left.”

“Speak for
yourself,” Gaze retorted, flashing him a thin smile as he darkened the last
bright section of cloth.

“Fine,
now
you have nothing clean,” the prince said, a trace of his old humor lighting his
eyes.

Gaze snorted
and grinned half-heartedly. “I need a bath.”

Anders threw
his head back and started to laugh, but a cough broke through, stealing the
humor. “You and me both. Maybe if we make it to Herosian with an extra hour I
can dunk you in a tub.”

“I don't think
you would need to force me, but I doubt we’ll get the chance,” Gaze said. “We
are still a couple of days out from the city, and we both know we will be hard
pressed to get there before this fire line is breached.” He jerked his thumb at
the blaze behind him.

Anders sighed,
“I wish we were further than this. It doesn’t feel right being this close.”

The king strode
into view, dirty as the rest of them, but somehow it didn't rob him of his
strength. “We must rest for a few hours. Then we push to reach Herosian. The capitol
should already be evacuated and we can burn it before heading west.”

 “Do we have
to destroy it?" Anders asked. "After this is over we might be able to
return to it.”

Fatigue leaked
onto the king's face as he sank onto a stone close to his son. “No son, they
would destroy it anyway, and we must delay them as much as possible.”

A sudden idea
sparked into Gaze’s head. “Perhaps we don’t have to burn it. Maybe leaving it
will delay them more.”

“What do you
mean?” the prince asked, leaning forward.

Gaze furrowed
his brow and rubbed the back of his neck. “It would take time for them to stop
and tear down the city, and if we burn it then they will just go around it.”