The Immortal Mystic (Book 5) (23 page)

In a single move she sheathed her sword and slid her bow into her hand. She set an arrow and loosed it just as Duadin launched forward. The shaft snapped as the head collided with Duadin’s left forearm.

“You will have to be faster than that,” the shadowfiend taunted.

Salarion set the next arrow and waited for a moment. She saw a blur coming in fast and hard behind Duadin. Her charmador lunged in and tore at the shadowfiend’s inner right thigh. Duadin threw his head back toward the sky in a howl of pain. Salarion saw the opening she needed and let her second arrow fly. The missile flew directly into Duadin’s open mouth and pierced through the back of his skull. The monster’s eyes widened and he sank to his knees. The charmador continued to rip and tear at him, dragging him down to the dirt.

Salarion pulled the obsidian vial out of her pouch and moved in to finish the fight.

The shadowfiend’s right hook reverted back to a human hand and Duadin reached up and yanked the arrow from his head. In a last effort to lash out at her, he threw the bloody arrow. Salarion deflected it easily and moved in closer. She set the bow down and pulled her knife.

With tears falling down her face she plunged the dagger in and gathered the essence into her vial. The charmador growled and hung onto the squirming shadowfiend until the ritual was finished. Afterwards, gray flames covered what was left of Duadin and the wind swept it all away.

When the she-elf stood she noticed a Tarthun with a rather large necklace of bone covering his chest. His earlobes were distended grotesquely with wooden discs, and feathers had been woven into his hair.

“You kill the wizard,” the man said.

Salarion glanced around to see that several Tarthun warriors had gathered around during the short fight. The charmador growled low and licked its bloody jaws. Salarion glanced to her bow, but knew that she would not be able to reach it before one of the warriors was able to reach her. Her hand hovered over her sheathed scimitar and she began mentally calculating which men she would start with first before moving to kill the chief.

“You don’t speak?” the chief pressed after Salarion made no move to speak.

A bright flash of white ruptured through a warrior’s chest off to the left and all eyes turned to see a flaming sword bursting through. The man fell to the ground and revealed a young man with blonde hair. He was still shirtless, but he no longer looked helpless or disinterested.

“You killed Tatev!” Erik shouted with a finger pointed at the chief.

A warrior nearby turned to attack Erik, but the boy ducked under the swing and cut the man down. He then moved on to the third.

Not one to waste an opportunity, Salarion wheeled out to her right, cutting down two men with one diagonal slash of her scimitar. Fire leapt from her left hand and devoured two more. The charmador leapt up and dropped the final warrior to the ground.

Salarion turned to see Erik advancing on the chief. Before she could move she saw the young man pull a blackened dagger from his belt in his left hand.

“I have a gift from Tatev,” he growled. The chief made no move to stop the strike. He stood stoic and hardly flinched as the charred blade pierced his chest. Erik pushed off from the handle and backed a few steps away. The chief stood still for a moment, blood seeping out around the wound. Then he fell over, slamming into the doorway of the longhouse before collapsing to the ground.

Salarion locked eyes with Erik and saw a fire in them she had not imagined possible before. “Revenge is a dangerous blade,” she cautioned.

“So is one that wields fire,” Erik countered as he held up the still burning blade. He set the sword to the longhouse and let the walls catch flame before extinguishing the blade and sheathing it. Shouts went up through the camp. “We should go,” he said.

“How did you find your sword?” Salarion asked.

Erik paused and shrugged. “You aren’t the only one who can sneak around.”

“I told you to stay on the hill,” Salarion said.

“You also said you were going to look for Jaleal,” Erik shot back. He pointed to the crumpled chief under the burning doorway. “There was no good in him, I can sense that with my gift.” He turned his finger to point it at Salarion. “I can’t read you, why is that?”

Salarion bit her lip subconsciously, but there was no time to speak. A crowd of warriors and other Tarthuns now gathered around the burning longhouse. She pointed to them and waited for Erik to turn and see.

Erik didn’t bother turning, he simply pointed behind her and nodded. “There are about thirty behind you too.”

“Hold your weapon,” Salarion instructed.

“You can’t negotiate with them, they’re savages,” Erik said as he pulled his sword and let the flames wrap around the black Telarian steel once more.

Salarion moved in quickly. “Wait,” she whispered harshly. “I may not be able to negotiate, but I do know their customs.”

“Unless you are going to say I am the new chief, I really don’t think a history lesson is appropriate.”

“Hold your sword up and point to the dead chief,” Salarion said.

Erik shot her a sidelong glance.

“Trust me. Do that and shout something. They have a fear of magic, they view it as condemnation from the gods.”

“What do I say?”

“Anything!” Salarion pressed urgently. “They can’t understand you, so just sound angry and powerful.”

Erik thrust his sword into the air and the crowd cowered away. “I am Erik, the Champion of Truth!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “This sword was given to me by the great and powerful Master Lepkin!”

A chorus of shrieks and murmurs rippled through the gathered warriors. They all pointed to the sword and some even bent low to bow upon the dirt.

“You killed my friend!” Erik yelled as he spun around to face the others at his back. In unison they all held up their hands and fell to their knees. “You burned him in your fire pit, so now I burn your camp and kill your chief.” Erik gestured angrily, jabbing an accusing finger at the slain chief. Some of the warriors looked in the direction he was pointing, but most kept their eyes to the ground.

“Erik, you might want to turn around again,” Salarion said quietly.

Erik turned back to face the other way and saw three men with shaved heads being pushed through the crowd and thrown at Erik’s feet. Erik looked down at them. They cowered in fear, covering their heads and necks with their arms. It took a moment, but Erik soon realized that the tribe was offering to him the three men that had participated in Tatev’s murder. At once Erik felt satisfaction and disgust as they squirmed before him. The urge to kill them, to pay them back for what they had done was overwhelming. The anger roiled up inside Erik hotter than he could ever remember it before.

A hand fell upon his shoulder and he snapped his head to the left to see Salarion standing there. Yet, in that moment he didn’t see Salarion, he saw Lepkin. He saw Dimwater. He saw his father. As the faces of those he loved flooded into his mind the boiling anger was replaced by an overwhelming sense of guilt. He stepped back from the three men and sheathed his sword.

An awkward, nervous silence ensued. The flames rose high over the longhouse now, bathing the whole area in a reddish glow and setting embers adrift on the wind. Erik watched the three men nervously push up to their knees and look back to the crowd behind them.

Suddenly a single warrior came out of the crowd and raised his own axe high into the air over one of the three kneeling men. As he brought it down, Erik exploded into action. His sword was out in less than a second and he caught the axe in mid swing. The white flames crackled and sparked as the weapons collided.

“No more killing,” Erik said. He shook his head and gestured for the warrior to go back to the crowd. The warrior stumbled back, muttering something that Erik didn’t understand. Erik then looked down at the three men and called upon his power. He could sense their fear, but more than that, he found that there was a significant amount of good in each of them. They were not like the chief, in whom Erik had found only evil and wrath.

“What are you doing?” Salarion asked.

“I am teaching them mercy,” Erik said definitively. He sheathed his sword and then offered a hand to the nearest kneeing man. “Rise up, and go your way.”

The man tentatively took the offered hand. He stood and then kissed Erik’s hand. Soon the other two were also on their feet. The three of them bowed many times as they backed away to rejoin the crowd. Within seconds each of them were embraced by the others. One of them had a pair of children run up and grab him in a hug around the waist, the other two apparently had wives as well as women rushed to seize them in a tight embrace while sobbing. A few moments later, the crowd divided, offering a way for Erik and Salarion to pass. More than that, a pair of young women came up holding the remainder of Erik’s belongings. Among them was Jaleal, still safely tucked in his cocoon. One of the women paused, and then offered Aeolbani, the glimmering mithril spear.

Erik and Salarion took the items and then left. The pair continued to watch their backs, and Salarion’s charmador was close by them all the while, but none of the Tarthuns made a move to hurt them. Still, the pair didn’t stop until they were miles away from the camp, safe inside a thicket of trees. As the sun began its ascent into the sky, Salarion worked with her herbs over Jaleal’s cocoon.

Erik watched her rub powders and squeeze juices onto the shell. Every once in a while the shell would glow green or hum lightly, but other than that nothing happened. As much as he watched Jaleal, he kept his eye on Salarion. He remembered Marlin’s warning from before. He tried to focus more and see if he could force his power through the barrier, but nothing worked. No matter how he tried, there was always a lingering shadow that clouded his understanding of her. it.

She must have felt the change in his demeanor too. She had hardly said more than a word since the Tarthun camp. She only glanced up for a second or two at a time, almost as if she was avoiding Erik’s gaze. Perhaps Marlin was right after all.

Salarion was not to be trusted.

They spent the next day in the thicket. Salarion focused her attention on Jaleal, while Erik continued to call up his power to decipher her. As he had seen in the tunnel, there was no deceit in her actions. He knew she was genuinely eager to assist Jaleal. However, the nagging doubt had grown into a large cloud that fogged his power. He couldn’t discern her true intentions unless he was using his power on a particular event unfolding in the moment. This block frustrated him terribly, as with others he was able to identify the amount of good or bad within a person. Something about the dark elf distorted his abilities.

Eventually the previous night’s activities overcame his wariness. His eyes grew heavy and his breathing slowed. He gave in to sleep only to wake well after dark had fallen. When he opened his eyes, he saw Jaleal standing, talking to Salarion.

“Ah, he’s awake!” Jaleal said with a big grin.

“Jaleal, you’re alive!” Erik exclaimed happily as he jumped up to his feet.

Salarion held up a hand and cautioned him. “He is alive, but still not quite at full strength.”

Erik stopped mid-step and let his arms fall to his sides.

“I will be ready to go by the morning,” Jaleal promised. “Salarion and I have been discussing the way to the Immortal Mystic. It seems she has a lead on where we should be going.”

Erik looked to her curiously, but she only smiled in return. Erik called up his power, but could find no blatant deceit in her at that moment. Still, the cloud hung over her and he could not shake the uneasy feeling it gave him.

“I am off,” Salarion declared quickly. She rose up and gathered her belongings.

“Where are you going?” Erik asked.

“I have some errands I need to ensure are done.” She sighed and rubbed her hands together nervously. “Four of the five shadowfiends are dead,” she announced.

Jaleal looked up and tugged on his beard. “The five shadowfiends of the Black Fang Council?” he asked.

Salarion nodded. “There is the one slain by Tillamon in Stonebrook, Tyraleks I killed in the lands of the orcs, Takala I slew in a cave where Erik was hiding with you in a cave, and Duadin is now dead.” The she-elf folded her arms and cleared her throat. Erik saw her eyes water, but Salarion would not let any tears fall. “There is only Dremathor now.”

“You will go alone?” Jaleal asked.

Salarion nodded. “You have the Immortal Mystic to find. Dremathor lies in the very opposite direction, on the western border of the Middle Kingdom. This is where we part ways. I don’t expect that I shall see either of you again.”

“Well, I do appreciate the help you have given us,” Jaleal said as he offered his hand out. The two shook and then Salarion moved to Erik.

“See that you follow through with your destiny, Erik Lokton, son of Trenton Lokton.”

Erik narrowed his eyes on her. “You never did tell me how you knew my name,” Erik said.

Salarion smiled. “Go and find the mystic. Get your answers, and then hurry back. The Middle Kingdom needs you yet, more than you can possibly know.”

Then the elf patted Erik’s shoulder and ran out from the thicket. Erik turned to watch her leave, wondering at her words and still trying to decipher the elf’s true intent.