Awake the Cullers (History of Ondar) (13 page)

But Martiene was undeterred. He threw a plume of smoke up in Traxton’s face and struck out. Temporarily blinded by the smoke stinging his eyes, Traxton avoided the blade by feel and sound. Dropping his blade and causing Traxton to do the same, Martiene ran them both into the wall. Stone collapsed around them. The metal gate creaked and collapsed, sending the area into chaos. Cullers flooded over the opening into the square. Pushed aside by the rush of people, Traxton waited until he came to a stop and threw some canteen water on his eyes to relieve the irritation. He looked around, now a good thirty feet from the gate. Martiene was nowhere to be seen.

*   *   *

“Stay down.” Camdon led the refugees behind the mage school, toward the residential areas of the city. With most of the fighting to the west, it made more sense to go east, even if it was in the opposite direction of the docks. If they could make it to the private palace docks, they could possibly still get to safety.

He looked to the group of fifty or so refugees. Normally, asking so many to follow one man quietly would be an impossible task. But these refugees all lost their homes and many loved ones already. They knew what they faced, perhaps better than he did. Crouching low, hiding behind the many low stone walls that lined the streets here, they pushed on despite their obvious fatigue.

The air smelled of smoke. The soft crackling of fire was the only sound nearby. The fighting in the other parts of the city was a distant roar. But, he reflected as he stepped over another dead body, this one Suriaxian, they must proceed cautiously. The tide of fighting could shift over to them at any moment. Camdon walked past the dead body of an invader and stopped, struck by the burn marks on his face. Burns were by no means uncommon in Suriax, but these burns were different, precise. Three parallel lines were etched in the skin deliberately. Shaking off an uneasy feeling, Camdon kept walking.

The smell of smoke grew stronger as they drew closer to the gate by the palace docks. He pulled out his key, but it was unnecessary. The gate was open. A single push and it swung wide, banging loudly into the wall. Camdon looked around for any signs of life, but there was only death. Guards’ bodies lie eviscerated, recognizable only by their uniforms. There was no sign of the one responsible. Camdon noticed the smell of burnt flesh and knelt by one of the bodies, examining the injuries. The man was covered in cauterized sword wounds. Camdon knew these injuries well. They were the kind left by a sword covered in Suriaxian fire.

“What is that,” a refugee asked, pointing to one of the service buildings by the dock.

Camdon walked around to see what they referred to and did not know what to say. Still burning scorch marks stretched across the building in three parallel lines, just like the ones he saw on the body earlier.

A low laugh came from the other side of the building. A ding on the tin roof drew his gaze up to see a fellow guardsman crouched, still chuckling and grinning maniacally. The man launched off the roof, surrounding himself in blue fire while in mid-air, and landed on Camdon. The two men crashed to the ground and rolled down the beach.

Skin blistering, Camdon closed his eyes and rolled them into the river, knocking
the guard loose and putting out the flames. He looked around for his sword and saw it on the ground where they fell. Before he could move to retrieve it, the man lunged out of the water and grabbed Camdon’s leg, pulling him off his feet. Grabbing a hand full of sand, he threw it in the man’s eye, using the distraction to break loose again.

“Here,” one of the refugees called, tossing him his sword.

Camdon grabbed it and swung in one motion, easily disabling the rouge guard’s arm. He only laughed. “What is wrong with you?” Camdon cried.

“Wrong? Wrong? Not wrong. Free. No rules or laws. Free to kill whoever I want, whenever I want. No reports or recorders or paperwork to file. No fees or politics or regulations. We are stronger than anyone in the world. We answer to no one. There is no right or wrong, just weak and strong.” He began his maniacal laugh again, this time more of a cackle.

Camdon felt his eyes widen in horror. “You’re mad.” But the man wasn’t listening anymore. Lighting himself on fire again, he moved toward Camdon, stopping short when the fire went out suddenly. Looking down at his arms in surprise, he tried unsuccessfully to bring the fire back. Snarling in frustration, he pulled his sword and ran for Camdon. His swing fell lifeless, his body dropping to the ground. An arrow stuck out the back of his head. Water displaced by the approach of a large ship washed over the body and pulled it into the river. Camdon inclined his head in thanks to the archer at the ship’s bow.

Grabbing
some rope at the end of the dock, he tossed it up to the men on the vessel and helped to secure a ladder. “How many have you?” called King Alvexton. “Looks like five dozen.”

“Nearly so, yes, Sir,” Camdon answered.

The king sighed. “I fear we will not have room for everyone. This was the final ship to leave the Square just before it fell. We are stuffed to the brims here.”

“If you can fit the women,” one of the male refugees spoke out, “we men will stay and fight.
” All the men added their agreement.

The king nodded and turned to one of the ship hands. “Load the women and make haste.”

Many of the women were from Breakeren. They had no loved ones save perhaps the children already boarded earlier at Merchant’s Square. But those women from the Alerian settlements cried at being separated from their husband’s and brothers. Their men stood strong, never faltering in their resolve. They were happy knowing their women sailed to safety. Camdon watched them with a new sense of respect. He decided to give them a moment to watch the ship as it sailed away. Unfortunately, the raiders had other ideas a group of them breaking through the open gate and rushing the shore. Taking one last look at his ragged band of ill armed farmers and craftsmen, Camdon held aloft his sword and ran into battle.

*   *   *

Evan drove the sword into the man’s chest and pulled free his bloody weapon. He lost his hammer, having lost it during his fight at the wall. Now, he had to make due with this scavenged sword until he could pick up another hammer. Without pause he sunk the blade into the next person, willing his mind to clear. Her face was still present in his thoughts. He tried to lose himself in the battle, but he could not find the same release as before.

“What’s wrong?” that small woman asked, jumping down from a fence post to stand before him. She was completely unconcerned by the battle, walking
through it without fear. Then again, what had she to fear? None of the soldiers or civilians would attack someone who had the appearance of a little girl. Only the monsters he fought with knew how dangerous she was, and none of them were fool enough to challenge her. Any who did wouldn’t last very long. “You aren’t having fun.”

Evan continued to stab and dismember anyone who ventured too close, but she was right. He wasn’t having fun anymore. “Help
me?” he asked, longing for the blissful certainty and contentment he found before in his kills.

“Of course I’ll help you, poor thing.” She pulled him to his knee and patted his face reassuringly. “How about a mission, would that make you feel better?” He nodded, eager for something to focus on. The girl turned his face and pointed to the distant Alerian palace. “I want you to lead the attack on the palace. See if you can’t capture one of the royal children, so we can share our freedom with them. Through the child we will reach the parents
, and through them, the nation. Everyone can learn our ways and become one of us. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He stood and grinned. Yes, that did sound fu
n. Calling to the men as he ran past, he headed for the palace, stopping only long enough to pick up a discarded hammer. This would be a lot of fun.

*   *   *

Jaiston lunged at his brother with a curved stick made out to be a sword. Emery ducked and jumped to avoid falling over their sister, Krylena. Their cousins, Pielere’s five children, joined in and soon the room was full of wresting prepubescent three quarter elves. Samantha watched their play and tried to release some of her tension. The sick feeling persisted, but she grew used to it. The royal families filtered into the adjoined chamber early that morning and stayed there the entire day. Long before word of the battle reached them, the younger children claimed nightmares and called for their fathers. Once details of the attack began to emerge, especially the impossible news that the wall of Suriax was breached, every moment became a struggle to keep the children from knowing how afraid the adults were.

The younger children were relatively easy to distract, except for those
eerie moments of worry they felt, as though they knew something the rest of them could not feel or see. The older boys spent most of their time play fighting. They wished to join the troops and fight the invaders. One day this kingdom would belong to them. They wanted to defend it.

There were twenty of them in
all: the eight children, Pielere and Eirae’s wives, Traelene and Valesca, Mirerien’s fiancé, Collin, four attendants, four guards and Samantha. Traelene and Valesca sat by the window, keeping a watchful eye on the border wall. Samantha had to admit the two women were the exact opposite of what she expected after meeting their husbands. Valesca had hair, as black as ink, pulled up in elegant braids. Her entire demeanor and attire bespoke a woman of royal tutelage. She maintained perfect posture with ease even after hours of sitting and waiting.

Pielere’s wife
, Traelene, was more of a wild woman. Bright red hair hung loose, unrestrained. Her clothes were vibrant greens and gold. She looked like a beautiful flower blooming from the forest floor. Indeed, Traelene came from the Great Forests, nestled in the heart of the northern parts of the Eastern Ridge. Protected on all sides by the mountains, they had very little interaction with outside settlements. Even the humans and dwarves who lived in and on the mountains rarely ventured into the depths of the trees.

Despite their differences the two women were completely at ease with one another, speaking with a level of comfort and familiarity born out of years of interaction and mutual respect.
They joked softly, trading stories about their husbands, but it was easy to see the worry behind their eyes. Traelene glanced her way, and Samantha quickly averted her gaze, too late. Uncomfortably, she walked to the far side of the room and leaned against the wall, staring at a corner. What was she doing here, anyway? What made King Pielere think she could be of any use to them? So what if she had feelings when evil men were near? It wasn’t as though she could really do anything about it. A well trained guard could watch for trouble and actually defend themselves and others should trouble arrive. If only she could fight.

“I’m Collin,” Mirerien’s fiancée said, holding a hand out in greeting. Samantha started. She had not heard him approach. He was a friendly looking man, with skin tanned and roughened from years in the sun. She could tell he was no courtly man, even if he seemed completely at ease in their company. For that
, she was jealous.

“Samantha,” she said, taking his hand. She followed his lead, taking a seat on a nearby bench. “I feel like such an intruder here,” she confessed.

“I grew up in the palace,” he told her. “My father was a weapons instructor here when we were all still children. Mirerien, Pielere, Eirae and I grew up together.” Leaning his elbows on his legs, Collin stared down at his hands, lost in the memories. “I studied with my father and watched him work with guards and members of the royal family. When he passed away, I was asked to take his place. Up until a few months ago, that was all I was. I guess I was always more than that, but still, being officially given access to the inner circle is an adjustment.”

His story may have been intended to put her at ease, but all it did was make her feel more out of place. “I don’t belong here,” she told him.
“I’m not family. I’m no one important.”

“They say you can sense things. Is that correct?”

“I guess.” Samantha felt the queasiness grow stronger. She looked in the direction of the window and felt an intense dread.”

“What is it?” Collin asked, picking up on her mood shift.

“They’re in Aleria.” A knock sounded at the door, drawing everyone’s attention but hers. Collin waited a moment before going to let the guard in. Even the children were quiet while they waited for the report.

Collin listened without
comment then closed the door behind the guard and motioned for the royal wives to join him on the bench with Samantha. She tried not to squirm, being so close to everyone, and waited for what he would say. Collin looked her in the eyes and confirmed her feeling. “They broke through the border at Merchant’s Square.”

“What about Pielere and the others?” Traelene asked.

“No one knows. They were separated from their troops at the southern Suriaxian wall. No one is sure where they went after that, but they have not been seen near any of the fighting at our border. There is one more thing.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “They believe Kern didn’t make it. He was struck with a mortal injury just outside the wall. From all reports, he died instantly.”