Awake the Cullers (History of Ondar) (8 page)

Traxton nodded at Bricksben and motioned left. He took right. Moving silently, they circled the camp, taking position should Martiene need assistance.

*   *   *

Martiene systematically worked his way to the large tent at the center of the camp. It sat clustered in an area of other tents, but this one clearly stood out for its size and the clean, orderly condition of the surrounding area. The inside of the tent was quiet and still. Heavy fabric blocked many of the sounds from outside. Curtains offset three rooms within the tent.

The first was mostly empty, a large receiving room with a wooden bench on the far side and not much else of note. Curtains on either side of the bench led to the other two rooms, including one that served as a bedroom. The cot, nearly ten feet in len
gth, took up most of the space. Beside it was a small table and lantern.

Pushing past the curtain to the other room he found a
n open chest of maps and notes. Sorting through them he found cities scratched out all across the plains, down to the coast. There were even a few marks around the cliffs. As far as Martiene could tell, each mark indicated a place destroyed by Cullers. There were a lot of marks.

Flipping through the papers he found another set of maps highlighting areas further north
. The marks on these maps seemed to indicate areas well known for skilled or powerful fighters. Checking the other maps, he saw many corresponding marks along the path they took. There was only one explanation he could reason for what he saw. They were recruiting new Cullers. Otherwise why would they travel directly through areas they knew would have the strongest opposition? Cullers loved a good fight, but this group was organized and obviously travelling with a destination in mind. By travelling this path, they weeded out weaker members and took on new people, thereby ensuring their army would continue to strengthen and grow as it moved. It was brilliant, but where were they going? What was the purpose behind everything?

Without warning
, a blade pressed in at his throat. Martiene threw back his arm reflexively and hit the person holding the blade. She went tumbling through the curtain doorway, back into the entrance room. Pushing his way through the outside wall, Martiene ran, his caution and stealth lost in the urgency of the moment. He could hear the woman follow him through the camp. Others soon became aware of his presence and followed suit. Still clutching the maps, he pulled his hands together in a series of hand signals and cast his clone spell. Exact replicas ran off in each direction, confusing some of those pursuing him. Fighting his way to the edge of the camp, he saw Bricksben adding cover for his escape. He raised a hand in thanks only to see Bricksben fall mid bow pull by a spear to the chest. He could not see Traxton, but from the sound of battle on the opposite side of camp, he could wager a bet he was over there, too far to be of any immediate help.

Martiene stopped running and dropped the maps, pulling his sword. He wouldn’t live long enough to show the maps to anyone anyway. He might as well go out fighting. Feeling more thrilled than he should at the prospect of his final battle, Martiene struck with deadly precision, glorying in each kill.

Then a shadow fell upon the battlefield. Martiene turned and faced a wall of flesh and muscle. A massive fist slammed into his chest, breaking three ribs on contact and sending him flying across the camp. He groaned and tried to move. The bones pressing into his lungs made that difficult. The end of a staff pushed against his broken bones and made breathing all but impossible.

“Wait,” a woman called.

Martiene cracked open his eyes and watched a young girl approach. No, he amended, not a girl but a halfling woman. A nice sized bruise blossomed on the side of her face, and he recognized her as the person from the tent. “Ah, so you want to be the one to kill me,” he said, his voice raw and cracking.

“No,” she said, crossing her legs and sitting in front of him. “I have something special in mind for you.” Casually she put a hand on his leg.
Her hair shifted from blonde to bright green. Then everything went dark.

The survivors of Everend, the poor destroyed village in the foothills of the Eastern Ridge, were actually a great help in bypassing many of the dangers on the way to the mountains. They knew the passageways safe from the wind and the paths with easier footing for a group of injured. The women from Breakeren were quick to help care for their injuries. Unable to help their own families survive those monsters, they were eager to ease the pain of these new survivors. The children, being children, played.

They travelled until nightfall made travel too dangerous, and set up camp in the shadow of the mountains. The next day would find them safely in its caves. Kern helped the survivors get settled, making sure everyone had food and water, and made his way over to the woman in his cloak. She woke up an hour or so into the journey, but her recovery was slow. She still had trouble walking very far and her breathing was rough. Kern handed her a canteen of fresh water and a bag of berries. “I know it isn’t much,” he apologized.

“It is fine,” she assured him. “I’m Samantha, by the way. All the times we’ve talked since I woke up, and I realized I never told you my name.”

He smiled. “I’m Kern.”

“Well, Kern, not that I’m complaining, but why did you put this wonderful, much appreciated healing cloak around me, when you could obviously use it for yourself? And where did you even get such a thing?”

“As to the where, it was a gift from my siblings. And I put it on your because after the way you defended those children, I thought you deserved to be saved.” At first he thought she fought to defend her own children, but that was not the case. Once things settled down, he saw the children claimed by their own surviving family members. She nearly died protecting other people’s children. “The way you took those hits without once crying out in pain was amazing.”

“I did not want to frighten the children,” she looked down shyly, uncomfortable with the praise. “I just wish this were all some nightmare. I keep thinking I am going to wake up safe in my home.”

The forest melted away, replaced by an ornate palace room. Samantha blinked. A woman and two men, all extremely well dressed, stood around a table on the far side of the room. They looked up at her in surprise.

“That is Kern’s cloak,” the woman said.

One of the men came over to her and grabbed the cloak at her shoulder. She winced from the pain of injuries still unhealed. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.

“A man, a warrior told me to wear it to heal my injuries.”

“Some warrior you do not know just gave you a highly magical item?” he asked incredulously.

“My village was attacked. I was badly injured. The stranger protected us, killing many of the raiders and leading us to safety. My village had no magic, potions, healers or clerics. He told me to wear the cloak until I felt better.”

The man looked back at the woman, who nodded. He released his hold on her shoulder and stepped back. The other man held out a hand. “I’m Pielere. This is Mirerien and Eirae.”

“My Lords,” she bowed, immediately recognizing their names.

Pielere smiled warmly and led her over to the table. “Tell us about your village, where it is
, anything you remember about the raiders, and where your people are now. But first,” he grinned, “tell us your name.” His demeanor had the desired effect and put her nerves at ease.

“My name is Samantha.”

“It is wonderful to meet you. Let us get a cleric to heal the remainder of Samantha’s injuries,” he said to the two guards she had not noticed stood at the chamber door. “And find her some new clothing.”

The guards bowed and left. Samantha proceeded to fill the monarchs in on all that happened, careful not to leave out any details they may find useful. When she finished, the queen led her to a room, even more lavish than the last. Samantha felt s
elf-conscious even standing on the pristine, plush rugs that covered the floor. Her shoes and clothes were covered in dirt and dried blood. Her dress was in tatters. She pulled the cloak tighter. Two women followed them to the chamber. One held an assortment of gowns. The other carried potions and scrolls.

“Hand me the cloak,” Mirerien instructed.

Samantha reluctantly complied. The cleric gasped. “My word, where did you receive such gashes? How long did you wear the cloak?” She began prodding the wounds. Samantha winced reflexively.

“Since shortly after mid-day,” Samantha answered the second question, not in the mood to relive her report to the three Alerian lords.

“And the injuries are still so deep? You are lucky to be alive and still in possession of all your limbs. It is a wonder you did not lose this arm.” She indicated a particularly bad gash on her right arm.

“Can you help her?” Mirerien asked, handing the cloak to the other attendant to clean.

“Yes, Your Majesty, but it will take some time.”

Mirerien nodded. “Lorise will see to your needs once Setta finishes healing your injuries.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

*   *   *

Mirerien sighed heavily and put the place marker back down on the map. She and her brothers spent the entire night pouring over reports and discussing strategy. To send troops without leaving the city vulnerable to attack was no easy business. If they sent too few troops, they could doom the mission before it began. Without knowing how many they faced or what drove these raiders, it was impossible to guess their next move.

The light of the rising sun streamed in from the window,
falling on Kern’s cloak, folded neatly on the dais. The cloak faded into the light, disappearing before their eyes. Moments later, Kern appeared, wearing it.

Mirerien felt a rush of relief. After seeing the extent of the girl’s injuries, she worried how badly Kern may have been hurt, but he looked to be in relatively good shape. He smiled at seeing them and gave them each a welcoming hug. She c
ould tell from the way Pielere and Eirae’s shoulders and faces relaxed that they shared her concerns and relief.

“You know,” Pielere chastised, “when we gave you the cloak, it was not so you could give it to the first pretty girl you saw.”

“I know, I know,” Kern said, looking appropriately chagrined. “I didn’t think she would make it. Two healing potions barely did anything, and there were many other people with severe injuries who needed the few remaining potions I had.”

“And what of your injuries?” Eirae turned Kern’s arm to show the many cuts and bruises slowly beginning to heal under the cloak’s magic.

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugged. “Besides, we have more important things to worry about right now.”

“The raiders,” Pielere agreed.

“Not just raiders, Cullers.”

No one spoke for several seconds. “Are you sure?” Mirerien asked, already knowing the answer. She could feel the truth and certainty in his words.

Kern nodded and told them everything he saw, from the bodies and Sublinates in Breakeren to his battle in Everend.

“I always thought the Cullers were a legend, a myth,” Mirerien said, mostly to herself.

“I was afraid of this,” Pielere said, catching them all off guard. “I’ve had dreams,” he explained. “Ever since they crossed the border, I woke up hearing screams. I dream through the eyes of those tortured and killed by terrifying, mutilated monsters. I thought . . . I hoped they were simply nightmares. I knew it was not. That was the real reason I asked you back early from your trip,” he confessed to Mirerien.

“How many would you say there
are?” Eirae asked Kern.

“There were easily a thousand in the camp I saw. The group that attacked Tynerock had several hundred. A dozen or more attacked at Everend. There’s no way to know how many other smaller groups may be separated from the main one.”

“We may not have enough troops to send, not while keeping enough to protect Aleria from an impromptu Suriaxian attack. Maerishka will likely take any reduction in our forces as an open invitation to invade.” Pielere sat heavily.

“She would likely claim our forces were being sent to attack her in the Southern Plains,” Eirae agreed.”

“Why not talk to her?” Kern suggested. “They attacked her lands and people as well as yours. This threat is bigger than family rivalry. We could work together.”

All three monarchs scoffed. “We could never trust her not to betray us in the midst of battle,” said Mirerien.

Pielere and Eirae nodded their agreement. Kern paused, clearly wanting to argue the point, but decided against it. “Whatever you do, I need to get supplies and get back to the survivors.”

“You can’t go alone,” Mirerien argued.

“I can’t stay here. I’m needed there. Those people are afraid. Many are hurt. I won’t abandon them.”

“About Maerishka,” Pielere started.

Kern held up a hand.” That’s all diplomacy and politics, and frankly I don’t want any part of it. You guys do what you need to do. I will do what I need to do.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed,” Eirae said with a smile.

Kern smiled back. “I’ll do my best.”

Mirerien hugged her brother and couldn’t help the severe sense of foreboding that overtook her. “Make sure you do.”

Kern drew back, his face serious once more as he searched her eyes for the meaning behind her tone. “I will,” he swore. And then he left.

*   *   *

It didn’t take long for word of his return to spread. Kern handed out what potions he had, keeping a few hidden for later, and passed out rations to the hungry survivors. He gave shoes and coats to those without. The caves would be colder than outside, and they still had to travel over patches of sharp rocks in the mouth of the cave to access the deeper tunnels. He handed out the last coat and thanked the gods he had enough for everyone who needed one. It cost all the gold in his pouch, but he would do it again.

“You are back,” Zanden said. “What did you learn?”

“Not much,” Kern followed him off to the side. Casther and Rand sat cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Lynnalin was nowhere around. “Aleria may send some troops, but they don’t know how many or when.” He sat heavily on a tree stump. “They are concerned Suriax may choose to attack while their defenses are down.”

Rand
made a noise in his throat. “She probably would, too. I was surprised she didn’t push matters after the Night of Blue Fire.”

Casther shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been a strategic move to launch an attack before we learned to control the fire and fight with it. We would have been just as likely to kill our own men. Now however . . .”

The air shifted and Lynnalin appeared before them. She took one look at their faces and sighed. “I take it your visit was as productive as mine,” she said to Kern.

“Where did you go?”

“Suriax.”

“Are they sending reinforcements?” Zanden asked hopefully.

“A few, but nothing substantial. She doesn’t want to move an army through Alerian lands. She said she would post some sentries at the border to keep the raiders from returning, but now that they are in Alerian territory, they are Aleria’s problem.”

“She holds back our troops, knowing Aleria will likely need to send theirs,”
Rand said. “Sound like it is to be war between us after all.” They all fell quiet in their thoughts.

Those thoughts were interrupted as a small girl, no older than three ran up to Kern and hugged his leg. “Thank you for the food and shoes,” she said, giving his leg a kiss. The child’s mother ran up and picked up the girl.

“I am sorry for the intrusion,” she said. “Marie just really wanted to thank you. So did I.” The woman smiled gratefully and carried the child away. She peaked over her mother’s shoulder as they left. Kern felt himself smile despite the severity of their situation. It didn’t matter if they were Suriaxian or Alerian. He knew he would do whatever it took to protect these people.

*   *   *

Most of the blood was dry, except a few gooey red puddles of mud formed by spilled water from an overturned troth. The smell of death and burnt flesh filled the air. Surprisingly, a large number of the dead belonged to their army. Their people were restless and ruthless, often striking out on their own to relieve their urges. Most returned to the group within a few days. In all the places they stopped to raid on their northward journey across the continent, they only ever lost a few here or there, always much fewer than they killed, and they never left survivors other than for recruiting purposes. But now the game had changed. First came reports from that small border town about the woman with the blue fire. Now an even smaller settlement showed signs of survivors’ tracks and Cullers killed by fire. Something strange was going on. How exciting!

Following the tracks,
Ridikquelass found herself at the opening of a large cave. Unused branches sat on ash and kindling in several evenly spaced piles outside the cave. They came here, and from the quantity of used up fire pits she saw, there was a significant number in their group. She knelt and touched one of the branches. It was cool, but she could still feel a little heat from the ashes underneath. Going a short ways into the cave she looked for signs of dirt disturbed on the floor and found all the tracks led to a tunnel heading north.