Awake the Cullers (History of Ondar) (9 page)

Somewhere in the mountains travelled someone, possibly the blue fire witch, strong enough to fight back and survive a Culler attack. If they could find this person and capture her, they could possibly convert her into one of them, or at least learn where she got her power. At the very least, they could kill her.

Ridikquelass ran quickly back to the camp. Her three bushy ponytails bobbed the entire way. The journey through the mountains would be slow and tiresome, especially given the size of the group she suspected was in there. But she had a good idea where they were going. There was only one place large enough to give them any hope of safety. Traveling closer to established routes, skirting the foothills and rougher terrain, her group should be able to catch up and cut them off from reinforcements. Grabbing the horn, she handed it to Nadda, filling her in. Nadda nodded, her conch shell pendant swinging forward with the movements. She raised the horn to her lips, waiting for Ridikquelass to cover her ears, and blew. A loud blast sounded through the camp, echoing for miles, reverberating off metal and breaking glass. Without another word or command, the Cullers grabbed their things, packed up the camp and started moving. Now, the real fun would begin.

The air was cool and humi
d. Water dripped down from the ceiling. It was a constant sound in the darkness and an occasional slipping hazard. Balls of magic light floated around them, but they did not penetrate far into the shadows. Progress was slow. The stone floor was slick in spots, making caution and careful steps a necessity. Not that anyone had the energy to walk with speed. Hours of travelling through these dark caves had taken its toil. Everyone was anxious to feel the warmth of the sun. The only one who did not seem to mind the journey was Rand. Through the haze of the lantern light, Kern could almost swear he saw the dwarf skip a couple of times. He knew he heard the man humming softly. After years of living and growing up in the openness and trees of Suriax, being in these caves was like coming home.

If his jovial attitude annoyed anyone, they had the good sense not to say anything. They were lucky to have him here, and everyone knew it. Without
Rand’s unfailing sense of direction, they could easily become lost or turned around down here. The caves twisted and turned, branching into dead ends and bottomless drop offs. Underground rivers, fed by runoff from the Therion River, ran throughout. Several times they were forced to double back and try alternate paths. Rand kept them traveling north, to safety.

“How are the short legs doing?” Zanden asked, joining Kern at the back.

Kern grinned. ‘Short legs’ was their nickname for the youngest walking children. They were stubborn enough to insist on walking, heavy enough that their mothers didn’t put up much of an argument, and young enough to become easily distracted by random rocks and dark tunnels. “They are tired but holding up. No complaining, but they are starting to fall behind.”

Zanden nodded. “We should stop for a while, get something to eat and let the children get some rest. We can get started again in the morning, or afternoon, or whatever time of day it is outside these blasted caves.”

Kern chuckled. Their elven natures were prickling in these confines. In many ways the humans they led were doing better than their protectors. They were certainly complaining less.

They set up camp and let everyone rest, taking turns on watches. The passage of time was impossible to track. Kern watched the light from the lantern spell flicker and cast shadows on the wall. After what felt like an hour, but could have been more or less, he began to fall into a light, far from restful sleep. Footsteps echoed softly down the tunnels, perking his elven ears. He opened his eyes and listened, unsure at first if he dreamt the sounds. No, they were real, if far way. Someone or something was in the caves.

Kern made his way quietly to the outside edges of the group and knelt by Casther, who acknowledged his presence with a distracted nod. Most of his attention was focused on the direction of the sounds. “What can you hear?” Kern asked.

“Just the footsteps, now, but I heard voices a short while ago. From the sound of things, I’d say there are a lot of them.”

“Do you think it’s the raiders?” Kern asked softly, not wanting to frighten anyone who might be awake.

Casther shook his head. “The footsteps are slow, shuffled, tired. I doubt that is them.”

“The refuges from Tynerock?” Kern asked

He nodded. “That would be my guess. You should take
Rand and check it. I will wake Zanden and Lynn.”

Kern did as he was asked and woke
Rand. He acknowledged Kern with a grunt and rolled off his matt, ready to go. Without Lynnalin’s lantern light spell the caves were impossibly dark. Rand suggested travelling without a light in case Casther was wrong about the identity behind the sounds. They walked perhaps fifty feet when Kern gave up and asked to light a torch. His toes were aching from stubbing them on rocks and his grunts of discomfort and surprise every time he walked into a wall or low ledge gave away any hint of surprise they might have. Besides, the darkness was not helping his feelings of claustrophobia. He wanted a light.

Rand
laughed and pulled out his hammer, wrapping it in blue Suriaxian fire. The caves were even more unsettling cast in the blue hue, but he could finally see and avoid the rocks, so Kern counted his blessings and tried not to think about his anxiety. As the sounds grew louder, it became easier.

“I told you we already went this way,” a man’s voice said. “There is the mark I left on the wall.” Several voices broke out into argument about which way to go, which way they already went and how long they would be trapped in these caves. Dim yellow light shone around the corner up ahead.
Rand extinguished his fire, and they walked confidently the last few dozen feet to their destination. Marcy was the first to notice them, her elven ears giving her the advantage in hearing their approach over the uproar of the tired, angry and frightened survivors of Tynerock.

“Kern!” she called excitedly, rushing over. “I am so glad to see you.” She collided into him and wrapped him in a warm hug.

Thomas walked over with a similar grin. Most of the others settled down, distracted and curious by the unexpected interruption. “Please tell me you know a way out of here. We’ve been travelling in circles for what feels like months.”

“Only one month,” Kern teased.

“Actually,” Rand corrected them both, “it’s only been about five days.”

“Only,” Kern rolled his eyes. “You guys stay here for now. Get some rest while you can. We’ll get everyone else and continue on in the morning, night, whatever.”

*   *   *

The air was stale. Samantha held her hand to her chest and tried to calm her pounding heart. Once that was under control, she trained all her senses to determine what woke her. All was quiet. She felt the insistent pressure on her chest and rose, letting the sheets fall to the ground. Her bare feet padded determinedly to the window. She looked out into the darkness. A few random lanterns lit the two cities, but most people were asleep at this hour. Her stomach turned. She lowered her head. Taking a brief moment to reassure herself she wasn’t imagining things, Samantha rushed from her chamber.

She ignored the looks from the guards and waited with as much patience as she could gather. It did not take long to gain admittance to the room she first arrived at. As she guessed, the monarchs were still wide awake. She could see the fatigue on their faces, but they still mustered friendly smiles in greeting.

“What can we do for you?” Pielere asked.

Samantha gathered a burst of courage and spoke. “I believe we are in imminent danger.” He raised an eyebrow but motioned for her to continue. “Just before my people were attacked, I felt this overwhelming sickness. I ignored it then,” she admitted, to her shame. “Within minutes, they were upon us. I just awoke with the same feeling. A great evil approaches.”

The three shared a look. “What do you hear?” Mirerien asked Pielere.

He closed his eyes. The room fell quiet. “Fear. In the outer farming settlements.”

“Those were evacuated,” Eirae argued.

“Someone must have stayed,” Mirerien reasoned.

Eirae cursed under his breath. “If we send our fastest unit . . .”

Pielere sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head. “Too late.” Eirae cursed again.

“Where did you feel the call?” Mirerien asked.

Pielere studied the map for a moment and pointed to a spot roughly a day’s walk from the Suriaxian wall, at the south of their two cities. Mirerien pointed to a spot parallel on the map, in the mountains. “That is where I sense Kern.”

“So the raiders are tracking the refugees,
” Eirae surmised.

“Either that,” Pielere said, “or it is a very bad coincidence.”

Mirerien pointed to a spot in the mountains slightly north. “This is where they will likely exit the caves.” The tunnels north of that point curved away from the cities. That point bent the closest to Suriax and Aleria.

“That’s almost two thousand
yards from even Suriax’s walls. They’ll be slaughtered, in the open like that, long before they can make it to the cities.” Eirae stepped back in frustration.

“What can I do?” Samantha asked, unable to remain quiet any longer.

“Can you fight?” Eirae asked.

Samantha looked away in shame. “I can lift a sword, but I possess very little skill in wielding one. I was just an assistant farrier. I’m afraid I don’t have many useful skills.”

Pielere walked up and put a hand on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that. This feeling you had, other than the previous attack, have you felt it before?”

Samantha thought back. “Once. A stranger came through our settlement. He needed his horse re-shoed. Every time he came near, I felt ill. He was friendly. Everyone liked him well enough. He did not hurt anyone or start any fights. After he left, the feeling went away. A week later, soldiers came looking for him. He was an escaped criminal, wanted for murder.”

Pielere nodded, satisfied by her answer. “I want you to stay in these chambers. There is a door over there,” he inclined his head to the far wall. “Push in the knob to the left, and it will open. Our families will be in the adjoining rooms. If you get that feeling again, strong enough to convince you the palace is no longer safe, lead them through that door.”

Her eyes widened at the enormity of the task she was given. He was placing the lives of his children in her hands. “Yes, Sir,” was all she could say. He gave her that comforting smile again, and she felt much of her fear melt away. With a nod, the three of them left as one, calling out to the attendants and issuing orders before the door even finished closing behind them.

*   *   *

The room was quiet. Children lined the walls. Their backs were pressed straight
. Their posture was perfect. The only thing that betrayed their age was their eyes. In her presence, adults would stare forward or at their feet. These children watched her every move, looking her straight in the eye. They were unafraid of her power. Fed by the illusion of youthful immortality, they indulged their curiosity, completely un-intimidated.

Maerishka walked to the next room and knew they were finally at the older students. The girls all wore hair cut short, above the shoulders. For females of elven descent, this was an unusual sight. The boys and girls all wore bright, new clothing. Shoes were perfectly kept with no signs of wear. The many burn scars were finally beginning to heal. These children were hit harder than most by the Night of Blue Fire that gave all adult Suriaxians their gift. They were mostly children, barely past puberty and lacking the discipline needed to quickly control the fire. Even the adults struggled with this. It took over a month to develop their skills to the point where they could return to school without accidentally burning everything to the ground.

To accommodate those early accidents and to help the girls stay alive, most cut their hair right way. When flames erupted in the middle of the night or during play, long hair was a hazard that could quickly catch fire. Even with that precaution, most burned through a great deal of their wardrobe, hence all the new clothing.

Despite their struggles and injuries, they showed no self pity or signs of trauma. Even standing still and respectful, their excitement filled the room. As with the younger children, many met her gaze head on. A few smiled. She felt a flush of pride and respect. These students were the future of Suriax. They were strong, and her kingdom would be stronger for them.

When she made her vow to Venerith, she could never have known what would happen. She prayed for his blessings and the strength to maintain her power. She gave him her citizens in the bargain. At first, she lamented sharing his gift of fire with her subjects, but now she saw the wisdom of his choice. With a people this dangerous, outside forces would be fools to challenge her and her kingdom. Should a challenge come from within, as they so often did, her fire still burned hottest. She could burn from over ten feet away and kill with a touch. Her attendants and husband were forced to take potions and drape themselves in protective magic to hazard being near her. It was a good bargain.

Maerishka exchanged a few words with the teachers and head master, finalizing details of the rebuilding efforts. There were rooms to imbue with protective spells, scrolls to replace and other less pressing concerns. Maerishka nodded and politely disengaged herself from the discussion. Any other issues could be addressed by her staff. Making her way back to the palace she looked around the city. There was still a great deal of work to do. Most of the rebuilding was completed. Her people were hard working and determined. But the scars were there. Empty lots sat where homes and businesses once stood. Char marks shone on doors and pavement. The people smiled and bustled about, but more than a few bore new
scars. Some sported fresh burns. They were still adjusting. This would take time.

She turned the corner and hurried to the palace, stopping at the look of excited agitation displayed by the guards. They looked away nervously in her presence. Before she could question them, Svanteese rushed up. “Your Majesty,” he
said, slightly out of breath.

Svanteese was her
most trusted royal advisor and had a way of always being around while rarely being noticed. He heard everything and was a great political asset with extensive knowledge in affairs of state and a quick mind. Svanteese was also a good man, sometimes caring a bit too much for what happened to people he felt were undeserving of punishment. Despite that character flaw, he was a hard worker and a great help in managing affairs of state.