Stormfyre, Chapter 31

           The path branching through the Canvese Mountains was steep and narrow, with driving winds blowing back and forth periodically. A snow storm was brewing further to the north, black clouds gathering in masse. The farther they climbed the pass the colder the air became, growing more frigid as the hours of travel passed. In the depths of the mountain pass they pitched camp, finding a small grove of trees that grew beside the road. There was only sharp wind and blowing snow beyond the road, with it twisting like an enormous snake between hulking pieces of stone protruding out of the ground.

Cameron took Kirstin onto the road to practice swordplay while Damien sat cross legged before the flickering flames of the campfire and read from the Testament. As far as he could gather it was the Eve of Rest, when all those faithful to the One bowed their heads to worship him. Losing himself in his prayers, Damien failed to notice Verion leaning against a flattened rock behind him. The centiant was regarding him with cool eyes, arms folded across his chest. When the priest's prayer had concluded he raised his head, feeling those eyes upon him. Craning his neck, he smiled when he saw Verion watching him.

            "A good night tonight, is it not?" Damien ventured.

            "A good night, yes."

            "Is there something wrong, Verion? You seem troubled."

            "I am not, father," Verion answered, "I am only curious."

            "Curious?"

            "Father, what brought you to this path? The path of the God you follow. You have a steadfast faith that is not seen in many humans, priests or otherwise. How is it that the flame of the One God burns so brightly in your breast?"

            "That, my friend, is a long story."

            "I have time to hear this story," Verion told him. Damien smiled again, putting a hand to his chin. There was stubble there, but not enough to be considered a beard yet. He was still debating if he should shave again. Taking his hand from his face he let it fall to the surface of his book.

            "I suppose you could say it began with my brother."

            "Your brother was a priest?"

            "Not at all. At the time we were too young for either of us to follow the faith in such a manner. And I must confess that when I was very young, I did not care to. Saul was the one who carried the fire of faith then."

            "The name of your brother."

            "Yes. Saul was two years older then I, and steadfast to the church. He was the only one of my family to hear the One's call then. I would often berate him for being so pious about everything that he did. He always seemed to be acting like an old man! But Saul never wearied."

            "You speak in the past tense," Verion noted. Damien nodded at him.

            "He and I were playing near an old windmill one day, hide and seek I believe. We stumbled through the old windmill, making our way to the basement. I had the misfortune of happening upon the den of a reed viper."

            "Reed viper's have most deadly venom," Verion said coolly. Damien shuddered.

            "It was nestled in the mill's wall sleeping. It roused when I came near it, poised to strike. I was so taken with fear that I couldn't move, only stand there and watch the snake. My brother had no compunctions about it however. He threw himself at the snake, taking it in one hand and hurling it across the basement. He paid for his selfless action, being bitten in the arm by the reed viper. I helped him from the basement, watching in terror as his arm swelled and turned red from the venom. He assured me that it was no fault of mine that caused this. I wasn't so sure. We didn't return back to my father's house in time to help my brother. Saul died from the snake's bite on the road side, and a travelling merchant helped me bring his...body back to the house. I had never known such grief in all my life."

            "So you took up a place as a priest of the One to take your brother's place?"

            "At first, yes. I had to find something to take the place that Saul's death left inside me. But, after time, I began to feel the pull of the One. The more I gave myself to his light, the more space the One filled in me, taking away emptiness that I never dared think was there. I owe Saul much for this. I believe that the One had shown me the true path through this action, bringing me to him so I might serve him better. I found the peace that I sought. I now know that Saul is in a better place than this."

            "You truly are a man of faith, father," Verion told him, a rare smile forming on his lips. Damien returned the gesture, closing his book and tucking into the small field pack that he carried slung over his back.

            In the morning, under the haze of dark gray that rolled in with the sun's rise, they marched along a downward path, the slope of the mountains giving way to a massive plain covered with sparkling white. Rolling hills sloped one way or the next, concealing bowl shaped valleys that dotted the land for what seemed to be for miles. But beyond that, past a wandering fog that lingered in the air ahead of them, they could see a massive slab of stone; a wall that trailed from one side of the plains to the other. It was miles in length, and hundreds of feet tall. Cameron pulled to a halt, gazing at the wall from afar. Even the miles that separated them from the wall couldn't make it seem any less large. Damien muttered a prayer under his breath. Kirstin gasped, putting a hand over her mouth as she exhaled frosty air. Ferrin stared wide eyed from where he sat on Damien's steed.

            "Strange," Verion remarked.

            "What's so strange, Verion?" Cameron asked as he rode up beside the centiant.

            "We should have been attacked by the gedra by now. They are usually zealous defenders of their boundaries. We should have at least been followed by scouts. Something." Verion scanned the rocky pass around him, and grimaced when he failed to detect anything beyond the walls.

            "Then let us count ourselves as lucky, shall we?" Cameron replied, snapping the reins of his horse and trailing down the pass toward the valley. He glanced at the wall ahead of him every now and again, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Two hours of steady descent brought the lot of them into the edges of the valley. The snow layering the floor of the valley was almost knee deep to the horses, but powdery and easy to maneuver through. There were no tracks in the snow.

            "Verion," Cameron began, "Where did you say that this tribe of the ferret lies?"

            "The Casaama tribe is there," the centiant pointed west, along the ridge of the mountains. The plains vanished behind one of the rocky walls, miles away from them. "We will begin by travelling that way, unless the father has another direction he wishes to go."

            Damien thought for a moment, rubbing his temple. He sighed when he realized that he didn't have a clue as to where he wanted to go. He only nodded to Verion. The centiant nodded back and skirted through the snow to the west. Night found them trailing the mountain range still as stars filled the sky overhead, along with a sliver of moon that shone with pale beauty across the frozen land.

            The night was cold. There was no wood to burn, having no trees to use. Cameron stripped the horse blankets off their mounts and gave each of them one, telling them to put them inside their bed rolls for added warmth. Verion maintained a vigilant watch, uneasy that he still could not see the ageless near them.

            Is there nothing to hunt in this blasted place? Ferrin signed to Damien as the priest was readying himself for sleep.

            I do not think that this terrain is fit for many animals, Ferrin.

            I'm getting so tired of these trail rations. Ferrin let out a silent sigh, ripping off a hunk of trail bread and eating it with dried out jerky. The frail youth grimaced at the salty taste of the jerky. Damien patted him on the back and crawled deeper into his bedroll, wrapping the horse blanket around him as well. He would have to thank Cameron for the good idea when he woke that morning. It was the last thought he had before sleep claimed him. In his sleep came the dream for the first time in weeks. He was standing in the mountains, along a road well travelled, snow trampled by horse hooves and booted feet. Fires burned; thick clouds of smoke filling the sky as sections of woodland and wagons were set aflame. The cries of death were all around him, and the ring of steel somewhere below him.

            In a ravine that stretched along his right he could see men in shining armor fighting by the light of their fires. They fought with abandon, wielding sword and ax against a towering foe with white flesh. The ageless was taller than a normal man by almost double his height, with lanky arms and plain white clothes made to blend into the surroundings. But there were stains of red mingled with the pure white, and before Damien could call on the men to cease their attack the ageless fell. His cry was deep, one hand loosening to drop the gigantic mace that he wielded as a weapon. One of the human soldiers dove in and finished him with a spear shaft. Then more of the ageless came, better than half a dozen of them, carrying maces and spears and clubs. But there was no rage on their broad faces, no hate or bitterness; only grim determination and grief. The human soldiers in their plate mail armor charged the emerging ageless, raising blades as they screamed battle cries. Damien could make out the symbol of the soaring eagle on their chest plates.

            "Please!" Damien screamed at them as they neared each other, "Please stop this! Why are you killing each other?" His hoarse cry made them stop. Human and ageless alike turned to face him, not a strand of expression to be seen anywhere.

            "It is our fate," the human soldiers told him.

            "It is our fate," the ageless warriors said to him. Then they clashed, blood and steel filling the freezing air and resounding throughout the mountains. Damien clutched at his chest as if he were suddenly being run through by someone's blade making him fall to his knees.

            Damien woke with a scream, sitting straight up. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. Shivering, he pulled the horse blanket and his travel coat closer around him. He thought he could still hear the echo of battle in his ears.

            "Father?" Kirstin asked as she knelt beside him, "Father, are you alright?"

            "Was it another dream, father?" Verion questioned.

            "I think...I think I know why there have been no ageless approaching us these last two days," Damien's voice wavered. Ferrin knelt beside him to help steady him. Damien patted him on the arm and murmured his thanks.

            "Someone is near," Verion stated, spinning around, his staff rising before him. Cameron was out of his bedroll in a flash, sword free of its scabbard and poised before him. Figures rose from the snow. The powder fell from slanting shoulders and nearly bald heads, forming piles around them as they emerged. All at once there were five ageless surrounding them. The white skinned warriors carried spiked maces and long shafted spears with them. Silver eyes glimmered in the moonlight as the ageless lowered themselves for an attack.

            "Wait!" Damien shouted at them, throwing his hands up to show that he wasn't armed, "We have come seeking you! We do not wish to fight with you! I have come on the word of the One! I need to know why that is! Please, do not fight with us!" The ageless stepped back, uneasy looks passing from their steely eyes. They didn't lower their weapons, however. Damien raced over to Cameron, putting a hand on Cameron's sword arm and lowering his blade.

            "Put your sword away, Cameron! Verion, your staff as well!"

            "All due respect to your logic, father, but you're out of your mind," Cameron growled at him. Verion didn't hesitate, placing his staff into the snow and reaching out his hands to them.

            "There is no need for worry, Cameron Reol. They carry a peaceful scent despite their demeanor. There does not have to be bloodshed this night unless it is you that instigates it." Haltingly, he lowered his sword, sheathing it in the scabbard. The ageless looked uncertainly from one to another, then to the priest.

            "I told you that we do not wish to fight. I would that you speak with us so I might know why it is that I came here."

            "You are different than most humans," one of the ageless spoke, his words slow and deep. He had a thick accent, as if he were not accustomed to speaking in the human tongue. "You carry the light of the One God about you like a beacon to those that can see it."

            "You know of the One God?" Damien asked them.

            "We know, human. You know that the One has abandoned our race, our ageless," the giant told him, and the others chuckled bitterly, lowering their weapons. "Where were you heading this far to the north, human?"

            "We seek the village where the Casaama tribe dwells. This boy here," Damien placed an arm around Ferrin scrawny shoulders, "Is one of them. Verion has promised him to take him to his people."

            The ageless' gaze went from the drudic to the centiant. Verion stared back at them with a plain face. "It has been a long time since one of our cousins has come into our land. We believed that the centiant had forgotten our people yet suffered to the north."

            "I know little of your people's plight," Verion returned dryly, "But I have not forgotten. Not all of us accept the past as it was told to us by the Council of Stone. Some of us would see the world and its truths for ourselves." The ageless smiled at him, if only a little. Then there was silence.

            "Come," the ageless told them, beckoning with a long fingered hand, "We will escort you to the village where Casaama lives. We would hear more of what you are doing here, priest of the One. And what you are doing here, centiant."

            They travelled through the night, the ageless moving ahead of them in long, even strides, breaking snow as they went. Cameron rode not far behind them, hand resting on his sword. Verion was almost beside him, keeping pace with his steed. Damien rode side by side with Kirstin. Ferrin hugged the good father nervously the further they rode along. Kirstin tried to ease his uneasiness but the youth only shot her a forced smile and patted her hand.

            By the time that sun was rising along the flat of the land and banishing the shadows on the plains they were close to the outskirts of a village. The village was built along the cliffs of a mountain, beginning at its base and raising for several stories, connecting the houses and huts with ladders and walks crafted from heavy wood. There were all manner of people moving around, both ageless and Casaama alike. When they noticed the ageless coming closer there was the sound of welcoming shouts. Those shouts turned to screams of terror when they noticed the humans that traveled on horseback behind them. Mothers took up their children and ran for the safety of their homes while men and women inside their houses took one look out at the commotion and were quick to shut their windows. The ageless warriors dropped what they were doing in the village and hoisted weapons, charging beyond its boundaries to attack.

            The ageless guiding them held their hands, the one that chose to speak with them shouting in a deep bellow, saying something in a strange language. The other ageless warriors slowed to a stop before them, looks of grimness changing to surprise and shock. They lowered their weapons and parted for the five ageless.

            "Come along. The protectors of the village have allowed you to enter," he said as he turned back to them. Cameron lead the procession into the village of Casaama, watching tensely as people began to fill walks and porches, curious and fearful eyes regarding the strangers. Cameron wouldn't have been surprised at all if many of these people had never seen a human before. He almost laughed out loud when many of them, even the children, scented the air around them. He could imagine Ferrin doing the same thing right then. But the warrior could see resemblance in their features. Shaggy hair and slanted cheeks with a pronounced chin. Every one of them, man or woman, elderly or child, thinner than most comely women he had ever happened across. The ageless stopped at the front of a large house, built seemingly right into the stone of the mountain that it rested against. Twin doors, large enough to admit the ageless free entry, were centered at its front. There were no windows on the walls, only a walk that ran from one side of the upper floors to the next. Of course the walk and the doors that it connected were large enough for ageless to cross. After one of the ageless warriors knocked on the door three times, both doors swung outward and another pair of the race appeared. The warrior shared words with them in that same bizarre tongue and the guards nodded, looking warily at the humans that were suddenly inside the borders of their village.

            Dismounting, their party was beckoned to enter the doors. The hall inside loomed far inside the bulk of the mountain, lit by enormous lanterns glowing with yellow light. Feeling like a mouse let loose in a cat house, Cameron and the others walked after the ageless, forced to move swiftly or fall behind under the long strides of their legs. The chamber extended for hundreds of yards, the passage growing steadily warmer as they moved deeper into the mountain, until the ageless stopped before a great door of stone, a door that was imbibed with many ornate symbols and markings. It opened before them, spilling brighter light out from the widening gap and greater heat that hung in the air heavily. All but one of the ageless stepped aside. The last of them entered, telling them in a thick tongue to follow him. It was an enormous sitting chamber of some type, with a hollowed floor and a bowl shaped ceiling. Fumes emanated from the floor pit, rising steadily for many small gaps that lined the ceiling. At the bottom of the deep hole in the stone was molten lava, flowing in an endless river far below them. Ferrin peaked over the edge and backed away, his eyes huge in his head. Damien swallowed heavily once and Kirstin paled a bit, taking hold of Ferrin's hand, which he gripped with both of his.

            In the next chamber, beyond an open doorway that connected the pair, was another ageless. This one sat on a throne of sorts, carved from solid rock, chiseled with symbols from the top to the bottom. A pair of guards stood watch at either side of the giant, hands folded over their waist line, a spear in hand. The leader of the ageless didn't look quite so ageless. Lines of age cracked his face and he looked withered, like a flower that was beginning to wilt.

            The ageless began to speak to his leader, but the elder held his hand aloft, waiting for silence. The other ageless immediately fell quiet, bowing to the man before stepping beside the others.

            "I would hear the humans speak," the elder told him.

            "Wise one," Damien began as he stepped ahead of the rest of his party, "I am Damien Alohm, a human priest from the village of Hamla. My companions and I have sought this place, and possibly you as well, for answers. I have come seeking truth and I wish to know if you can give me that truth."

            "Truth?" the ageless asked in a cold tone, "Since when have humans ever wished to know of the truth. They perceive only the illusion that they themselves forge, and dress that illusion to be the truth. There is no wisdom in human truths."

            "That is why I have come here, wise one, under the guidance of the One God. He bid me to come north. I have had dreams of this land, and the war that you fight against the Eagle of Avalon. Perhaps that is the truth I am seeking."

            "Are you asking for me to tell you why the ageless have attacked the lands south of the mountain range? Or are you asking to know how the ageless came to be so reviled among the humans and the centiant? It hasn't always been so, you know."

            "I know," Damien told him, "Verion of the centiant told me that long ago his race and yours were close, cousins of a sort. He told me that you became wicked. Like the saevant you took up dark magic and worshipped the devils in Hell. He does not accept these words as fact, and neither do I. I would ask of you to tell me what truth is, wise one. What is the true history of the gedra?"

            "Gedra?" the elder said, looking surprised, if only for a second. Then his face smoothed and he sighed. "Perhaps there is honesty in that sincere tone you practice, priest of the One God. What of the youth behind you?"

            Damien looked back at Ferrin. He was staring from one ageless to the next, looking at ease amongst them. Damien took hold of him before Ferrin got it into his head to wander off. That would be the last thing he needed if her were going to convince the elder that they came under good terms.

            "What is his purpose here?"

            "Ferrin has lived his entire life among humans. He has never known that he was not as we are; only that he was different, shunned by others because of this difference. He has come here to meet his people."

            "Then meet them he shall. Styrie!" the elder shouted, and the ageless that had guided them into the audience hall stepped forward. "You will escort this young man; Ferrin, did you say his name was?" Damien nodded. "You will take Ferrin to his people. He is Casaama. He may decide that this is where he belongs." The elder looked back at the lot of them. "How did you ever discover the whereabouts of this village?"

            "I led them here," Verion stated, stepping beside the priest. "I read over a tome of knowledge that one of the council kept and discovered that this village existed years ago. I never had use for this knowledge. Until now."

            "This turn of events intrigues me," the elder told them, leaning forward on his stone carved chair, "I will tell you what you what you have come seeking, priest of the One God."

            "Thank you, wise one," Damien replied meekly.

            "But first I must test you."

            "What?" Cameron began, but Damien nudged him in the ribs to quiet him. The warrior kept his words to himself, a scowl coloring his face.

            "What test would this be, wise one?"

            "A test to judge if you are pure in this desire, Damien Alohm. There is an artifact near the great Wall of the Ageless, in a tomb that has not seen a human presence for nearly three centuries. You will enter this tomb. Retrieve the artifact that is kept within and return it to me. Only then will you hear that which you came to hear from me."

            "What would this place be, wise one? A tomb? What are we seeking there?" Damien questioned, confusion entering his tone.

            "It is the resting place of the last great king of Umbriel. He is known as Bryan Stormfyre. He was the last king to ever be seated on the High Throne by the High Father of Dynasty. You will enter that sacred place, where we of the gedra have sworn never to enter. You will retrieve the divine sword Soul Blazer from that hallowed place and return here with the sword as proof that you have accomplished this task."

            Damien blanched but maintained his composure. Cameron shook his head, muttering. "It will be as you say, wise one," Damien informed him. "May I take my companions along with me?"

            "All but the one you named as Ferrin. He will stay here until you return from Stormfyre's tomb. You may leave now. If you travel swiftly, it would take you only a day to reach this place and return safely with the sword."

            Outside of the audience chamber, after the elder had dismissed them, Cameron pulled Damien to a halt. The priest waited patiently, guessing the words that were going to come out of the warrior's mouth.

            "Father, I know you want to know why you've come here, but searching for a mythical sword in a wasted land like this is foolish! Don't you see what he's doing? He knows that the Soul Blazer doesn't exist, so he's sent you on a fool's quest! He knows you won't find it, and he won't have to answer anything you have to ask him!" Cameron noticed Damien's patient expression and grew angrier. "Look around, father! None of these people trust us! I'm surprised that no one has planted a dagger into any of us yet!"

            "I know how you feel, Cameron. But the Soul Blazer is an angelic weapon, delivered to the king by a servant of the One God. I must believe that the sword is reality if I believe in the One God. For me, there is no choice at all."

            "I'm with the father," Kirstin added in. "I'm curious to see the Soul Blazer for myself. I wonder if it's really dark blue like master Crestworn said it would be."

            "Master Crestworn is a former sailor and a hermit, Kirstin!" Cameron fairly shouted at her, "Do you think that he has anything better to do than make stories up to entertain guests that happen by?"

            "I will not make you come along, Cameron," Damien said to him, "But I must go. If it is alone, then so be it. I must follow the will of the One."

            "I will follow it with you, father," Kirstin assured him. Damien thanked her.

            "I will as well," Verion said.

            "Oh, Hell," Cameron spat, "I might as well come with. You never know what might happen out there."

            "Thank you, my friend," Damien grasped his hand. “I owe you for this. Truly, I do."

            "The way I see it, father," Cameron began, "You owe me a few times over." Damien laughed out loud, slinging an arm over both Kirstin's and Cameron's shoulders and walking out of the hall with them in tow. Verion followed behind them, a curt smile on his lips.

            Standing at the edge of the sharp cliff, overlooking the immense valley that loomed before him, Emeron Jaist pondered his next move. Seven of the Honor Guard waited behind him, keeping a watch for any ageless that might be hidden among the many nooks and ledges that filled the mountains. From here Emeron could see the massive wall of stone in the distance. There he would find a village of the ageless in all likelihood. He wondered what that massive wall might hold in. Or out. In any event, if there was a village at the base of that wall then it might also be where the children were heading. Reining back on his horse, Emeron cantered to where his men waited for him.

            "Orders?" Anifall asked from behind a heavy black fur cloak.

            "Due north we will travel," Emeron said in a commanding voice, "To the wall that fills the landscape to the north. If you happen across humans in this terrain, be they of the Eagle's men or the children we hunt for...kill them." The words came hard from his mouth, not quite carrying the force that he wished them to. Somewhere deep inside he hoped that he wasn't the one to cross paths with the children. It would be a different story if he happened to find Cameron Reol.

            "You heard the commander!" Anifall barked at them, "Move out!" The Honor Guard broke from where they waited on horseback, skirting a narrow road that would lead them into the plains that dominated the northern region. It would be at least half a day before they could reach the wall. It was dangerous travelling so long in the open when the enemy could be hidden anywhere, but he had his orders.

            At the end of the trail there was a glint of steel everywhere. The snow was stained red with the flow of blood. It was the sight of a battle, soldiers and ageless bodies lying half embedded in snow, pain filled eyes frozen open and long since dead. Dag Alwood leapt from his saddle and knelt close to one of the bodies. After examining it he stood to face Emeron.

            "Commander. This battle happened perhaps a week ago. No longer than that."

            "Understood, guardsman. Let us move on."

            "Commander!" Jael Foxlund rode over to Emeron, reining his horse in, "If there are Avalonian soldiers near, we should take care not to follow in their wake. Tracks show that the survivors trekked both east and north."

            "My orders stand, Jael. Any confrontation with humans out here will be met with extreme measures."

            "What if they outnumber us?" another of the Honor Guard queried from where he sat on his horse, "How will we fight twenty men? Or perhaps fifty? The Eagle is an excellent tactician. He would never allow a small force to roam the land of the ageless."

            "Remember your place!" Emeron shouted at him, making them fall into silence. "We carry the king's orders! Do you wish to defy his majesty?" Emeron glared at the guardsman that spoke up. "We are the Honor Guard! We will adapt! If there are twenty or fifty soldiers waiting for us on the plains, we will deal with them. I want you and Anifall to lead as scouts, a quarter mile from our division. You will not engage the enemy if they are found here but report back to me of their whereabouts. We will deem what to do against them once their position is discovered. Understood?"

            "Understood," the guardsman saluted him.

            "Aye, commander," Anifall said. The pair of them galloped ahead, leaving Emeron and the rest of the guard standing in the battle field. Emeron looked down at one of the ageless that lay near the hooves of his war horse. There was a spear sticking out of his chest and two arrows, one of which protruded from his neck.

            "Commander. What are our orders after we complete our mission here?" Jael asked, rousing Emeron from his thoughts. The commander looked up at him, pushing the vision of the dead ageless out of his head.

            "We meet at the battle front. Our army is marching even now. In three weeks time Avalon will have the entire Dagothian army at its walls. Even the mighty Eagle will not stand before the ranks that our army has swelled to."

            "Sir," one of the other guardsman questioned, "Will we then march on Dynasty after Avalon has fallen?"

            "I know not," Emeron replied, "And it is not for me to respond. The king will deem what course of action is most wise. For now, guardsman, I suggest that you tend to the matter at hand."

            "Of course, sir."

            With the wave of his hand he spurred them on. Anifall had enough time to begin scouting. They would maintain a safe distance. He was glad that none of the men tried to speak with him as they rode. His mind worked out things happening around him. What would he do if the king ordered him to storm Dynasty? Could he do it? Would the king then have them kill off the chosen of the church if they chose to oppose Darius as well? Shaking his head, Emeron spurred his horse harder, as if he were trying to outrun the darkness that was beginning to fester in his soul.