Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga) (34 page)

"Thanks." Branson rubbed his hands together and then fanned out his palms to warm them.

Despite what Greifer had said about dragons, it didn't change how Render felt.  "All the same, I'll be happy never to see another one in my lifetime."  He turned to Ahndien, who now leaned back against his shoulder.  From what little he could see of her face, she seemed sad.  "What's wrong?"

Snapping out of whatever had been consuming her thoughts, she turned around and forced a weak smile.  "Oh, nothing.  I'm just glad you're safe."

"You're not fooling anyone."  Render put his hand on her shoulder and rubbed it gently with his thumb.  "You've been this way since Valhandra—"

"Please!"  She stood up, threw her flute into the sand, and walked away.   Just let me be!"  Walking past Greifer, she disappeared round the corner of a rock formation.  In the quiet of the night, her muffled sobs kept leaking through what must have been her hands.

Render got to his feet, bent down to pick up her flute, and started for the rocks behind which Ahndien wept.  But Greifer held up her hand. 

// LET HER //

// BUT I WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S MAKING HER SO SAD //

// TO EACH THEIR OWN PATH, RENDER.  WHEN READY, SHE SHALL EXPLAIN //

He leaned a shoulder against the rock wall and waited.  The smooth surface of Ahndien's flute warmed in his hands.  With a heavy sigh, he shut his eyes.  All he wanted to do was to comfort her, to let her know that he'd never let anything happen to her.  But she would not let him know what it was the troubled her so.  And this, despite his ability to fly and summon lightning, made him feel powerless.

Greifer padded away, leaving him there.

Ahndien grew quiet.

Taking a deep breath, Render stood away from the wall.  "Ahndien, please.  Talk to me."

To his surprise, she came round the corner and appeared before him.  Her eyes still shimmered, but a peaceful smile now graced her countenance like the soft blanket of winter's first snow.  She put her hand on his chest, and leaned into the crook of his neck.  "Forgive me.  I was...I was just thinking of my family."

"Of course.  How obtuse of me."  He handed her her flute, held her close and kissed the top of her head.  Then he turned her around to look her straight in the eye.  "Are you sure there isn't anything else?"

At first she held his gaze, silently.  Then she looked down, took back her flute and said, "Did you hear me playing?"

"While I was inside the shrine, about to be killed?  Yes, I think so.  Why did you do that?"

Again, with the poignant smile.  "He told me to."

"Valhandra?"

"Back when we experienced the visions.  He'd shown me this, what I would do.  Did it help?"

"Yes, I believe it did.  I was about to lose my mind and will.  But when I heard the song you played...such a familiar song...Play it for me again, won't you?"

She shook her head.  "I was in some kind of trance.  At least that is what Branson and Greifer say.  I have no recollection of the song.  I barely remember taking the flute from my pocket."

"It doesn't matter," he said, taking her hand into his.  It felt cool and moist, as though she were frightened.  "What matters is that we have a calling, a destiny to fulfill.  And I will never leave you, nor allow any harm to befall you."

With sincere appreciation in her eyes, she nodded.  Like a tiny diamond, a tear fell from her eye.  Neither of them noticed that when it hit the sand, it sizzled and a tiny jet of steam rose from the ground.  "I know your heart, dear Render.  And that is what matters."

He didn't think much about what she said, because his heart felt near ready to melt.  There was something they shared that transcended race and station, something far deeper and more powerfully binding than any politics or society could weave.  Something he knew in his soul.

They were Sojourners.

And they were meant for each other.

Heretofore, Render had never imagined a girl's lips so close to his, much less those of a Tianese.  But it seemed so inevitable now.  She shut her eyes awaiting his kiss.

"Render!"  Branson shouted.  He would have struck him with a small bolt of lightning, if his voice hadn't sounded so panicked.  Both he and Ahndien rushed over.  "What is it?

Pointing over into the distance, Branson's finger shook.  "There."

Perched as a panther atop a nearby crag, Greifer's tail swished tersely.  She stared without flinching at the sight which unfurled like an unholy flag. 

From both sides of the valley streamed unending lines of torches, the ominous clinking of wheels, horses whinnying.

// BEHOLD, THEY COME...//

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

In the distance, the deep and steady beat of Tianese war drums beat like the heart of a great beast.  It was a sound Ahndien had heard only twice.  First, when she was a child of four, maybe five years of age.  But then, it had been a welcome sound.  The Imperial Guard marching by the hundreds through the land, gracing the borderlands in a show of strength and the promise of protection.

The second and last time she'd heard them was when she was ten; the Imperial Guard had rushed to her village's defense during a daybreak raid by a battalion of Torian soldiers.

So where were they when the Torians came and killed Ah-Ma, Shao-Bao and everyone back home?  They were supposed to be their protectors.

To the western hills her gaze fell upon the legions of people she'd always considered the enemies of her people.  But now that Valhandra had shown her everything, she knew it was not them.  No.  In fact, it was not against flesh and blood she needed wage war.

"What are we supposed to do?" Branson grabbed Ahndien's arm. 

"It shall be revealed to us in time," she said, patting his hand.  She meant to comfort him, but the sound of her own voice did not sound convincing, even to herself.   She knew what was to come.  Valhandra had shown her, told her:  No matter the cost, Ahndien, thou must do all thou canst to ensure that Render, the great deliverer of my people, prevaileth.

  Valhandra never showed her everything.  This, she suspected was by design.  He only revealed what she needed to know for the next step.

Render climbed to the top of a rock and shielded his eyes from the blaze of the morning sun, its rays now slashing through between the manifold peaks of the mountain range.  Down below lay the desolate valley.

Unflinching, he stood still and watched.

"Render?" Ahndien tried to call out to him, but only a pitiful whisper emerged from her lips.  Tears stood in her eyes because she knew her time was short.  She knew the cup she must drink.  And she knew not what would happen afterwards.

From the East, an ensemble of Tianese trumpets blasted a fanfare which cut through the valley and echoed eternally.  Five notes, five trumpets, a chord of doom.  A cold gust of air blew straight into Ahndien's face, chilling her blood.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Like swarms of hornets, the Tianese forces charged down the hills flooding the dry ground until they covered the space they occupied with the red of their uniforms.  Against the ground, they looked like a pool of blood, ever-expanding yet never absorbed by the sand on which they flowed.

Render tightened his fists.  He stood upon the rock looking down into the valley.  He and Ahndien were charged with bringing peace to the people of these two warring nations, to unite them as the symbols on their swords dictated.  As Valhandra had commissioned them.

With an equally fierce roar, the Torian troops flooded into the valley as well.  So vast was the barren land that even after both armies got into position—there must have been tens of thousands on either side—a great distance still stood between them as they began to get into formation.

"Render." Branson stood behind him, his breath shaking.  "Do you know what we're supposed to do?"

Images flashed through his mind:  The hot orange flames rising from the valley that he'd painted back in the castle.  The black dragon he'd slain back in the shrine.  And then, from a vision in his mind.

The faces of warriors, both Torian and Tianese.

They ceased fighting and stared into the sky.

Fear seeped into their eyes like blood spreading in clear water.

Then fear turned into unmitigated terror.

Greifer, now a black panther stood at Render's left.  She pressed against his side, as she had in the cave back in Talen Wood, and leaned warmly against it.

// HAsVALHANDRA TOLD you WHAT MUST COME TO PASS? //

"I do not see it yet.  But He said all will become clear to me at the right time."

Ahndien flanked him on his right, sword at the ready.  "How can anyone unite them?"

The question lingered in his mind like the morning dew on blades of grass.  He was never given all the answers, nor the exact mechanism to how he should accomplish this impossible task.

But he knew where they must position themselves, before the first arrow flew; that much Valhandra had revealed.  Down in the valley, in the open space between which both armies encroached, stood a solitary tree.  Its branches bore neither fruit nor leaf and may well have been dead for many years.

"We must go down there," Render said, pointing into the eye of the brewing storm.

// THE WIZENED OAK, OF COURSE //

Greifer transformed into a cat, leapt into Render's arms and climbed into his vest.

Branson laughed nervously.  "You mean, right in the middle of those armies?" 

"It has been ordained."  Render reached his arms around Branson and Ahndien who had already pulled up close to his side.  Without another word and without looking back, he lifted off with his three companions into the air, and down into the heart of the battleground.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

Seated upon his black steed, Lord Mooregaard fell back to make way for King Corigan.  His majesty looked ridiculous, he and his horse completely covered in plates of steel glinting in the morning sunlight.   He was supposed to be a symbol of strength and leadership, not clad like one of his subjects in the Torian cataphract.

This, Your Highness, is why your kingdom is forfeit this very day.  You are a coward, not a ruler.

Corigan rode out before the legions, tried several times to lift the visor from his eyes, and finally removed his helmet.  As he blathered on, Mooregaard sensed the apprehension in the troops.  They knew the ground upon which they stood.  And the superstition of ghosts and spirits in the Valley of the Accursed did nothing to mitigate the fear that grew in the hearts of the thousands of Torian soldiers, all charged to fight to the death in service of their King.

At last, Corigan rode over.  "Well, My Lord Mooregaard, this is a fine situation we've run into!  Did you not anticipate it?  Did you not foresee?"

"All things are possible in war, Majesty.  We can only—"

"Where is the element of surprise then!  We should have crossed into the mountain range, taken the high ground facing the East and plucked those Tianese dogs off like insects.  But now?  They are already in the valley and show no sign of retreat.  What do you say about that now?"

Mooregaard restrained the wrath that brewed within.  Since the day he was weaned, he'd suffered Corigan's petty tantrums and wanted nothing more than to give the brat his due.  But he must be patient.  "Your Excellency, I pray thee, do not despair.  For I have indeed prepared for this contingency.  Even as we speak, the Lady Volfoncé has arranged a hidden company of warriors who, once we have drawn those Sojourner sympathizers into the battleground, will close in from behind.  We shall then crush them, as though they were locusts, trapped in a sack!"

At this, Corigan's countenance lit up.  "Really?"

"You didn't think I would allow the entire military forces of your great nation to be caught unawares, did you?"

"Well, I—"

"Courage, my king.  Your hour approaches!  Take your place and lead your people to victory."

"Yes.  Thank you, my good and faithful counselor."  He rode off to the front, strength and resolve renewed in his eyes.  As he exhorted the foot soldiers, archers, armor-clad horsemen on their armor-clad steeds, his voice resounded with the contrived pomposity.  Pride.   Little did he know how this flaw in his character would prove to be fatal.

It was clear to Mooregaard that the King's empty words did nothing to inspire, but rather incited more fear and hatred in the hearts of the multitudes.  Hatred for their cowardly king, hatred for Tianese and Sojourners.

Fear.

Hatred.

Kindling for Malakandor's altar.

In just a little while, the two armies would converge.  And the two rulers, both bent on each other's destruction, would be the firstfruits offered up to Malakandor. 

For all the years of denying the preternatural, fear and true terror—the very things Malakandor demanded had diminished greatly.  Hatred alone would not satiate the unquenchable thirst of the Dark Ruler of the world.

For this reason, Mooregaard and Lady Volfoncé had answered his call.  Today, they would offer the souls and bodies of Valdshire Tor and Tian Kuo's entire military to Malakandor.  In exchange for this bloody sacrifice of at the very least sixty-thousand, Malakandor would grant new dominions to them both.

Volfoncé would become the dark ruler of Tian Kuo, Mooregaard of Valdshire Tor.  They would rule by terror and bloodshed, stirring up both fear and hatred to Malakandor's satisfaction.  This would seal their immortality, and both countries would grow to forget the preternatural powers that once terrified them, at which point, the cycle would be repeated:  The myths about Sojourners as their common enemy, the wars between their two kingdoms, until the next millennial sacrifice to the great Malakandor.

"Men of Valdshire Tor!" Corigan cried, with a raised gauntleted fist, "Arise and seize your victory!"