Sacrifice (Book 4) (3 page)

“Impossible!” Mikkik screamed. Wracked and clenched, he writhed in agony and then exploded in a shower of ash, fire, and flesh. The blast flung Chertanne and the Chalaine backward, and she lost hold of her Child.

She lay dazed and senseless, for how long she could not guess. Vaguely, she heard cheers as if from a great distance. A light gathered around her, but she could only think of her Child. Frantically she felt around herself, light and smoke obscuring her vision.

“Milady!”

It was Dason. He grabbed her arm and pulled her upright.

“No!” she yelled. “Eldaloth! My Child!”

“Wait! Something is happening!” Dason said, grabbing her head gently and tilting it upward. “It’s wondrous!”

The Chalaine ignored him as the light gathered, searching the ground for the baby. Finally, she found the blanket and the tiny clothes, but the Child was missing. In despair she cast around, finding Dason staring just ahead of them. A being, shining and splendorous, hovered over Chertanne, descending and landing just in front of him. So bright was the glory of him, that the Chalaine could hardly keep her eyes on him.

“Rise, my servant,” he said, voice reassuring and kind. “I am Eldaloth. You are victorious. You have saved the world. I have returned, and you will have a great reward. You shall have the peace of the faithful.”

Something struck the Chalaine as familiar about the voice, and she pressed forward.
It’s over!
She thought, hope surging through her veins.
We did it! Athan was right!

“My servant, the Chalaine,” Eldaloth said. She stumbled forward eagerly, tears coming to her eyes. At last she would see her God. At last she would be free of the burden she had carried for so many years. At last she could
rest.
She lifted her veil and examined the countenance of the one she had sacrificed so much to bring back to the world. But when she finally saw his luminous features clearly, her world fell out from under her. His face she knew. The voice she could now identify. Aldemar’s vision had shown her this god, and he was not Eldaloth. Reeling, she let her veil drop, peering past Mikkik to find Gen. The two Gagons near the throne and the rest of the Uyumaak were fleeing back down the mountain, leaving her Protector motionless, eyes bulging, on the throne.

Come to me, Gen,
she willed in her distress. His face was distorted with struggle, but something pinned him to his seat.

“Hear me, all the ends of Ki’Hal,” Mikkik called, luxurious voice filling the air with its assured tones. “For these I have reserved a throne in the paradise of Erelinda. By their deeds they have shown themselves worthy of a much greater glory than this simple realm. To them I impart a gift I wish to give all, transcendence and peace. The legend of the Ha’Ulrich and the Chalaine shall live forever on the lips of the men and women here this day! Their names will be holy. They will never be forgotten. Continue your oblations. Stand, Chertanne! Stand, Chalaine! Today is your victory!”

Chertanne took her hand and turned toward Echo Hold to receive the adulation of the survivors. “I did it,” he told her, confidence and contentment blooming on his face for the first time in months as the praise and adoration washed over him. “At the end, it’s as if something took over and I did it!” The Chalaine didn’t answer, swallowing hard, frozen in panic. “Chalaine?” Chertanne questioned, perplexed by her demeanor, but the Chalaine just squeezed his hand and answered nothing.

The jubilation died down, and Mikkik spoke. “Chertanne, will you enter into the rest I offer you?”

Chertanne closed his eyes. “Yes, my master and my god.”

Mikkik stretched forth his hands, a light gathering around her husband before he dissolved into thin air, to the amazement and delight of the onlooking soldiers. The Chalaine stepped backward, fearful and uncertain. Dason, standing proudly behind her, whispered, “Take me with you.”

“Chalaine, will you enter into your rest?” Mikkik invited, voice affectionate and kind.

“What have you done with my Child!” she managed to squeak barely loud enough for herself to hear. She could just detect the barest twitch of Mikkik’s brow and a brief hesitancy, but she knew all too well that she had failed, and now, she was finished.

A moment after the Chalaine glanced at him from behind Mikkik’s illuminated form, Gen felt himself freed from the invisible bond that nailed him to the abominable throne. With his power stripped from him and with Mikkik between him and the Chalaine, few options presented themselves. He cast his gaze upward to the promontory, but saw no sign of Torbrand or Falael.

Are they dead? Captured?

The Chalaine, Chertanne, Mikkik, and Dason all had turned toward the battlements as the people cheered their “victory.”

Then he saw it—the sword of Aldradan Mikmir. His sword. The sword Chertanne had killed the impostor with. The explosion had melted away the blade about halfway down, and the ragged tip still glowed white. While he couldn’t be certain the sword still possessed any of the virtue that had displayed itself so powerfully in destroying the warped creature, he had no other means with which to strike.

As the cheering died down, he realized his dilemma. Everyone on the wall thought him a monster and a traitor. If anyone saw him move, they would alert Mikkik, and he wouldn’t get close enough to touch his enemy. He couldn’t believe that Mikkik would let Chertanne live, and as the dark god proffered the Ha’Ulrich transcendence and rest, Gen knew he had to act. The spectacular light gathering around the Ha’Ulrich provided the distraction he needed.

Launching himself from the throne, he hit the ground at a dead sprint, slowing only slightly to scoop up the blade, hilt warm in his hands. Gen ran just behind the luminous figure of Mikkik, though he knew he had little cover. Mikkik offered the Chalaine her transcendence, the Chalaine said something in return, and then shouts of horror from the walls filled the air. Gen grinned. It was too late. Just as Mikkik started to turn, he lifted the blade high and rammed it into the small of Mikkik back. It sank in and stuck.

Mikkik howled in agony, his aura fading as he shot backward into the air, as if pulled by a string, and disappeared over the mountain, leaving a stunned and horrified audience. “The Ilch!” someone screamed. Gen knew he had little time before the Padras would work their magic upon him.

“Gen!” the Chalaine cried. “What has happened?”

“Die, filth!” Dason yelled, stepping forward to strike. Gen stunned him with lightning fast punch to the throat and grabbed the Chalaine’s arm, pulling her to him and launching off the side of the extended bridge. Howls of disbelief and agony washed over them and faded as they fell through the air, ground rushing toward them. Gen held her tight, and she clung to him just as hard, eyes closed and wind whistling in her ears. When their feet settled lightly on the canyon floor, she opened her eyes.

Gen regarded her kindly, extending his hand beneath her veil and rubbing her face. “I am so sorry, Chalaine,” he said, face sad.

“What happened, Gen?”

“He tricked everyone, Chalaine. He has won today.”

“My Child! What has he done to my Child?” she cried, hands trembling.

“He unmade it, Chalaine. The baby’s gone. I am sorry. I could not get to you sooner to warn you.”

She collapsed on the ground and wept. “How? It’s impossible!” Gen pulled her to him for several moments and let her cry before picking her up and moving. They had to hide. If the Padras chose to pursue them, he had nothing with which to counter their magic. Uyumaak corpses lay everywhere in grotesque shapes, and he hiked away from them until their sight and stench no longer assaulted their senses. A nearby boulder-fall among a copse of fir trees provided seclusion, and he set the Chalaine down in the shade. She refused to relinquish her grip on his neck, and he pulled her onto his lap and held her as she collected herself.

“I have failed, Gen,” she finally said. “I am a wretch.”

“No, Chalaine. You did everything the prophecy said you would. The rest of us have failed you, and I not the least.”

“What happened to you?” she asked. “Why did that creature have you?”

Gen explained the story to her, and she listened, numb. “And so, Chalaine, the world thinks I am a villain now, and perhaps I am. If the Padras come, you will need to leave me behind. Your mother and Lord Kildan’s army should be here soon, if all went as planned. I’d hoped they would be here now. The Shadan and an elf named Falael were also supposed to join me, but it is possible they, too, think I have betrayed them.”

“I won’t leave you, Gen,” she promised softly. “I know the truth. What happiness have I ever known without you? If the world is to suffer from my failure, please take me where I cannot hear their accusing voices. Take me where I can forget the beautiful face of my son!” Gen mourned with her as she sobbed, finding no words to offer her.

“Chalaine!” someone yelled.

“Dason?” the Chalaine asked, wiping her eyes and disengaging herself from Gen. “I’ve got to explain to him!”

“Gen!”

Gen pulled his sword. “It’s Torbrand, too. Let me talk to them.”

“No, let me,” the Chalaine offered. “Dason will listen to me.”

“Together, then.”

They stepped out from their cover, finding Dason, Torbrand, and Falael walking toward the place of their concealment, Dason—face decorated with new bruises—pointing the way.

“I have done her no harm,” Gen said. “Please hear me out! You have been deceived! What happened was not. . .”

“Shut up. We know,” Torbrand said.

“How?” Gen asked.

“Joranne. After Mikkik had descended in his ‘glory,’ she woke us up and explained the whole ruse, telling us we had to save Chertanne and the Chalaine at all costs. One out of two isn’t bad. After Gen stabbed Mikkik, she kicked us over the edge and fled. Chertanne was transcended, and you had jumped with the Chalaine. Soldiers started flooding out onto the bridge. We grabbed Dason. Had to beat him a fair bit to get him to listen.”

Dason strode forward and pulled the Chalaine protectively aside. “Is it true, Milady?” he said, voice gravelly.

“It is true, Dason. Your Queen has failed, and Mikkik will destroy us all.”

“None of this can be laid to your charge!” Dason asserted.

“I must sit. My legs will no longer carry me,” she said, and Dason helped her down to lean against a tree.

“Any sign of Mirelle and that army of hers?” Torbrand asked.

“No,” Gen answered.

“Odd,” Torbrand said. “Well, I suppose with Chertanne dead that I am now the Shadan of Aughmere again. I turn command of this little party over to you, Gen.”

Gen turned to the elf. “Falael, you and I will scout down the canyon and see if they are near.”

“Don’t leave me, Gen, please,” the Chalaine begged. Dason eyed him narrowly.

Gen turned to explain when Torbrand grabbed his arm. “I’m just as good in the wild as you. Stay with her. My son-in-law is with Mirelle, remember?” Gen nodded, and Torbrand and Falael ran out into the canyon. Gen returned to where the Chalaine sat, head in one hand with Dason stroking the other.

“If you have the strength, your Grace,” Dason said, “a little healing would not go amiss.”

“Leave her be, for pity’s sake, Dason,” Gen chided him. “The black eye will heal, and you’ll have your looks back. Help me find a couple of straight branches for a litter.” Dason scowled at him but complied.

They stayed near the grieving Queen, and Gen ached for her. His time with her had taught him that she feared one thing above all—to prove a failure and doom the world. While any rational creature would never assign her any blame in the day’s events, he knew her diffident heart pounded her with guilt. He understood what it was to feel as she did, and it had taken a great deal to pull himself out that hole.

She needs her mother, and she needs a purpose,
he thought.

While Dason cleared a branch, Gen crossed to her and removed his cloak. “Chalaine, listen to me. This cloak is special. We will make your litter with it, but do not lose it. It is elven and imbued with magic. By its power we were able to survive the fall from Echo Hold. It can be very useful in the right places.”

“Then you keep it,” she said. “You should take your stones back, too.”

The numb apathy in her voice shocked him. “No. Mikkik is not going to come for me, Chalaine. He wants you.”

“Why? I am unimportant. Chertanne is the one who had Eldaloth’s blood.”

Gen furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Padra Athan explained it to us. It was a part of the Apocraphon they kept hidden. Chertanne’s blood was what held the power to destroy Mikkik.”

Gen sat as he absorbed the information, trying to puzzle something out that tickled in the back of his mind, but the Chalaine’s renewed weeping pulled him back to her.

Leaning close, he whispered so only she could hear. “Chalaine, please. Nothing that has happened today is your fault! It’s more mine than anyone’s! Even if you had done something wrong, I would not love you less. If you had never borne the title of Chalaine or been as beautiful as every sunny spring day piled on top of each other, I still would have fallen in love with you in that canyon. I know it was a mistake you fault me for, but I could hardly help it. Please remember that while all of Ki’Hal only knows you as the Chalaine, there are those of us who know you as much more.”

She hugged him fiercely. Dason returned quickly, frowning.

“What did you say to her?” he asked grumpily.

Gen disentangled himself from her arms and stood. “Just the truth, Dason, just the truth. Be at ease.”

“Ho!” Torbrand shouted some distance off. “Gen! We have a problem!”

“You cannot do this! There are too many!” the Chalaine yelled a short while later, voice hoarse and frantic with desperation. Rather than the friendly forces of Rhugoth marching to their aid, a column of Mikkik’s host two thousand strong surged up the canyon. Torband mentioned a narrow gap where they might bottle the army for some time, and Gen had decided immediately—he and Torbrand would buy escape time while Falael and Dason bore the Chalaine away.

Gen smiled at her as he and Shadan Khairn adjusted and tightened their armor. Gen’s eyes were hard and resolute, while Torbrand’s lit up with childlike anticipation. The heat of the late summer afternoon beaded sweat upon their brows.

“Don’t worry, Chalaine,” the Shadan said happily. “We can hold the gap for a good long while. I give us one chance in four of surviving the entire onslaught, unless they have magic, in which case I calculate one in ten.”

“Listen to me, Gen,” the Chalaine pleaded from her litter. Her veil obscured the tears sliding down her face, but the pain in her voice could not be hidden. “Two cannot stand against two thousand! Please don’t do this. Please, Gen. Obey me just this once.”

Preparations done, Gen crossed to her and took her hand, eyes clear with purpose.

“Chalaine, we must hold them until your mother’s army arrives. Torband and I are the only ones who have a chance to stall them.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Chertanne is dead now, Chalaine. Happiness and love is at last yours to have.” He drew her eyes to Dason scowling nearby. “I will see it done. Never forget that you are the best of women, and that I am never wrong. Farewell.” He grinned affectionately at her and stood. In her grief, the Chalaine lay back, limbs flaccid as if the bones had been pulled from her body.

“Dason,” Gen said, “may I have a word?” Dason nodded, and Gen stepped apart with him. “Dason, the plan was to meet with Mirelle’s army and climb out of the canyon on a path to the south that I told you about. From there, we were to head south until we passed the Kord Forest and then strike west for Tolnor and Rhugoth. It is quite possible that Harband’s army was defeated by what approaches us now. If so, you must make the journey alone.”