The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 01 - Elseerian (35 page)

"Orláknia began to decay after the elves migrated west," Liri whispered sadly beside Taryn.

Taryn didn’t know how to respond. They had entered the forest only an hour ago, but it seemed like much longer. Everything about the dying wilderness gave the impression of a once majestic and enlightened place that had been drained of all life. The very air felt like all light had been taken out of it, like sunlight was no longer permitted to enter.

"Why would the elves’ migration affect the woods?" Taryn asked Liri softly, somehow feeling like speaking normally would be unfitting in this forsaken place.

"My mother believes that the forest lived too long with elven magic to sustain it, and without it . . ." She swept her hand at the surrounding shadows.

Silence echoed around them until the sun finally slipped out of sight, but there was little discernable change in their environment except for a slight deepening of the shadows. However slight the change in light level, each elf felt the sun’s absence keenly.

 Unseen tension blanketed the elven patrol as they drifted through the trees. Every noise, no matter how small, caused them to jump and reach for their weapons. Taryn unconsciously moved in front of Liri in a protective pose, and for once she didn’t protest.

After an hour of traveling with the utmost caution, Denithir held up a hand in a fist and everyone stopped.

"We're here," he growled. "Stay sharp."

Working his way forward, the group passed an imperceptible line marked by a visible lightening in the trees around them. Most of the elven soldiers visibly relaxed as the decay gave way to life. Blooming flowers and other manicured vegetation stretched away from them, illuminated by soft moonlight filtering through pruned trees. Paths of crushed stone wound their way through the garden and off into the darkness.

Surprised by the visibility, Taryn looked skyward. The sliver of a moon appeared much brighter than it should have, almost as bright as a full moon. Did the elves have the power to brighten the moon?

Kryll caught his puzzled glance skyward and said, "It's an illusion. The light is only magnified, the moon isn't actually enchanted."

"It's still stunning."

Kryll grinned with unmistakable pride in his race, and then turned and followed the rest of the patrol through the paths.

Liri brushed Taryn’s arm and murmured, "Can you feel it? The fear is less here. Perhaps the Oracle can affect it somehow?" She seemed to be musing more to herself, so he simply nodded and stepped into the beautiful garden.

Rose-colored gravel crunched underfoot and he breathed deeply of the clean night air, enjoying the feeling of temporary relief from the rest of Orláknia. It left him feeling odd. At the same moment, he could sense both peace and fear fighting for dominance within him.

An instant later the fear returned in full.

A shout rang out in front of him—a shout of fear and warning that dispelled any semblance of tranquility. The whole group bounded forward, rushing through the gardens in the direction of the call. Within seconds a giant structure of living trees woven together came into view. The few that had arrived ahead of him stood at a pair of open doors with weapons drawn, whirling towards him as he exploded into view.

Recognizing him, one elf simply turned and pointed downward. Then Taryn saw it and the fear tightened in his chest. Several bloodied bodies lay strewn about in the open doorway. All were armored elves—guards of the Oracle with fresh wounds clearly visible, only minutes old.

One by one the rest of the elves materialized into view, halting sharply when they saw the dead sentries. Not a second later Denithir arrived and immediately took command.

"Ren, advance with your five and search the first floor. Kryll, take your five and check the cellars. Don't be stupid. You find resistance, you call for help. The rest of you are with me, we need to check the upper levels."

Thin forms sprang to obey orders as Taryn leapt to follow Denithir into the structure. Smokeless lanterns revealed a long hallway stretching away from them. Several more dead elves could be seen in various poses, bearing witness to their last moments of valor. Like ghosts in the night Ren and his command peeled away to search around them. Moments later Kryll and his five disappeared down the stairs to the right.

Denithir quickly led the remainder of their group up the woven branches that formed the staircase to their left. Forced to leap over even more dead, they raced forward, listening for any sign of trouble. Sadness snapped through Taryn as he passed the still forms of several women and children among the dead soldiers, whose postures showed their last, fruitless efforts had been to protect those weaker then themselves.

There! A sudden ring echoed from above. A split second later it repeated, and this time Taryn and his companions heard the unmistakable sound of clashing blades. Without a sound, the entire group sprinted upward, bounding over the wreckage and dead forms that had borne the brunt of the merciless attack.

One part of Taryn's mind wondered why he didn’t see any dead intruders. Surely they had defeated some of them? He couldn’t imagine any race killing so many well-trained elven sentries without suffering severe casualties. But he didn’t have time to stop and ponder the mystery. Turning up the last flight of woven stairs, he took them in a single leap and exploded through the opening at the top. Before his mind fully registered what was in front of him he landed in a crouch with both weapons drawn.

A moment later Denithir skidded to a stop next to him, as did the rest of the elite elven patrol. Thirteen fighters armed to the teeth took in the bloody carnage before them and finally got a look at the
single
intruder . . . who could only be described as the living specter of Death.

The dark-cloaked figure spun to face them the moment Taryn had burst into the room. Eyes like burning red coals looked out of a black hooded cloak. Hands of pure white bone reached out of dark sleeves and held a black scythe that pulsed with red veins of light—its blade still dripping from its latest victim. It was a testament to the supreme courage of every elf around him that not a single one ran at the very sight.

Steel suddenly flashed behind Death but he spun the scythe behind him and blocked the strike in an almost lazy effort. In that moment Taryn's mind went into battle mode and registered several things at once while the world slowed to a crawl: slain warriors around him would cause the footing to be unsure, he would have to be careful not to trip; behind Death a single defender remained standing and had been the one to try to attack Death when his back was turned; behind that soldier a raised dais contained a single occupant, a very, very old blind elf with white hair—the Oracle.

The half second ended and time sped up as Taryn leapt forward, a single thought in mind.
Nothing was going to stop him from discovering who he was.

Denithir shouted in vain behind him, "Stop fool, we fight together!"

Death glided towards Taryn, whirling the Scythe so fast it became a blur of red, black and deadly steel—but Taryn was just as fast. Mazer and Ianna struck and blocked, parried and cut—as quick as Death's weapon and just as deadly. Taryn's gaze locked on the evil figure before him as he leapt over a low sweep and whipped his own weapon out like a snake strike, which was blocked by the equally fast scythe. The two danced and spun in a ring of blades and dark cloaks. Razor sharp edges came inches from contact on both sides with the two straining for an advantage where none was given.

The sheer speed of the battle prevented any other elf from joining. Each skilled elven warrior instinctively understood that they were overmatched, and would not survive on their own. Only Taryn had the ability to endure even a few seconds. Denithir, Liri, and the rest stood rooted in place, unable to assist and awed by the supreme battle before them.

Light footfalls suddenly announced the arrival of the rest of the elves and the increased number finally loosened them from their hold.

"Back him against a wall Taryn, I have an idea!" Denithir shouted and then turned to the score of elves around him. "Elves of Azertorn, draw your bows!"

Longbows and arrows appeared—but Death was quicker. Seeming to understand the tactic, he leapt back away from Taryn, and before Taryn could charge him down he did the unthinkable. Spinning like lighting he brushed past the last elven warrior, knocking aside his swinging katsana as he went, and struck the Oracle. In one clean sweep the scythe blade cut through both the wooden dais and the old elf's body.

Both crumbled to the floor . . . lifeless.

Before the stunned elves could respond, Death whirled to face Taryn once more, and then drifted backwards until he faded into the shadows. Taryn charged after him and furiously swept the darkness with his swords, but to no avail. Somehow, he was gone. They had failed, and there would be no answers. Everyone in the room watched his desperate efforts to find Death, shocked into immobility. Some of them had bows half drawn or arrows still in hand, and for one terrible bleak moment, all hope seemed lost.

The fury suddenly drained out of Taryn and he sank to the floor, overcome with his emotions. Liri took a step towards him but surprisingly the last remaining oracle guard got to him first. He leaned over and whispered something into Taryn’s ear.

In the blink of an eye Taryn was on his feet, completely serious. "We must leave.
Now!
"

The guard nodded in affirmation. "There is a secret way we can go; follow me." Without waiting for an answer, he brushed through the shocked elves and descended the stairs. Taryn and Liri followed but everyone else hesitated, glancing towards Denithir. After a moment's consideration, he gave a sharp nod before turning to follow them, and the rest of his command quickly fell into line behind him.

The guard hurried down the flights of stairs and when they arrived at the ground floor he continued straight to the cellars. Bypassing multiple rooms of foodstuffs and barrels, he stopped at a bank of crates set into the wall. Reaching behind one of them the Oracle guard fumbled for something until there was a soft click and several crates swung out from the wall. The false wall led to a tunnel that stretched away into darkness, but the guard made a movement with his hand and light blossomed in several wall brackets. He slipped into the tunnel and the rest of the group were quick to follow. Soft footfalls and the creak of weapons enveloped them in near silence as they hurried down the long corridor.

After several minutes the group came to a set of stairs which ascended steeply to a hidden exit in a dead tree. Swinging it open, the guard and Taryn burst into the oppressive darkness of Orláknia and turned, heading due north.

Within seconds they came to the edge of a swamp, but the guard stepped into the murky water without stopping. Looking back he whispered, "Follow my steps
exactly
. If you step to either side your life is the price."

Taryn fell into step behind him and found there to be a firm invisible path a few inches below the water line. He heard several muttered curses behind him followed by a quiet bark from Denithir to keep silent. No elf would ever be happy in a swamp, that was certain, but Taryn knew there was no other way. What the guard had whispered had changed everything, but there was no time to explain, and despite the burning eyes on his back he kept walking.

The hidden path wound through the bog, repeatedly making switchbacks before continuing north, towards the Blue Lake. Each treacherous step told Taryn that this was not a good place to be. Every few minutes he could hear movement in the thick waters, and he could tell by the sound it was something big—or
several
things.

After an hour of travel they came to a small island in the swamp and the guard finally stopped. Striding forward, he slipped through twisted trees until he came to the center of the island. In place of the scrub trees and hanging moss, there were four great oak trees reaching towards the sky, creating a protective canopy overhead. The trees were so out of place in the foggy marsh that it was obvious they had been grown for a purpose . . . a refuge.

Stepping under the trees, the guard turned and waited until everyone had arrived. Facing the group he reached up and stripped the helm from his head.

Long golden hair fell around the young
female
elf's angular face. Amid the gasps and shocked expressions, she proclaimed fiercely, "I am the Oracle."

Taryn was just as stunned as everyone else; the only thing the guard had whispered was, "That was not the Oracle. I will take you to her."

Before anyone could say a word, she whirled towards Taryn and shook her head. "It's about time you got here,
brother
."

Chapter 22: Heritage

The Oracle smirked at Taryn's expression of shock. "Well . . .
half
brother would be more accurate."

His mind whirled to process the new information while a host of questions tried to find a route to his lips.
Who are . . .? Where did . . .? What do you . . .?
Unfortunately the only word that came out was, "How?!?!?"

She laughed and said, "We have the same mother, of course."

"Who
were
they? And what is
your
name? What were
their
names? How do you know this? Why did they take me to Sri Rosen?" Taryn blurted out most of his big questions before he could stop himself. Then he caught a look at Denithir’s expression and flushed at his behavior.

"Whoa, hold on a minute," she said, putting her hand up to forestall his questions. "My name is Siarra, but the rest of your questions will be a bit harder to answer, so give me a moment." She turned towards the group of elven warriors and asked, "May I ask your captain’s name?"

Denithir stepped forward. "Denithir Lorosian, Arch Captain of the First Legion," he responded with a short, formal bow.

Her tone turned firm and authoritative. "We must leave immediately. He won't take long to realize that the old elf he killed was just an illusion. I'm afraid we are still in danger—even here."