The Legend of Asahiel: Book 02 - The Obsidian Key (60 page)

“Leave him be!” she yelled.

A winded Crag came stumping in at that point, followed by a sweat-streaked Saena. The dwarf looked ready for battle, but after seeing that the battle had already taken place, his face turned ashen. Lowering his axe, he rushed forward.

“Stay where you are!” Laressa demanded, though her glare alone might have stopped the Tuthari in his tracks. “Do you see what you have done?” she cried, and this time, there were tears amid her fury. “Do you see?”

Crag stood motionless. “Laressa…”

“Take your murdering band and go. I want never to look upon your bearded face again.”

“I didn’t know—”

“Go!” Laressa wept, one hand tight over Eolin’s stomach, the other reaching back again to support his neck.

“Let us help tend his wounds, at least,” Torin begged.

“You have done enough!” Laressa spat.

She leaned over her husband’s chest then, and began to sob gently. Eolin lay still—dead already, perhaps, or else slipped back into unconsciousness.

“We didn’t mean for this to happen,” Torin offered uselessly.

Laressa looked up at him with a blood-smeared cheek and stricken eyes. “Then leave, Torin of Alson. Leave and make certain that none set foot within this valley again.” She aimed a final glare in Crag’s direction, a clear expression of agony and betrayal.

The dwarf bit his lip. Then his shoulders crumpled, bowing forward with helpless resignation.

“Come,” he said, his voice husky.

“As soon as his wounds have been tended,” Torin maintained stubbornly.

“Now!” Crag barked. “Else you’ll lie down beside him.”

The dwarf hefted his axe, and Torin knew this wasn’t a threat he wished to test. With leaden legs and a heavy heart, he reached almost absently for the Sword of Asahiel. For a moment, he considered leaving it as restitution for what had happened. At the same time, he understood what an insult that would be. Most likely, it would serve Laressa and her people only as a dark reminder of this day.

So he closed his fingers around its hilt, searching still for some further way to express his remorse. It was
his
fault, after all. This was all his fault. If only there were some way for him to set things aright. He would willingly give his own life, if necessary, to save Eolin’s. Perhaps if he wished hard enough…

His blood began to tingle at the prospect. But before he could carry out the thought, Crag snorted gruffly. Dyanne and Holly, Torin saw, had already retrieved their weapons, and stood ready beside a stunned and heartsick Saena. All were waiting for him.

None had any words, and Torin understood how foolish he’d have to be to seek the right ones. With a stinging sense of shame, he backed toward his companions, his eyes still locked on the nightmarish scene.

Crag followed him, pushing him along, though the Tuthari stopped and turned upon reaching the exit. “On my oath, Laressa, your father will pay for this day’s treachery.”

Laressa lifted her head from Eolin’s chest, though she did not even glance their way. “Look first to your own, dwarf, if you think blood will be washed away by blood.”

She lowered her head, and her sobs resumed. Torin thought again to go to her, to see if anything might yet be done for the husband she was so quick to mourn. But the look Crag gave him caused him to turn and follow after the others.

They emerged moments later through the cleft in the base of that great tree. Torin was still replaying the events below in his mind, exploring the many ways in which he might have acted differently, when he heard Saena’s gasp.

He looked up, startled to find a growing mob of Finlorians forming up around them. Their appearance should not have surprised him. Doubtless, the elven people had been observing the intruders carefully ever since their arrival. Perhaps an alarm had been sounded—maybe that which had sent Laressa racing back to check on him. Or perhaps word of what had happened to their keifer had somehow been passed up through the tree’s roots the way light was passed down below. Torin wasn’t in any mood to concern himself over how they’d been summoned, or why. If they had assembled now to break their vow of peace, they would certainly be justified in doing so.

But as he searched their stern faces, he found no signs of animosity. Fear and confusion, yes, alongside sorrow and resentment. But none carried weapons. None growled or snarled or otherwise suggested an overt threat. Only the looks remained, an army of brows pinched in accusation, cold stares from elves young and old that pierced Torin’s heart.

In that moment, it seemed punishment enough.

“If ya hurry,” Crag muttered, “he might still be saved.”

The elf to which he had spoken responded only with a bitter glare.

So began their retreat from the valley known as Aefengaard, their route of departure marked by row upon row of Finlorians emerged from the surrounding wood, come to cast silent judgment. Crag bore the brunt of it, having taken the lead to show the rest of them the way out. In response, there was nothing the companions could do. Had it been permitted, Torin might have stopped and apologized to every single one of those he had frightened or offended. But his apologies were useless. So he kept his eyes on the path ahead, accepting the stares that riddled him like a volley of arrows, knowing each strike was well deserved.

Even when they had climbed free of the forest, Torin could feel their silent barbs like whips upon his back, and he dared not turn around. Not when he reached the falls. Not when he entered the caves. Not when he was engulfed by the welcoming darkness beyond.

O
NLY MOMENTS AFTER THE INTRUDERS HAD LEFT,
Laressa looked up, drawn by the quiet rustle of those in a rush to lend aid.

“
Neren mi, thre tahlo huum.
”
The priests have come, my lady.

Laressa sniffed, turning toward the others who filed then into the room, barely recognizing them through her tears.

“Please, my lady, stand aside now.”

But Laressa refused. She knew there was nothing the priests could do. And she would not look on from afar while her beloved husband took his last breath.

“My lady, you must—”

Eolin coughed, grimacing and then clutching his stomach as blood pumped and spasms ripped across torn muscles. “Mind your tongue,” he grunted harshly. “That is your queen you speak to.”

“My lord, she must give us a chance—”

“Leave us,” Eolin hissed.

“My lord?”

“I’ve only so many breaths to spare, and I would share them with my wife.”

“But…my lord—”

“He is your keifer!” Laressa snapped. “Do as he says!”

The priests and their attendants hesitated a moment longer, then bowed and stole swiftly from the room.

“Have they gone?” Eolin asked, staring blindly at the ceiling.

Laressa bent to kiss his forehead. “Yes, my love. There is no one here but you and I.”

“Torin?”

Laressa stiffened. “I sent him away, my love. All of them.”

Eolin’s spirits seemed to sag. His eye closed and his head settled deeper into her lap.

“My love? My love!” She shook him gently. One hand closed about his.

“Forgive me, sweet Laressa.”

“Hush, my love. I am the one to beg forgiveness—for not asking Crag to dispose of the intruders the moment I learned of them.”

The dying elf squeezed her hand. “I have erred, my sweet. I have been unfaithful to my charge. And swift indeed has been my punishment for doing so.”

Laressa shook her head. “You have done nothing but good in your life. You have been a kind husband, and a noble servant to your people. Long will they praise your name.”

He tensed suddenly, his entire body seized by convulsion. When it passed, he spoke with a renewed sense of urgency, and a weakened voice.

“Quiet now, my sweet, for there are things I must tell you, things you must know before I go. I know not if they will be of any use. Nor would I make them your burden. Should you find yourself unwilling—or unable—to act upon them, let the fault lie with me.”

Laressa frowned. “What is this you speak of, my love? Has it anything to do with this…this Torin?”

“Not Torin,” he whispered with increasingly shallow breaths, “but the talisman he carries. The history behind it. The legacy of those sworn to carry the truth, lest it be forgotten by all.”

A sudden cold crept into the pit of Laressa’s stomach, chilling the heat of her anguish. “The Vandari.”

Eolin nodded. “A secret I should have shared with you long before now. For I am all that is left. All that stands between us and the great evil about which we have been warned.”

The cold became a shiver that ran the length of Laressa’s spine. “Evil,” she repeated, and searched her memory for the name it had been given. “The Illysp?”

Her husband suffered another constricting spasm. But he gritted his teeth, and afterward his strength seemed to surge. “I should not have refused him, my sweet. I should have made certain he understood.”

“Shall I send for him?”

“Listen first to what I have to say, as we may not have time for both. Listen, my sweet, and know the truth of how the Finlorian Empire crumbled.”

A
S THE DARKNESS
of the deepening tunnel closed round, Crag lurched to a stop and whipped out his axe. Torin and the others held back, giving the dwarf room to bring that heavy blade down upon a knee-high rock that lay against the cavern wall. Crag roared, and sparks flew as the axe struck, cleaving the stone down its center.

For a moment thereafter, the Tuthari huffed quietly, one arm raised against his eyes as he leaned his forehead upon the wall, the other hand clenched about the butt of his lowered weapon.

The others left him to his pain and his fury, respectfully silent as they wrestled with feelings of their own. Torin had not the heart to look at the dwarf, or anyone else. He kept his gaze upon the floor, listening to the pounding sheets of the falls outside, searching within himself for a hole in which to bury his sorrow and his guilt.

“What now?” Holly asked finally.

Crag shoved free of the cavern wall. His face was sullen, though his eyes remained full of fire. “I care not,” he said, “as long as we get moving.”

“Did you learn what you needed?” Dyanne asked.

Torin looked to the sound of her voice, and found that her question was directed toward him. As their gazes met, an uncertain pang gripped him. “I have my answers,” he mumbled, “though they are not what I’d hoped.”

“I suppose you’ll be heading home, then.”

All at once, the source of his pang became clear. She was right. His quest had ended. The time had come to return to his own land as quickly as possible, to deliver unto Darinor the ill tidings he had found.

The time had come to say farewell to Dyanne.

He looked quickly to the others, half hoping one of them might have a better idea. Holly’s dark eyes were inquisitive; Saena’s were red and puffy. Doleful beneath his gnarled brow, even Crag kept silent, awaiting his response.

“Yes,” Torin agreed. He turned his attention to the wall as he spoke, finding that to be much easier than facing Dyanne. “I suppose I must.”

“You promised Crag,” Holly reminded him, as if his hesitation were obvious.

“Do you still wish to accompany me?” Torin asked the dwarf.

Judging by his expression, the glum Tuthari would rather be dead. “I’m no longer needed here,” he said. “Laressa made that much clear.”

A
yes,
Torin decided, regardless of the other’s grim tone.

“The sooner the better, I imagine,” Dyanne added.

Torin made a quick study of the woman’s face, his heart wringing in his chest. But he could not bring himself to refute her words.

“What of Lorre?” Saena demanded, and it struck Torin that this was the first time she had mentioned the warlord by name. “Is he to go unpunished?”

Torin shook his head. “From what I understood, Warrlun acted alone, not under orders from Lorre.”

“If I’d known who he was…” Crag muttered, but when the others looked to him, it was clear he was speaking only to himself.

“Perhaps Holly and I will pay Lorre a visit anyway, just to be sure,” Dyanne said.

“You mean to head south then?” Torin asked, as evenly as he could manage.

“We’ve done as my sister asked,” Dyanne reminded him, “and seen you to the end of your road.”

She turned to Holly, who nodded in agreement. “Much has happened that our sisters should be made aware of.”

“You’ve held true to the story you shared with us in the beginning,” Dyanne added, “so I see no reason to drag you with us back to the Nest.”

She grinned as she said this. The best Torin could do was wince.

“You’re welcome to accompany us,” Holly offered, addressing Saena, “if you’re interested in an escort on the southern road.”

But Saena was studying Torin as if considering something else altogether. “How do you intend to get home?” she asked him.

Torin shrugged. “I’ll need a ship, obviously.” For some reason, she continued to stare at him. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that my uncle in Kasseri might be able to help with that.”

“Kasseri,” Torin echoed, thinking aloud. “That’s up here to the north, right?”

“On the eastern coast,” Saena confirmed. “Through the passes of Serpent Reach.”

Torin frowned. By his recollection, Autumn and the pirate Karulos had advised against that route. “I was led to believe those passes are snowbound this time of year.”

“Probably so,” Saena acknowledged, biting her cheek. “But our only other options would be a long sail around the southern horn, or else marching south as your friends suggest.”

A tiny hope began to push aside some of the hollowness Torin had been feeling. Perhaps his time with Dyanne was not yet concluded after all.

“Serpent Reach?” Crag snorted, as if only now catching up to what they had been saying. “I can get us through that.”

Both Torin and Saena asked at once. “How?”

“Passes are closed
above
ground, not below.”

“You could lead us there from here?” Saena pressed. Torin could not tell if she sounded hopeful or skeptical.

“Direct route, more or less,” the Tuthari assured her.

Saena looked back to Torin. “Well, then, perhaps we should do that.”

Torin turned immediately to Dyanne. “We can’t just abandon you here. You’d never escape these caves.”

“They can come with us,” Saena proposed. “Theirs would be a quick and easy sail down the coast.”

“Except we’d then be bypassing Neak-Thur,” Dyanne reminded them both. She shifted to share with Holly one of those silent conferences in which each appeared to read the other’s mind. “I really think it best that we travel once more that way, to see what our good overlord is planning now that he has secured his position there. Besides, neither of us has sailed before.”

“I’m sure you’d love it,” Torin said, ignoring Crag’s contrarian grunt.

“Whichever, we stick together for now,” the dwarf grumbled decisively. “There’s a course from here what will take us all down into the Splinterwood. The pass
you’d
need,” he continued, nodding to Dyanne and Holly, “lies en route to the one
we’d
be taking. Overland trail should be easy enough to follow, should ya wish to chance it on your own.”

“I don’t like it,” Torin blurted.

“Then argue it on the go,” Crag gruffed, shouldering his axe. “Either way, we’ve a long track to follow, and I’m not for sullying this place any more than we have already. My friend down there asked us to leave, and it seems that’s the least we’re owing her.”

The strain in his voice, as much as his words, put an end to any further discussion. As horrible as Torin felt about what had taken place in the valley below, he could scarcely imagine the sharpness of guilt Crag was feeling. While the dwarf retrieved the bundle of torches and foodstuffs left behind in the tunnel upon their arrival earlier, Torin looked to his remaining comrades, searching for any words of hope or comfort they might share. They ended up only shaking their heads.

Crag paid them no notice, but gathered his possessions, struck flame to torch, and trundled off into the cavern gloom.

T
HEY WENT THIS TIME WITHOUT ROPES AND BLINDFOLDS.
Torin thought it odd that the protective Crag had not even tried to insist otherwise. Granted, there were several possible reasons for the dwarf’s decision, based in varying degrees on trust and logistics. But one likelihood in particular kept returning to haunt Torin: The damage had already been done.

They marched throughout the evening and much of the night, wishing to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Aefengaard before settling down with the nightmares sure to follow. Despite Crag’s earlier invitation, they did not speak further of their course. All knew their options, and seemed accepting enough of what had already been decided. From what Torin could tell, he alone was unsettled by the prospect of parting company with
Dyanne and Holly and leaving them to continue south on their own—the true reason for which was best suited to private debate.

So he, too, kept his mouth shut, head bowed in somber reflection of what had gone and what was yet to come. He didn’t know which should trouble him more: the lasting harm his visit had brought upon the Finlorian people, or the fact that he was returning to Darinor empty-handed.

Either way, it seemed ridiculous that all he could think about was what would soon be left behind.

Yet he couldn’t help it. The dim light of those subterranean caverns might mask her look, her movements, the hypnotic swish of her hair, but it did nothing to diminish her strength of spirit, the ease with which she found comfort and laughter in what seemed to him a dark and humorless world. How liberating might it feel if he could learn to share her outlook? Knowing that his time with her was swiftly coming to an end, he found it difficult to contemplate anything else.

It was well after midnight when finally they emerged from the tunnels and into the Splinterwood. At that point, Crag bade them all take a few hours’ rest. While the dwarf did so among a pile of rocks within the mouth of the cave, Dyanne led the rest of them into the dense fringes of the aged forest and settled herself down upon a bed of leaves and moss. Torin watched her slip free of her soft leather boots, then covered himself with his cloak upon a mound of pine needles, his heart churning with secret emotions, his mind awhirl with words unspoken.

He awoke before the others, but did nothing to disturb their tranquil slumber. In the dawn’s quiet, he could yet imagine that time might freeze this very moment. The daylight might never come, and he might spend an eternity free of death and demons, free of weakness and wrong choices, free to do nothing more than gaze upon Dyanne’s beauty and experience the fullness of peace and passion that her mere presence somehow fostered within him.

But the day did break, of course, rays of sunlight spilling through the sieve of woodland boughs to eat away at blankets of shadow and tickle the flesh of those beneath. Before Torin could find a way to stop it, the girls were awakened, Crag stumped down from his bed of stone, and the five of them were on their way once more.

They covered ground much more swiftly out in the open, better able to navigate the trails and pathways of the forest than the cramped and jagged tunnels of the mountain underground. Torin, however, saw this as more of a curse than a blessing. With each step, hope gave way to inevitability. Not even the fires of Asahiel were able to comfort him, burning low within both Sword and Pendant, as if dampened by his despair.

He had fought for reassurance on several fronts. First, despite the lack of support to come from the Vandari, at least he knew now with cold certainty what he was up against. There would be no restoring of the Illysp seal, only a long and brutal war that somehow, he and Darinor would have to find a more conventional way to win. But by exhausting one of their primary options, they could now unite their focus in a single, concerted effort to find that answer,
rather than spreading themselves and their resources across the breadth and span of two entirely separate lands.

Second, learning what little the Finlorians had to offer did not have to be considered a failure. By finding them at all, he had done what was asked of him, once again achieving something few thought possible. Having accomplished that, he had to believe that ultimate victory against the Illysp, however unlikely, was a goal that would prove similarly attainable.

And third, he was headed home. Rather than concentrate on what he stood to lose, he need only focus on what he would soon regain: Marisha and Allion, his friends and his castle, the land of his birth. That was how it should be, he told himself. It was what he had wanted all along.

Truthfully, however, he felt not the slightest sense of joy or expectation at the notion of his impending homecoming. Nor were his greatest concerns those stemming from the knowledge that he was on his own against the Illysp. No, despite all his pressing concerns, what worried him most was leaving a land he had never wanted to visit in the first place.

He measured his steps carefully, and with them, the passing of time. Yet it came as a complete shock when he found that the minutes had all disappeared. Ahead, Crag had come to a stop at what appeared to Torin little more than a game trail, which wound southward into the mountain foothills.

“This here will carry ya to the southern arm of Goblin Reach. For anyone heading south, this is the road ya want.”

“Then this is where we say our good-byes,” Dyanne agreed, peering down the narrow path.

“Are you sure about this?” Torin asked. When both Nymphs looked at him, he found himself rushing to explain. “We could accompany you south and just sail up from Razorport—especially if you’ve still a mind to report back to Lorre.”

“We don’t know for sure that Warrlun acted alone,” Dyanne reminded him. “For you to pass through Neak-Thur with the Sword would seem a foolish risk.”

“Then let us at least see you beyond the pass, so that we’ll know you made it through safely.”

“All they gots to do is stick to the main roadway,” Crag insisted. He shook a finger at the Nymphs. “Don’t go veering off as ya did with that rogue coming through.”

Dyanne must have caught the glare that Torin let slip the dwarf’s way, for she moved quickly to reassure him.

“Time for you is critical,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”

“The fewer guard posts you have to pass through with Crag, the better,” Holly added. “If you can make for the coast from here, you should do so.”

Torin wished now that he had gone ahead and forced this discussion earlier, when he would have had more time to reason through and thus better present his arguments.

“Is it safe to begin heading up this close to dusk?” he asked, fighting to
keep the desperation from his voice. “We could all camp here and set out fresh in the morning.”

Heads turned to regard the position of the sun in the sky—the brightness of which mocked the squall that wracked him from within.

“It’s barely midafternoon,” Holly observed. “We’ve several hours of daylight yet to take advantage of.”

“If we’re going to split up,” Crag grumbled, “we may as well do so now. Ain’t much sense in one group or the other traveling half a day or more in the wrong direction.”