Chapter XV – Prophecy and Salvation

Aramari could feel it flowing all around her, the current. The sensation of being in a slow, but strong moving river was the dominant feeling she could retrieve from her exhausted senses. She could not focus her thoughts in any one direction without a great deal of weary effort. As soon as she would attempt to direct her whirlwind of thoughts close to any sense of coherence, an intense feeling of dark, fearful power would overwhelm her and she would retreat into the relative safety of the current. Her limited awareness was cognizant of only two things, the current and the presence.

She flowed along with the current, again attempting to clear away the haze that shrouded her mind. She could remember….something. No, it was gone. Wait, it was about the presence. Something about the blackness that threatened her constantly. She remembered now. It was as if the presence roved around as well, searching for her, yet avoiding contact when it came close. Just as if it too were as afraid of her as she of it. That must be the key! She needed to find the dark presence again, just as she felt it needed to find her.

She could almost feel her brow furrowing in concentration, although she had long since lost awareness of her physical body. She focused her will, reflexively whispering a half-uttered prayer to Meyasha, and stirred the flow around her, creating an eddy in the current that she somehow knew would draw the presence to her. The relative stability of the area around her stood out like a beacon on a cliffside when compared to the steady flow elsewhere. She waited, holding desperately to the sanctuary she had created, for the dark power to seek her out.

The waiting became an effort in mental focus for Aramari. She had found a way to split her concentration into holding the eddy she had created and to searching for signs of the presence’s approach, but the effort was taxing on her. She wondered what she had done before she came into the current, but anything other than flashing images of her prior life were beyond recall. She saw the flashes of faces, but was unable to put a name to any of them. She felt certain that they were important, however.

Just as she felt her strength giving way to the strain of maintaining the search, she sensed the presence approach. Excitement filled her, quickly followed by the frightening dread that always returned with the dark force that drew closer. The force came right to the edge of the calm she had created, flowing around its exterior, not apparently daring to draw within. It would probe hesitantly, and Aramari could feel its confusion as it tested her intentions. Aramari did her best to hide her mind behind a wall of blankness, refusing to give anything away to the malicious power of the presence.

The dark power began to withdraw further away from her, if there could be said to be distances in the flow, she would swear that it was running away. She relaxed her defenses a bit and allowed the flow to trickle into the calm she had created. Too late she realized her mortal danger. The presence had been waiting for her to relax her guard and now it struck.

She vainly tried to re-establish the calm eddy she had created previously, but the blind panic welling up within her, coupled with the exhaustion of maintaining the last eddy, prevented her. The presence surrounded and engulfed her, clasping her in claws of icy terror. All rational thought left her mind and she lashed out with what reserves of strength she had left in her body. She felt the force of her will strike deep into the heart of the presence, causing it to recoil from her unexpected bite. She felt an exhausted bit of happiness, and had she the energy, she would have smiled. The force certainly had not been expecting that. Of course, neither had she.

Her satisfaction was short-lived, though, as the flow resumed its trek, finishing its destruction of her eddy. She knew she did not have the strength left to fight the flow or the presence. Even now she could feel the dark power recovering from its confusion and stalking her carefully in the flow, searching for more hidden energy within her. The thing was waiting to see if she was faking her exhaustion. She knew it need not waste its time, for she had nothing left.

She felt the presence probe her mind and, finding no resistance, it struck again. This time it did not bother to envelop her first, instead it simply pierced directly into her mind. The revulsion of having a foreign mind moving around her own with abandon, overcame Aramari and she sent one last prayer to her Goddess, a prayer to call her home. The power of the presence now had dominated almost her entire mind and she knew it would not be long before she would cease to exist. She accepted her fate with resignation and awaited the end.

Suddenly, a warmth of light effused her and created a buffer between her mind and the awful presence. The moment it came, Aramari’s recollection of who she was and what she had done returned to her. She now knew the presence for what it really was, the consciousness of the Rivanwraith. She also knew what had happened. Meyasha had brought her here to this place, wherever it was, to protect her from the Rivanwraith’s attack over the Moon Sea. Part of the Rivanwraith must have been brought along as well. There was no other explanation. Even at partial strength, the thing had managed to attack her again, even after Meyasha had hid her.

Her anger over the beast’s treatment of her gave Aramari new strength, allowing her to reach out to the source of the light, the power of her Goddess. Making contact with it would protect her from the ravages of the mighty beast’s power. She knew the only way she could finally escape the Rivanwraith’s hunt for her was to end it all by becoming one with her Goddess. She sighed, thinking about the friends she would leave behind. Fortunately, she had been preparing her whole life for this, so she steeled herself and made contact with the light.

Suddenly it was if she were in a bubble of warmth. She could see the Rivanwraith rage along the outside of the bubble, but she rested easy in the knowledge that it could never penetrate here. The priestess turned around, causing her eyes to fall upon the being standing before her. A being of soft light and strength, sculpted into an inestimable beauty. Even though Aramari could make out none of its features, she felt the certainty in her soul that it was beautiful and she knew without having to think, that it was Meyasha.

She felt the urge to kneel and kiss the feet of the being before her, but before thought could become action, the words of her Goddess vibrated through her mind.

Aramari, one of the most faithful of my priestesses, rise yourself and see me.

Aramari had no choice but to do as commanded, but she still felt almost sacrilegious, looking at the form of her Goddess.

Fear not, my child, for this is not my true form you see before you, as that would be beyond your current understanding.

“My Goddess, I have come to you, mind and soul, for you to take to your land,” came the words from Aramari. She was not sure if she was truly speaking, or if the words just sounded in the air.

Nay, my child. It is not time for you to join me just yet; you have many things still left to accomplish in the world of the living.

“I don’t understand, my Goddess. If I have not been brought here to join you, why did you bring me?”

I brought you here to shelter you from the ravages of the creature that, even now, desperately wishes to consume your mind.

“The Rivanwraith?”

Yes, my child. It is one of the last of its kind and the longer it lives, the more lives it consumes and the more its power grows. If the beast were fully here now instead of only in just a fraction, I would be hard pressed to shield you from its wrath.

Aramari shuddered, thinking that if her Goddess would not be able to protect her, then what chance did her friends have against the beast?

Your fears are well founded, my child. Your companions could not withstand the power of the Rivanwraith for long right now, but I bestow upon you a gift. The medallion you wear around your neck has been blessed by me and consecrated with my power. The Rivanwraith fears me after a sort, since I managed to shelter you from his fury and capture part of his presence as well, and he will not be likely to come near anyone wearing that medallion.

Aramari reached up and clutched the medallion firmly in both hands, holding it close to her heart. Even in the presence of her Goddess, she could hear the Rivanwraith rage against the bubble’s surface, like a storm beating against a castle wall.

“What is it you wish me to do, my Goddess?” asked Aramari.

It is impossible to tell you of the future and all of the complexities it holds, but as long as you walk the breadth of the land, the future shall never be far away from you. Now go. Return to the world that made you and help your friends accomplish their purpose. They road ahead will be dire, but you have the strength to walk it, my Aramari.

The figure of light disappeared from the bubble. Aramari stared about in confusion. On minute Meyasha was there and then she was just suddenly gone. The swirl of questions Aramari wanted to ask her Goddess came to the forefront, but she could not voice them through the fear of knowing her Goddess was leaving her. She desperately wanted to follow Meyasha, she had prepared herself for the journey and now she was being denied. She saw a flash of light from the outside of the bubble and saw the Rivanwraith withdraw from its assault. It turned to face something unseen behind it and the priestess saw it expand into a vast darkness, blocking out the glow from Meyasha.

Aramari prepared herself to join the fight against the Rivanwraith. Though she knew not what she could do against its power, she had to try something. However, when she began to move towards the edge of the bubble she felt an intense urgency to go elsewhere. She could not explain the desire and she fought against it. She did not want to leave. She wanted to stay and fight with her Goddess!

The sense of urgency increased its intensity, rendering Aramari powerless to resist it. She surrendered her battle to remain in the soft, warm light of Meyasha’s protective bubble and flowed towards the cold, violent darkness of the corporeal world. The warmth slowly seeped from her awareness, only to be replaced by first a bitter cold, then by strange painful sensations. She could feel parts of her body again, a strange feeling after being unaware of them for so long. With each returning sensation, the feeling of urgency she had felt with Meyasha increased, as did a growing sense of immediate danger. Resigned, she committed herself to returning, and like the crack of a whip, her physical awareness returned.

She noticed the stink first, a rank fetid stench that assaulted her newly awkward sense of smell. She wrinkled her nose, screwing up her face in disgust. The very act of contracting the muscles in her face felt so alien to Aramari that she paused to revel in the feeling, the foul smell long forgotten.

Before she could examine it further, however, she heard a shuffling sound from nearby her. Something was moving about! Even the soft whispers of movement caused Aramari to twitch in slight pain with each sound, as if someone were lightly slapping her. The absolute fear she felt at being so aware of herself for the first time in so long brought back the sense of urgency she had felt before.

“Hurry up Jak, or someone’s gonna come in here and find us” came a fierce whisper from somewhere nearby.

Aramari tried to focus on the voice, but her head still swam with a jumble of unrecognizable sensations and she gave up on the attempt. The sense of danger she felt was growing had heightened upon her hearing the voice, but the Priestess of Meyasha could not seem to respond to its warning.

“Don’t rush me, ya bilge rat! I’m gonna take my time with this one before we put her out there.”

The low, guttural voice resonated from somewhere nearby Aramari and with it came a resurgent blast of the fetid smell. She felt movement on her arms and she winced with the raw soreness surrounding it, as if her limbs had been bruised. Only then did she become aware of the weight pressing down on her body, a great crushing pressure that made each breath for Aramari a struggle. She felt the weight shift slightly and immediately afterward heard a ripping sound. The swirl of sensations in her head coalesced briefly and she suddenly reasoned what was happening. Someone was on top of her!

A surge of blind panic tore through her veins, causing her to burn away the apathy that had gripped her previously. Her muscles remembered the long forgotten coordination required to open her eyes and when her first vision came to her she screamed. At least, she would have screamed if she could find her voice. A man lay on top of her, pawing at her robes with one of his massive hands while the other hand gripped her forearms above her head in a painful grip. She saw immediately that the man had not noticed she was awake. His eyes were fixed upon her breasts, which had been revealed through her torn robes. The man’s face wore only a leering look of desire and his eyes were half-closed in a dream-like state.

Fear, revulsion, disgust, shame: all of these emotions rushed through Aramari as she watched the horrifying scene she was a member of. Her mind raced to find a way out of the situation before it had gone too far. She then heard a noise farther back in the room. Goddess! In her blind panic, she had forgotten the owner of the other voice.

“Jak! Jak, look out! She’s got her eyes open!” sounded the other voice from over the man’s shoulder.

Aramari looked up and saw a skinny, stringy-haired man with a nose much too large for his face standing there, peering down at her with an expression of fear. The man on top of her, Jak she presumed, wrenched his gaze from her breasts and peered into her face. His unshaven dirty face split into a snaggle-toothed grin as he spoke.

“So she does,” he breathed. “Good. I like it when dey move around a little.” The man, Jak, tuned his head to speak to his companion in a low, throaty growl. “Git over here and gimme a hand, ya rat catcher.”

The smaller man moved closer to Aramari and she felt Jak’s hands tighten on her forearms, increasing the pain already radiating from her bruises there. Despair overtook Aramari. Why had Meyasha not kept Aramari in her embrace? Why did her Goddess send her back to face this horror? It would have been better to be unaware of herself if this were going to happen.

Jak took the hand he had used to rip her robes and reached down with it to take a powerful grip on her sensitive inner thigh. That was when the sudden reality of the situation crashed down upon the priestess of Meyasha and despair was quickly replaced by outrage. No! This could not happen to a former High Priestess of Meyasha! Never!

With a convulsive jerk and a wordless moan when unused muscles protested, Aramari brought up the knee not being held, colliding satisfactorily with a violent force with the man’s soft private parts. She watched with a feral grin as the man’s eyes widened in pain and shock and his breath left his body in a soundless whoosh of air, nearly gagging Aramari in its vileness. The man rolled off her body and fell to the floor, clutching his groin in agony.

The other man, who had been standing next to the stone table where Aramari lay, saw his companion go down in a heap. When he saw Aramari’s eyes turn towards him, he gave a squeak then turned and fled. Aramari took a deep breath to marshal her strength and sat up on the stone, almost collapsing with dizziness in the process. Through the haze of vertigo, she saw the form of the skinny man retreating towards the door of the darkened room. Her anger created a focus point for her and she summoned the words to a prayer key in her mind. Many long hours of study and years of combat experience made the casting of the spell almost a reflex as her hand reached out and twisted in the proper gesture to guide it. She felt the invisible spear of force launch from her hand and strike the fleeing man in the small of his back. She heard a sickening crack as it shattered his vertebrae and he collapsed to the floor only hands from the door. He lay there, only occasionally giving a convulsive twitch.

The energy required to channel Meyasha’s power had drained Aramari of almost all ability of move, but she resolutely fought off the desire to lay back and rest. The man, Jak, would soon recover from the blow she gave him and she wanted to be far away when he did. Even now, he was dragging himself up to his knees and elbows, groaning.

Aramari slid off the table to stand shakily on her feet, holding the side of the stone slab for stability. As soon as she felt strong enough to move without assistance, she started towards the room’s only door. However, before she had taken more than a step, she heard the sound of movement coming from Jak. She turned and, with all of the power she could muster, lashed out with the toe of her boot, again colliding with the man’s exposed genitalia. The man dropped to the floor without a whimper and Aramari turned back to the door leading to freedom from this accursed chamber.

The moment she walked outside, all hope of escape died within her. The room she stared into was an enormous antechamber with benches fastened to the floors with thick iron bolts. The walls were of a deep red color, almost as if they were soaked in a rich wine. The only light came from a multitude of candles and incense burning on an enormous altar on one side of the room. The alter was decorated by a carving of a man’s body, twisted as if in an agonizing dance and holding a spear dripping with blood in one hand. Surrounding the hideous altar were ten or so people wearing the same black clothes that the two men in the other room wore. It was then that she recognized the symbols on the clothing of the people in the room. They were the symbols the warrior priests of their God decorated themselves with. They were the symbols of the hideous figure on the altar. They were the symbols of Braquast.

Quillion could feel his temper rising again. The ingratiating smile of the little Goblin in front of him was going to be the catalyst that caused him to fly into a rage. He could already visualize his sword blade sliding through the Goblin’s ribcage and the smile disappearing in a wave of agony. He clenched his fists at his side in an effort to keep them from reaching for his sword.

“I tell you again, good sir, that I have neither seen nor received anyone here matching the description you give to me. You must be mistaken.” The Goblin’s slightly slurred speech made him sound as if he were drunk, due to the Goblin characteristic of speaking out of the side of their mouths.

“That’s a load of treiegh and you know it!” shouted Quillion. “I’ve talked to three witnesses who said that they saw you personally oversee a woman in white robes being carried into the front doors of this church!”

The smile on the Goblin priest’s face never slipped. “I assure you that the Church of Nightrene has no desire to receive a priestess from a different order.”

A vicious smile appeared on Quillion’s face. “Who ever said she was a priestess, Goblin?” he asked menacingly. “I certainly didn’t.”

The Goblin’s eyes raced for a moment, darting back and forth between Quillion and the other companions behind him. The maddening smile never slipped, though. “I’m sure anyone wearing robes and seeking entrance to a church as exalted as this must be a priestess,” slurred the priest of Nightrene.

Quillion could no longer contain his anger. He reached up and gasped his sword hilt, intent on bashing the priest over the head until he told the truth. Before he could draw steel, however, he felt a hand rest on his arm, restraining him. He whipped his head around angrily in time to see Lysinthia standing there, shaking her head slowly. Quillion recognized the look on her face. She had a plan and he would just interrupt it by acting the fool and creating havoc. He resigned himself to a baleful look towards the Goblin and took up as menacing a stance as he could, signaling Malaryn to do the same.

He watched Lysinthia approach the Goblin and give him a quick bow. This seemed to please the droopy-eared priest, appealing to his vain nature. Typical for a priest of Nightrene, Quillion knew. Lysinthia’s voice almost cooed when she spoke.

“Greetings, Holy One. I realize my friend here is a bit tiresome, and I hope that, in your wisdom, you can overlook his zealousness. I have a bit of an offering to you and your Goddess to show our good intentions.”

The bard reached into a pouch and removed a small white metal bar. It was roughly a hand in length and was covered in gem-encrusted gold carvings. With a small bow, she held it out in one hand towards the Goblin priest. The priest seemed to have let down his defenses, as a genuine smile replaced the fake one that had been fixed on his face.

“So nice to see someone who knows the ancient precepts,” he slurred. “I think I’ll take this for...”

Lysinthia snapped her fingers the moment the Goblin had touched the bar, effectively cutting off his speech with her pre-cast Hypnosis spell. Quillion watched the tableau in a considerably better humor as the Goblin stood transfixed, staring at the bar in his hands. Lysinthia walked around to stand beside the priest in the doorway and talked softly in his ear.

“You’ve seen the priestess we’re asking about haven’t you?” she breathed.

The Goblin’s brows furrowed in concentration for a moment as if fighting the spell, but he then relaxed and answered in a monotone voice. “Yes, I’ve seen her.”

“Where is she?”

“She was taken to the temple of Braquast a couple of hours before your arrival.”

Quillion exchanged a concerned look with Lysinthia and he heard Malaryn utter a low, wordless growl behind him. Lysinthia resumed her questioning with a distinct sense of urgency.

“What did the followers of Braquast want with her?”

“They wanted a sacrifice to send to their God to appease him during the coming storm.”

“What coming storm?”

“I don’t know, but the rumors say war is approaching soon.”

“Where is the temple of Braquast?”

“Two blocks east of here. A battered two story building.”

Lysinthia stepped away from the Goblin and gathered Malaryn and Quillion near her. “If the sacrifice is meant to occur tonight, you can wager that the rumored attack we’ve been hearing about is going to happen tonight as well,” she said softly, peering over their ducked heads at the people walking down the street.

“Then we don’t have much time,” replied Quillion. “The best of siege attacks usually come at nightfall when the lookouts on the tower can’t see to aim their archers and catapults. If it’s really Emiriak and the Czak Myar like we figured, we can count on the Rivanwraith being involved as well.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Malaryn. “Let’s go rescue our gal.”

“Right,” agreed Quillion, “we’ve wasted enough time here.”

Malaryn and Quillion moved to get their gear from the road and Lysinthia removed the bar from the Goblin’s hands. He watched it leave with the forlorn expression of a lost puppy. Lysinthia snapped her fingers again, and the Goblin frowned at seeing the bar in her hands.

“I thought you were going to give that to me as an offering!” snapped the Goblin.

“I’ve changed my mind, priest,” retorted Lysinthia. “I wouldn’t give offal from a snake to your stinking Goddess.” Quillion let loose a short burst of laughter at both Lysinthia’s words and the stunned look on the Goblin priest’s face. The bard turned on her heel and took her pack from Malaryn’s proffered hand. Quillion smiled at the flabbergasted priest and gave him a salute.

“All of Meyasha’s blessing upon you, priest.” At that, he turned and joined his friends.

A few minutes later the three companions rounded a corner and saw the dilapidated two-story building the priest of Nightrene had described. Quillion’s sharp vision saw no living beings on the outside of the building. That was no surprise. If he lived in Haven, he would not venture anywhere near a temple of Braquast’s either. There was likely no need for guards when superstition and fear would work just as well.

He told Lysinthia to move to one side of the building while Malaryn moved to the other. They were to guard against the possibility of a surprise visitor when Quillion inspected the front. Quillion smiled to himself as he watched the two of them stalk away. Attempting to stalk in Malaryn’s case. The two made an interesting dichotomy, with the noise Malaryn made, even while attempting stealth, and Lysinthia’s graceful, silent walk.

Once the two of them had taken up positions on either side, Quillion crept up to the front of the building. He placed his back against a wall in the front and glanced toward the horizon. The sun would be down soon. Even now the building shadows lengthened across the streets. There was not much time left if a sacrifice to Braquast would be given. The temple itself had cast its own shadow across the Quillion in the position he had taken. Good. The less anyone inside looking out could see, the better.

He moved silently over to a place underneath the nearest window and signaled Malaryn and Lysinthia to be ready. He then carefully raised his head and looked in the bottom portion of the window, and found himself staring into a belt buckle. The startlement passed through him without a sound, and he carefully lowered himself back down. Once there he looked up at the figure in the window, and thanked whatever God was listening that the person had paid no attention to him. The figure in black seemed to be intent on scanning the rooftops of nearby buildings and had never looked down to see Quillion crouched there.

As carefully as possible, the Half-elf backed up a few steps to where he could only see a portion of the man and studied him grimly. It was a human male, as far as he could tell, who was dressed in a black studded leather breastplate covered in a black silk tabard. The tabard was decorated with a picture of a misshapen claw holding a bloody spear tip, the sign of Braquast’s warrior priests. Well, at least he and the others were in the right place. He decided to wait at his position for a moment, out of sight of the man, and see if he could overhear some information.

His luck paid off as, just a few seconds later, he heard sounds of another person walking up to the window. The second person was a female, based upon her voice, and she quickly engaged the male in a conversation about the rites of the ceremony to be held that night. Quillion hoped to hear something that would indicate whether Aramari was there or not, but the two warrior priests droned on and on about formalities. The Half-elf wished Tersiano was there since he could cast a Locating and find out where she was almost exactly. Unfortunately, Tersiano was not there, Quillion chided himself, and even if he was, the twisted raw power of a temple of Braquast would more than likely pervert any results from such a spell.

Quillion snapped back to the present as he realized he had not heard any conversation from the two at the window. He listened closer and heard the unmistakable sounds of a couple in the throes of passion. He had heard tales of Braquast’s followers’ penchant for having orgy sessions during ceremonies and rituals, but it appeared these two warrior priests were beginning the ceremony a bit early. Some God was surely smiling on him for this stroke of luck.

He signaled Lysinthia to come over to the window and in a low voice he told her what was happening. After he had imparted the information, he carefully reached up and peered in the window. Sure as death, the two priests were twisted into a maze of naked limbs and were totally oblivious to the world around them. He climbed into the window with Lysinthia trailing behind and the two of them stood over the top of the two copulating bodies.

Quillion exchanged a grin with Lysinthia and the two drew their weapons. Quillion used the flat of his blade to smack against the man’s naked backside. The man turned slowly to stare at him, his eyes glazed over in passion. Quillion quickly drove the knuckle guard of his sword hilt into the man’s face, sending him into unconsciousness. Quillion watched Lysinthia do the same to the woman with the pommel of one of her daggers. Quillion dragged the two limp bodies into a closet nearby while Lysinthia signaled for Malaryn to join them.

Shortly thereafter, the three companions were peering into an enormous antechamber that contained a hideous idol placed on an altar at its far end. There were, Quillion estimated, around ten people in warrior priest outfits gathered around the altar, praying. They did not appear to be aware of the companions’ presence, which suited Quillion just fine. After a thorough search of the room, though, he could find no sign of Aramari.

He ducked back away from the door with the others and began to formulate a plan to search the building when Lysinthia gasped and pointed excitedly back into the chamber. Quillion followed her gaze and saw a figure in white robes standing in a doorway just to the right of the altar and looking lost and haggard.

“I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Lysinthia in a low, excited voice. “She’s recovered!”

“We don’t know that for certain,” admonished Quillion. “She could be under the priests’ control for all we know.”

“They’d better hope they didn’t hurt her,” growled Malaryn, cracking his huge knuckles.

“She’s on the other side of the priests. We’ve got to find a way to stop them before we can reach her,” said Quillion.

Suddenly Lysinthia gave a sharp intake of breath and Quillion looked back into the room where she stared. What he saw made his blood freeze. The warrior priests had spotted Aramari and were rising up from their kneels and moving towards her.

“They’ve seen her,” he snapped, “we’ve got to take them out fast.” He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder before launching himself into the room. “No quarter given.”

Quillion quickly drew his sword and held his opposite hand outstretched, reciting the words to his Lightning spell. He hoped it would work in the temple of an evil God. He heard Lysinthia moving along beside and he hoped she would know to get out of they way when he finished chanting. Somewhere behind him, he heard a screeching sound that was probably Malaryn pulling up on of the benches bolted to the floor.

He spoke the last word of the spell and the Lightning flashed from his fingertips, the crackling energy coursing through his body without harm and lashing into the last rank of warrior priests. The resulting boom from the bolt echoed through the chamber with the force of a sledgehammer. When the afterimage faded from Quillion’s eyes he saw that the priests’ numbers had been severely depleted, as only four still stood.

Lysinthia dispatched the two nearest to Aramari with perfectly accurate dagger throws. Her frost daggers struck her two enemies in the chest, exactly where their hearts beat their last. However, before either he or Lysinthia could muster a second attack, a bench hurled past Quillion’s shoulder and smashed into the remaining priests with a bone-snapping crunch. The Half-elf turned and saw Malaryn still standing on the other end of the room where he had hurled the bench, almost ten strides away.

Lysinthia ran to check on Aramari who was staring at the three companions with a horrified expression on her face, while Quillion checked to make sure the bodies were really dead. By them time Malaryn joined him, Lysinthia had returned with the priestess. At a look from Quillion, Lysinthia spoke in a nervous whisper.

“She’s fine, but doesn’t appear to be very happy to see us.”

“Who knows what’s happened to her over the last few days. She may need a long time to recover,” replied Quillion.

“Here, let me try” said Malaryn, moving to stand in front of Aramari’s haunted eyes. “Hey ‘Mari. It’s me, Mal. Are you all right?”

The priestess of Meyasha’s eyes fell upon the big man and she hissed in a low voice. “Mal? It can’t be you. I saw you a moment ago and you were dead. Dead, but not dead. Your eyes were ice blue and you were so cold it made my skin shiver.” The big man reached out and lightly grabbed one of Aramari’s hands, holding it firm.

“It wasn’t me, ‘Mari. See? I’m just the same as ever.”

The priestess reached up with her other hand and cupped the side of Malaryn’s face, as if to reassure herself of her own eyes. “But I know what I saw, I know it was true.” She then turned to look at the others. The haunted look in her eyes chilled Quillion’s soul. “I saw you two as well when you came in the room.”

She looked directly at Lysinthia, stating in a barely audible whisper, “You were shackled in chains of fire that burned your flesh, but you didn’t seem to notice.”

“And you.” Her eyes now bored into Quillion’s. “You were dressed in a dark cloak that covered your face and you had an aura of death surrounding you. People were dying all around you and it was your fault.”

“You’re just having hallucinations or something” responded Quillion. “It’s probably a result of being unconscious for so long.”

The priestess shook her head sadly, but did not say a word in rebuttal. Quillion decided not to press the matter, as Aramari’s tale had unsettled him, and looked around the room at the damaged caused by the fight. There would probably be a dozen priests storming through the door any minute after a clamor such as this.

“We’ve got to go,” he said aloud. “We’ve found Oheniies, and there’s not much time left to get to his lair.”

He and Malaryn assisted Aramari out the door while Lysinthia scouted ahead for danger. By the time they were on the street, the haze of sunset had turned to full darkness. Walking up the street, Quillion could almost feel the energy in the air. It was as if the entire city, buildings and all, were waiting for something.

They soon reached a part of the city where the people, who had been so thick in other parts of the city, were so scattered it almost seemed deserted. Quillion scanned the area, looking for any sign of what was causing the strange disappearance of people… It usually took two to three hours of full darkness for people to return inside, but it had been dark for only a couple of hours.

A sound of hooves clicking on the path before them drew Quillion’s attention. Ahead, a man was walking his donkey at a brisk pace along the roadway. Quillion hailed him, and the man waved back, but did not slow his pace.

“Where is everyone tonight?” Quillion shouted to him.

“Have ye no heard?” the man shouted back. “There’s an attack at de front of de city!”

“An attack? Who’s attacking?” Quillion asked.

“No one knows. Dey just appeared around dusk and have kept de wall guards busy blindly firing arrows at dem.”

Quillion waved an unreturned thanks to the man and turned to his companions. He spoke in a voice that was affected by his adrenaline-surged breathlessness. “The attack at the gates is a farce. I know the Czak Myar’s methods. The real attack will have already struck in a different area. Our time has just run out. If we don’t get to the others soon, we’ll be caught or killed.”

Quillion was about to urge them all ahead to meet with the rest of the companions, when Aramari spoke. She had a horrified expression on her face and a vacant look in her eyes that made her seem as if she were looking through the nearby wall, instead of at it. Her voice was firm, but it contained a deeper timbre, almost as if it were not her own voice speaking.

“The future is laid before me. The path we take this night will be short, but will travel long. The shadow of the world is moving over the light and only the Lords of Death can stop it. They who are no more will be resurrected to face those who once were. The eater of souls seeks us all and will soon feed on all hope.”

Quillion stared at Aramari in amazement. What was all that supposed to mean? He glanced at Lysinthia, hoping the learned bard would have some type of explanation. The look in her green eyes told him to wait, and she would explain later. Malaryn gently held Aramari’s shoulder and tilted her head up to meet his eyes.

“What does all that mean, ‘Mari?” asked the big man.

“I don’t understand any of it for sure,” Aramari said, tears staining her face, “but I do know this, for I can feel it in my soul. The Rivanwraith is coming.”

© 1998 C.A. Lutke