The food offered turned out to be some sort of mashed root vegetable with a reddish color, along with other vegetables that looked strange but similar to ones found in their own world. This simple reminder, more than anything else that had occurred so far, made Sarien realize that he was in a different world. Sarien took a cautious bite. They tasted fine, at least.
“It’s not much, but we make do out here,” Mica said. The male rhinn was a little older than both Tomford and Sarien, and his black hair stood in every direction from having been bedridden for the past couple of weeks. His nose was long and curved at the end like a bird’s beak. His features as well as his habit of leaning in close and staring intently when he spoke made Sarien feel a trifle uncomfortably.
“You spoke of Wyndemir?” Sarien asked once they’d finished their food. Even though the fare was simple, Sarien felt recovered. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he finished. He noticed that Tomford had cleaned his bowl as well.
Mica leaned in closer, elbows planted on the table in front of him. “Our god, once upon a time. He nearly destroyed the entire world a thousand years ago, but disappeared before the deed was done. The religious texts do not explain why.”
“We have no use for religion,” Tomford said. “Our gods are all dead.”
Mica pursed his lips. “What happened to them?”
“We killed them all. They were tyrannical oppressors.”
“How do you kill a god?” Mica asked. “If the priests are right, and Wyndemir is back, that information would be useful indeed.”
Tomford shrugged. “I don’t know exactly how. It occurred over two hundred years ago in our world.”
“I’m sorry,” Sarien said. From what he’d learned from Heradion, Sarien had an inkling of how it might be done, but nothing certain and nothing he wished to share for now. “Please tell us what you know of the pyromancers.”
“Right,” Mica started. “I’ll start at the beginning.”
Sarien sat back and listened as Mica spoke of how their world’s temperature began to steadily increase, the heat killing off much-needed crops for food and feed. He spoke of riots and of how the military took control of the entire country to keep the peace, and how the priests sided with soldiers and spoke of the coming of Wyndemir. The news of the return of their old god panicked the masses.
The military brutally beat down any opposition and then joined forces with their counterparts from the neighboring countries. Most young men were drafted into the armies, leaving few to keep up with what little farming they still desperately needed.
“You don’t have growers?” Sarien asked, interrupting Mica’s story. When it became apparent he had no clue what Sarien spoke of, he clarified, “They are magic users that grow food with their powers. Most of our society is built on a steady supply from the kingdom that grows the food. We have farmers of our own, but not enough to feed the population.”
Mica shook his head in wonder. “We have nothing like that here.”
“No magic at all?” Tomford asked.
“We have traveling, but that’s it. The ability to open waypoints between locations. The priests claim they have powers of some sort, something to do with prayer to Wyndemir, but I’ve never seen it.”
“Falfarel spoke of traveling,” Sarien said. “The creation of gates? Is that how the pyromancers came here?”
Mica laughed bitterly. “No. Our travelers can only create waypoints between places here in our world. Not across worlds. If they could, most of us would be gone from here by now. How those other gates came into being, I have no idea. I don’t think even the cabal knows the answer.”
“Cabal?” Sarien asked.
“That’s what they call the combined leadership of the many armies. We don’t know who they are, not all of them.”
“Tell us about the pyromancers then,” Tomford demanded. Sarien could tell his friend was reaching the end of his patience. He was eager to return to their world, but there was still so much to learn.
“We don’t know what they’re doing here! They seem to be in league with the cabal, but we haven’t been able to find out when they arrived, through which waypoint, or what their goals are. All we know is that they are powerful and brutally efficient.”
“You fought one?” Tomford asked.
“A hundred of us, just a few weeks ago. We wanted to capture one alive to question her. One pyromancer and only ten guards.” Mica shook his head. “It should have been easy. We outnumbered them ten to one. But, the pyromancer didn’t even need her guards. Those of us you saw here are the only survivors of the massacre.”
“That’s how you were injured?” Sarien asked.
Mica touched the scars on his chest again. “That’s right. A sword, not fire. I was lucky compared to all our brethren.”
Sarien turned to Tomford. “We have to tell Goslin. When I was at the tower, the pyromancers spoke about something secret. Something about them not being ready yet. This might be it.”
“Good, then let’s go back,” Tomford agreed, getting to his feet. “This place is creeping me out, no offense.”
“None taken. You saved my life. I owe you for that.”
“Wish we had time to learn more about your world,” Sarien said.
Mica reached out and stopped Sarien. “You never told me your name. Your eyes and mouth look a little like ours, but a little smaller. You humans are strange creatures. So similar, but so different.”
“It’s Sarien.” Mica drew back in surprise for a moment and Sarien remembered Falfager’s comment that Sarien was a rhinerian name. What did that mean?
“How do you plan on leaving here? The waypoints between our worlds are all well guarded. One opened near here not that long ago, but the army is camped right by it, within viewing distance, I’m afraid.”
Before Sarien could answer, they were interrupted by a loud thumping sound. Two quick knocks and then a pause, and two more. Mica stood and ran over to a cabinet in the corner. He flung it open, revealing rows of rusted weapons.
“Grab one,” he called out.
“What’s going on?” Sarien said.
“Soldiers,” Mica said, throwing on a brown cloth tunic over his bare chest.
Sarien grabbed a spear similar to his old one, only this one appeared to be made entirely out of metal. “Shouldn’t we open up the hatch and let the others inside?”
“Too late for that. They’ll run off and hide at our secondary location. That knock pattern you heard means the troops are very close.” He grinned. “But don’t worry, we have an escape tunnel.”
Mica moved a barrel and pointed at another tunnel. This one was no more than a small hole in the ground, and they would be forced to crawl.
“Just open a gate, Sarien,” Tomford said. “I’ll hold them off if you need time.”
Sarien sighed but didn’t argue. “Mica, you should leave. We’ll return home from here.”
“You’re saying you can create waypoints?” Mica asked, his grip tightening on the simple sword he carried.
“I think so.”
“That ability would be a blessing for our resistance,” Mica said. He took hasty step forward, glanced to Tomford, and then stepped forward again. “You should come with me.”
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Sarien shook his head. “We have to return home now.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t asking,” Mica said, pointing the point of his sword at Sarien. “Your ability would mean the resistance’s survival. I can’t let you leave.”
“But I saved you,” Tomford said, stepping in between Sarien and Mica.
Mica shook his head. “And I’m thankful for it, truly I am. But this is bigger than me.”
Tomford looked over his shoulder to Sarien. “You get started. I’ll deal with him.”
Someone banged loudly against the hatch again. This time there was no pattern to it. “Open this door now!”
Tomford turned toward the hatch, and Mica used that moment of distraction to strike. The sword dug into Tomford’s shoulder, and he grunted in surprise before turning back.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
Sarien heard a thump, then the clatter of metal. Probably the sword falling against one of the chairs.
“You crawl off now,” Tomford said, but Sarien barely heard. He was already losing himself in the swirling bright light of his inner power.
Just as he attempted before, Sarien formed the image of the clearing, where they struggled against the trickster beast, in his mind. Images of Goslin and the others flashed through his mind, along with his memories from the Karm estate, the burning tower, and the name of the city where he was supposed to find his father’s friend.
He thought about his father. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking of the man. Something tugged at him, and he let the light from inside him stream toward that torrent of emotions, memories, and longing.
Sarien breathed out and opened his eyes as a jagged line of light cut through the air in front of him, basking the dim room in a bright, cold glow.
Soldiers emerged from the tunnel. The soldiers were forced to enter the room one at a time and Tomford was ready for them. Mica was nowhere to be seen, and the barrel returned to its previous position.
Grunts, groans, and the loud smacks of Tomford’s fists connecting with the soldiers filled the air. Arms and legs flailed in all direction and the room no longer felt spacious as more soldiers crowded in.
“Hurry up!” Tomford yelled, and Sarien returned to his senses. The rip in front of him hung in the air, not moving. Beyond that, he knew he’d find their home.
The power inside him throbbed with the quick beats of his own heart, and the gate shuddered with each thump. Sarien reached out with his mind. Bright light flowed from the tips of his fingers and the palms of his hands to connect with the tear in the air. The glow intensified. He heaved with his power, and the tear widened into an opening. But it was still too narrow.
“Hurry!” Tomford yelled again. He bled from several wounds, and he struggled from the strain of keeping multiple soldiers at bay.
Sarien grunted as he forced the opening wider and wider. The other side of the gate showed a dark night. It didn’t matter. Sarien knew they’d make it to their own world through the gate he created. There was not a doubt in his mind.
“Go Tom!” Sarien yelled. Tomford didn’t even look back before turning and sprinting for the gate. He leapt through the opening, and Sarien followed close behind, bringing the spear along with him.
Tomford was on the ground when Sarien landed in a field of grass. To Sarien’s horror, several soldiers jumped through the gate after them. “Tom, get up!”
“Close it!” Tomford yelled as he got to his feet. “We can’t beat them all.”
Sarien was exhausted. Opening the gate drained him and he felt himself weakening but was able to bring up his spear when a rhinn soldier fell upon him. The soldier dodged Sarien’s feeble attack, but Tomford caught him with a blow to the side of his head, and the man crumpled to the ground.
“Close it, dammit!”
Sarien blinked rapidly, forcing himself to concentrate while chaos erupted around him. He could hear Tomford’s panting breaths as his friend fought on. The healer could not keep up his attacks for much longer.
Three more soldiers came through the gate before Sarien began to close it. When they saw him and realized what he planned to do, they came for him instead of Tomford.
Power flowed from Sarien to connect him with the gate. The added source of light revealed more of their surroundings. Not grass. Some sort of farmer’s field. Off in the far distance, he could see small lights. A farm, perhaps? With a groan, he heaved and narrowed the gate to where no one else could exit through it. He fell to his knees but struggled back up.
Tomford needed his help. Five soldiers were circling around his friend, thrusting with their spears and slashing with their swords. Exhaustion was plain in each of Tomford’s strikes and he nearly lost his balance when he dodged their attacks.
Sarien yelled and rushed to his friend’s aid, keeping the spear in front of him. With the diminished light from the gate, it was difficult to see the enemy soldiers, but he still stuck one who hadn’t turned fast enough. The dark power inside him, the slaying, churned and struggled to get out and devour the one Sarien struck, but he refused to let it loose. It was a struggle to control now that the other power inside of him was diminished.
Someone swung at him in the dark, and Sarien cried out in pain as a sword sliced his arm. He stepped back and flexed his fingers. An image of Emeryn’s amputation flashed in his mind. His hands shook, his shoulders and knees wouldn’t stop trembling. He was no fighter. No warrior. But Tomford was.
Sarien’s friend roared and barreled into the soldier that attacked Sarien, pushing him to the ground before punching him twice in the face.
Sarien felt dizzy. The cloth under his torn leather arm guard felt slick.
Tomford took a blow on the head from one of the remaining soldiers, falling face first in the grass. He didn’t stir.
“Tom!” Sarien cried. Three soldiers left. They didn’t even glance at Tomford when they moved past his prone body. Their large dark eyes were all on Sarien.
“Open it again,” one of them snarled. “I know you understand me, human.”
“And what will happen if I do?” Sarien asked. It was getting difficult just holding the spear upright with his injured arm.
“You’ll come with us back to Rhinerien. We’ve never seen a traveler who can open waypoints between worlds. Our reward will be substantial.”
Sarien glanced at the narrow gate and shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. What if I send you back and you go on your merry way?”
The three soldiers advanced. “Take him alive,” the one who’d spoken previously said. Sarien had a difficult time distinguishing between the three of them in the dark. To him, their faces all looked very much alike. Two of them carried swords and the third a spear. All of them looked practiced in the way they moved and held their weapons. Sarien didn’t stand a chance. Not without some help.
With reluctance, Sarien pulled from within and manifested his black flame. It hadn’t stopped struggling for release since the fighting began and when it came into existence, it bled out all along Sarien’s arm and up his spear. He didn’t want to trap the three of them, but he saw no other choice.
The rhinn soldiers eyed him warily. They might have seen a pyromancer’s flame before, but this was different.
“Come then,” Sarien said. A calm had settled over him. When they didn’t come closer, Sarien stepped forward.
The three soldiers all took a step back, then they caught themselves, and one of them growled, “Surround him!”
The two swordsmen moved to either side of him while the spearman approached from the front. Before they had a chance to surround him, Sarien ran at the spearman. He thrust despite the distance being too great, but the flames egged him on. The tip of his spear stopped almost a full spear length in front of his opponent, but the black flame billowed from the tip, continuing forward until it engulfed the spearman. The rhinn soldier’s eyes grew dim, like the life in them burned away.
Sarien’s spear turned obsidian, and he heard the expected scream in his mind.
AAAAAAAAAA
He ignored it.
The swordsman to his left lunged forward, and Sarien mis stepped, stumbling back, and through sheer luck blocked the strike with the shaft of his spear. Instead of the expected crack in the spear’s haft, it clanged loudly.
Sarien fell but managed to roll and come up on his feet, slightly disoriented. Another strike came from that same soldier, but it fell short. Before Sarien had a chance to retaliate, the second swordsman closed in to his right and swung. His sword bit into Sarien’s thigh. He screamed as his leg buckled underneath his weight and Sarien fell onto his back.
As he collapsed, Sarien lost his grip around the spear. He crossed his arms in front of him, desperately trying to protect himself from the incoming attacks. Black flames billowed from his arms and from the wound in his leg, forming a barrier.
Somehow, he could see through the darkness, and watched how the black flames caught hold of the soldiers’ swords and crept up along the weapons. As soon as the flames connected with flesh, the rhinn dropped, the life burned out of them. They both fell limp to the muddy ground.
With his hands empty, there was no object to trap their minds in. Sarien felt their essence burning in the flame and knew that he subjected them to a terrible torment, far worse than those imbued into the weapons experienced.
Sarien crawled desperately toward the closest object, one of the swords, and grabbed it. Not exactly sure how he managed it, he willed the flame into the metal, turning it black. His mind turned blessedly silent.
Sarien flopped over onto his back, panting and clutching his leg. A flicker of movement caught his eye. Someone stood at the other side of the gate, silently regarding him through the small opening. An old, male rhinn with a clean-shaven head and a tattoo or brand on his forehead.
With considerable effort, Sarien scrambled to grasp the bright power inside him, what little remained in his exhausted state, and closed the gate with one final push. Now that he knew how to accomplish the task, he was surprised by the ease of it.
The opening squeezed shut into a glowing line and then dissipated without leaving a trace. The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon and Sarien saw that he was alone. The rhinn soldiers that Tomford defeated were nowhere to be seen. They must have fled when they saw their friends being eaten by Sarien’s black flame.
Tomford groaned. Sarien struggled to his feet, then limped to his friend. “Tom!”
“Depths take me,” Tomford grumbled. Most of his more serious wounds looked like they had stopped bleeding, but he had lost a lot of blood.
Sarien showed his leg. Blood was flowing freely. “You wouldn’t happen to have some energy, stream, whatever, left in you to make this stop?”
Tomford still lay prone on the ground, but he leaned so he could glance at it. He sighed and stretched a hand toward Sarien. “Come here.”
Sarien limped a little closer and then collapsed right next to the healer, grabbing his hand and placing it on the wound. A small chill entered the wound. It didn’t do anything to ease the pain, but it stopped the flow of blood.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Sarien forced himself to his knees. “Can you walk?”
Tomford didn’t reply.
“Tom?” Sarien asked, panicking. He bent over Tomford’s face and felt the slight inhale and exhale of breath. Passed out then. Tomford would require food and rest from all that fighting and the use of his inner stream.
Sarien’s belly grumbled. He would need some too, and soon.