Chapter 7


Replenished, Cade’s stride ate up the desert sand. Two days and little Rotta would pay for her treachery. He would retrieve the clan emerald and his prized pelt. His mind wandered as he ran.

He was little more than a boy really the first time he saw a phant. It was not something he would ever forget. It stumbled into his clan house and knocked the entire stone structure from its foundation. It was an average size phant standing perhaps 40 hands high, all three of its furry muscled legs stomping any who were careless enough to get in its path.

It was common knowledge phant’s were a grumpy lot, but this particular phant was in a rage. Its large claws raked and dug at the adjoining structures, shredding them in an instant. It was obvious to all the phant was injured, probably from attempting to break through the clan’s defenses in search of food.

The winter was particularly harsh that year and food was scarce. Though the clan prepared well for winter, they often hunted to supplement their stores. That year however, meat was a scarcity. The children were weakening, the women were fretting, and all the while the men traversed the bitter tundra looking for some sort of sustenance.

Most of the men were out hunting when the phant raged into the middle of the clan. Cade was still considered a boy man during his twelfth winter, though he already stood taller than most of the men and was well becoming one of the finest swordsman ever produced by the Wardex Clan.

He and several of his friends were all eagerly awaiting their thirteenth winter. Then they would be permitted to hunt with the men, would in actuality become men of the clan.

The phant knocked down several stone cottages all arranged in a circle facing the now displaced clan house. The women were doing their best to fend off the phant but with little reward.

The phant swatted at anyone who came near and several times brought its snapping jaw down to snap at a potential threat. Phant’s did not generally eat humans, but a hungry one and an injured one might do just about anything with its razor sharp fangs.
While yelling to his friends to do the same, Cade ran into his cottage and collected his sword. He was back out in the court yard seconds later.

The phant was in agony. It threw back its head and roared. Its beautiful white fur was spotted with specks of gray and on one side, stained with its own blood.

Cade shouted out for the group to gather together on the phant’s injured left flank. They used their swords to propel the phant from the middle of the settlement.

Cade watched as two of his life time friends came too close to the phant and it removed their heads with one vicious swipe of its great clawed paw.

Fury raged through his blood. He ran around the phant dodging its many swats. He raced ahead and called back to the others to prod the monster along.

There was no need. The phant fixated on the lone figure in front of it. It lowered its great snout and charged.

Cade ran until he thought his lungs would burst. The phant was never more than two breaths behind him. He didn’t even slow when he jumped from the edge of the cliff into mid air with nothing below but hard sharp rocks hundreds of feet down. The phant was so enraged it followed him without pause.

Cade watched as the phant fell to its death, thankful for the small ledge on which he rested.

He climbed from the ledge he and his friends often frequented and looked down at the crumpled body of the phant.
At that moment, the bitter winter air chilled him to the bone. A monster gust of cold air brushed past him with enough force it almost knocked him forward.

He took seven not yet men of the clan with him to see to the phant and left the rest to help the women get the settlement back in some sort of order. Climbing down to the phant was no easy task. The rocks were sharp and treacherous even more so because of the biting wind. Each boy wore a fur cloak and carried a knife meant for skinning and cutting meat, a backpack with a bedroll and a few dried pieces of meat.

It was almost dark when the eight reached the bottom of the ravine. The furs they wore offered some warmth from the chill, but it still bit deep and hard.

Cade collected the wood he threw from the top of the ravine and made his way over to the phant. He started a small fire and the others huddled around. They agreed to take the fur from the phant for pelts and cut it into sections for meat at first light. They assembled sleds made from branches and old blankets to carry the meat out. There was enough meat to see the entire clan through the rest of the winter easily. They unrolled their bed bundles from the small packs and settled in for the night talking excitedly about how they would soon be heroes to the clan. After awhile each boy quieted. They settled fairly close to the beast anticipating its body heat would not entirely dissipate for hours.

The wind howled and buffeted them pulling and pushing on the fire. Large shadows appeared on the cliff faces and each boy man watched warily. Cade felt a deep sense of dread grow in his breast.

He stood and walked around the small encampment. Nothing was amiss. He walked further out into the darkness pulling his pelt tightly around him. Nothing. Turning back toward the fire he was about to chide himself on an overactive imagination when he saw it. The phant’s eye flickered.

Cade stood in shock unable to call out. He was certain the phant was dead. Not just because of the angel of its neck when it landed, but because he had rested his back upon its belly for hours and had not once felt it take a breath.

Cade saw the razor sharp claws extend slowly, quietly. He reached for his missing sword and cursed his decision to leave it for an easier climb down the ravine.

His shout brought the already nervous boys to their feet knives in hand.

Cade ran toward the phant who was now attempting to straighten its shattered neck and hobble up on shattered leg bones. The fragmented bones of the beast rubbed together sounding like feet on gravel. Cade grimaced and stopped long enough to pick up a large boulder. He raced toward the phant still struggling to rise. He raised the boulder high to drop it on the phant’s head when it lifted its head and looked at him.

Cade’s arms went weak and the breath left his body. The phant’s eyes were still dead but it could see. It was as if something was looking through those eyes directly toward Cade with great malice. Cade staggered at the amount of hate filling the red rimmed eyes of the beast.

He took a deep breath shaking off the surprise. He hoisted the rock above his head and before smashing it down on the phant’s skull heard a terrible hiss.

The phant’s head liquefied and all motion stopped.

Cade stood looking down at the phant for a long time after. The others immediately started cutting the beast into manageable pieces determined it would not come back to life yet again.

They carried the phant out of the ravine the next morning. It was two days walk back to the clan. By then each of the 8 had his own new pelt made from the fur of the phant. Cade was the last to take a pelt and more out of necessity than desire. His original furs were shredded on his climb down the cliff. He did not wish to use anything from the beast. But practicality won over superstition and Cade fashioned a long cloak made from the phant’s belly fur. It was by far the warmest and most comfortable piece of covering he ever owned.

Not one boy man spoke of the phant’s resurrection. Not one comment about it when they returned to the clan house and found the men returned from their hunting. Not one word ever uttered even in secret. Something happened in that ravine, all eight knew it. But not one of them could articulate it without fear, something foreign to a Wardex, so none tried.

Cade, so lost in his thoughts of youth, only barely registered the movement. He pivoted on his left foot removing his sword from its sheath in one fluid motion and crouched low. The dark form already in mid flight could not stop its progress past Cade’s left shoulder.

Cade almost struck with his sword but pulled back quickly. A great smile broke out on his face. “Razar!”

The great hound barreled into the large man licking his face.

“Razar,” Cade said again more softly burying his face in the hound’s side.

“I thought you were lost to me old friend,” Cade said again.

Razar barked and licked Cade’s face again. The hound was bred from a pup to be Cade’s companion, a gift from the Captain. He was fearless and an asset in battle. Cade removed his water bottle and bent to allow Razar a drink. While Razar drank greedily Cade gave him a once over.

His short black coat gleamed in the sunlight. There wasn’t a mark on him. That perplexed Cade somewhat. How did Rotta deal with the hound? It was something he’d have answered before he killed her.

When Razar drank his fill they started off. Razar seemed to know exactly where they were heading.

Chapter 8

Gainrel followed Defar Abomram’s caravan to Chennile. The gates swung open to the man without challenge. The caravan lumbered up a great many cobble stone streets, past shops and smithies. Finally, the caravan came to rest at the top of the tallest hill in the city where an elaborate mansion adorned its crown.

The merchant seemed hesitant, unsure of what to do next. He glanced around as if expecting thieves to jump out at any moment. Gainrel studied the merchant carefully taking his full measure while looking at the echoes of his spirit. He smiled.
Finally the six large slaves carrying the litter set it down in front of the large gate to the mansion.

A female hand, with long painted black nails and many golden rings popped out between the silk sashes and snapped.
The merchant moved faster than Gainrel believed his size would allow. He rushed toward the litter and that outstretched hand.
Gainrel grimaced for he saw the truth behind the lie of that hand. While humans saw a beautiful arm attached no doubt to a beautiful lady, he saw the decay beneath the veneer. He saw the wretched rotting flesh hanging in pieces from the molded bones. The rings looked all the more gaudy next to such desolateness.

Gainrel closed his eyes and started to hum. The arm snapped back into the silk folds as if burned. The slaves bent and retrieved the poles of the litter and without a word began bearing their burden back down the hill. Gainrel did not miss the perplexed but relieved expression on the merchant’s face as he stood watching the litter pass.

Gainrel used his voice to control the slaves. He could feel the rage emanating from inside the litter. Obviously the “lady” wished to take up residence in Merchant Defar’s home, a prospect ill suiting the fat merchant.

“Thank you,” the merchant whispered on a sigh to no one in particular.

Gainrel smiled and let his reply echo softly in the air. “You are welcome.”

Defar Abomram opened the gates to his home. Once his camels were in the courtyard he did something he had never done in his life. He locked the gates. That was not the only first for Defar that night, he also sought his priest.

Gainrel continued to hum. The slaves carrying the litter never faltered though he knew they tired. He studied each man’s echoing spirit and saw only pain, hate and longing for death. He sighed. Such was the way of this world.

Familiar with the town, Gainrel directed the slaves to the town square. He sent a wave of foreboding over the square to rid the few remaining occupants out enjoying the coolness of the night.

Once the slaves set the litter down by the large pool fountain, Gainrel once again checked the echo of their spirits. Looking for any trace of promise, any morsel of truth in their soul, he found nothing. He dismissed them from the binding spell holding them to the litter. Within moments the men melted into the darkness surrounding the square each finding his own way out of the city.

Gainrel felt the spell and knew the occupant of the litter was attempting to ward itself. With a flick of his hand a great wind blew and removed every silk scarf from the litter. He came down slowly, bright white wings extended beside the conveyance. His feet hovered mere inches from the ground. His natural illumination lit the square. The woman in the litter shrank back hissing.

The wretchedness of her spirit’s echo was so discordant Gainrel had to keep from gritting his teeth. She was a willing medium of the dead, or so she thought. What she actually was happened to be far different. She was a conduit for evil. Any one who called out to the dargons were almost always consumed by them eventually. Their lives driven into total madness by the never ending tortures of the very ones they called to befriend.

“Your name,” Gainrel spoke with enough force to rock the entire square.

“Kali,” the girl said in a pitiful voice.

“Not you,” Gainrel spoke with authority. “The one who dwells within you.”

Gainrel could see the imp well enough. It hid from the light but the woman’s thin skin did little to shelter it. Its claws covered its ears and it moaned.

Red eyes shot hatred toward Gainrel through the young woman’s. The voice that spoke was no longer that of the young woman, but a harsh grating voice. “Oodie is my name. I know you Gainrel the teacher. What is it you want with me? My witch and I have harmed no one.”

Gainrel’s eyebrow rose. “You harm the one you inhabit.”

The imp snarled. “She called to me. She begged me to dwell within her.”

Gainrel did not care, nor was there any option in the matter. “You know the law imp, if imp you be.”

The woman cowered back farther away from Gainrel. The imp’s fear plain in her eyes.

“What are you doing here Oodie?” Gainrel asked. Oodie tried hard not to answer. “No imp no matter how skilled has the power to stay invested in a human spirit for any length of time. This woman has seen your habitation too long. I sense there is more here than an imp possessing his medium.”

He could scan the imp’s mind but even with all his experience, could not negate the after effects. It would not do for him to be in a weakened state now. Gainrel’s voice was a strong compulsion all its own. “Tell me Oodie who you serve and what is your purpose here in this city.”

“I-come-to- prepare- the- way for….” The girl promptly bit off her tongue. Blood flowed down her chin and dripped upon her red tunic. The smile she gave Gainrel was malicious.

Gainrel spread his arms toward the sky and took up a pure note of song. He watched as the woman gyrated and moaned and fell back onto the blankets of the litter. Gainrel increased the volume and the woman started shaking violently. Gainrel lifed her with his will into the air, a bright white light illuminating them both.

“Peace,” he whispered. “And justice.”

The imp flew from the woman’s back as if yanked out by a large invisible hand. Gainrel pointed to the imp and let loose a large ray of burning white light. The imp screamed in fury and disintegrated.

Gainrel gently lowered the woman back to the litter. He sighed. It was often the way when imps or dargons possessed a body long enough. While it looked healthy from the outside, it was all illusion. The woman’s body reflected that reality now. Her skin shriveled up and faded from the bones. Her eyes melted into their sockets making liquid pools upon the fine silk. She released a last sigh from her putrid lungs.

Gainrel grieved. Her spirit was not soaring to meet the Just Creator. It was going to join those she called out to so many times in her life on this planet. He knew she would find no comfort there.

Without pause he took to the air, the imps words beating around in his mind. The imp could have spoken of a lesser dargon, even a major dargon, but Gainrel knew without a doubt it was neither. The prophecy of the silent war was beginning and Mikael was going to need all the help he could get.