A Paladin's War Ch. 14

Smythe didn't know what to say. A part of him thought it was an awful way to die. Another part thought the Heralds deserved it. "I didn't ask her to-"

A shake of Amina's head stopped him mid-sentence. "I would not believe you did," she assured him. "The World Guardians do as they will, as they always have, but I've never heard of one who sought vengeance on behalf of a mortal."

Elaina was looking at him as if she'd never seen him before. "She did this? Vayani?" Her gaze drifted back to the small mountain of brambles filling the hollow. "This is... Terrible."

"What they did in Ironshire was terrible," Smythe said in a hard voice. He realised he was gripping his reins tightly as he remembered the explosions. Elaina nudged her horse closer and touched his arm, her expression compassionate.

"What is done is done," Amina stated with finality. "I would not have chosen this for the Heralds, but it was not our decision." She dismounted and strode forward, pulling her sword free of the sheath on her back. The steel glinted in the moonlight.

"What are you doing?" Elaina asked as she swung from the saddle. Smythe followed suit, frowning at the Priestess's back.

"I doubt Vayani was interested in more than killing the Heralds," Amina replied without looking back. "I intend to find out what has been left behind."

Elaina shot him a searching glance before dismounting and lifting Shatter from the loop on her saddle. The deadly spiked mace gleamed softly in the moonlight. Smythe hurried after her. Amina was already at the huge wall of brambles, lifting her sword to start cutting through, but as Smythe approached, they tangle began to move all on its own.

"What in-" Elaina started to say as the thorny vines shifted and parted in a crackling rustle, creating a tunnel just large enough for the three arohim to enter. Smythe had wondered if this would happen. Now he knew.

Amina lowered her sword. "Interesting," she said softly. Again, she glanced at Smythe's new leg. "Henley, precisely what is your connection to Vayani?" Her sapphire gaze demanded an answer, one that he was hesitant to give. Why, he could not say.

"This happened that day in the Emerin," Elaina said on his other side. "The branches of the trees moved for you. I was going to ask about it, but then Burin died, and in all the chaos, I forgot."

He took a deep breath. "Vayani is... Carrying my child." For the first time ever, he saw Amina's mouth fall open in shock. Elaina's gasp accompanied the Priestess's discountenance. Two sets of big, pretty eyes regarded him in the night, stunned.

"That is impossible," Amina breathed. "You must be mistaken."

Smythe rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. "I wish that were the case, sometimes," he replied. "But, well, the evidence is clear." He moved his hands in an arc over his middle, mimicking a swollen belly.

"Henley!" Elaina barked, slapping him hard on the shoulder. "How could you? She is a World Guardian!"

"I am thinking the same thought," Amina added firmly.

"It wasn't my bloody idea!" he shot back, raising his hands defensively. Amina looked about to do more than just hit him. "She was the instigator!"

Elaina scoffed as she moved around in front of him, so now the two women were side by side. "And you were helpless?"

He blushed. It wasn't completely true, yet at first, it had been that way. "She's ah... Not an easy woman to say no to."

"She forced you?" Amina asked, her tone disbelieving.

"Not exactly," Smythe answered after a moment. He wished they'd stop looking at him like that. He hadn't bloody done anything wrong! "But in a way..."

"Tell me what happened," Amina demanded. "Every detail. You speak of something that has not occurred in the entire history of the world."

There was no arguing with Amina when she was like this. Well, there was no arguing with her ever, usually, but to try now would probably end with him tangled up in the blackthorns with the Heralds. Sighing, he told them the story.

"You have possibly changed the course of everything," Amina said when he finished. She'd sheathed Eternal in the scabbard on her back and begun pacing gracefully as he'd told his story, back and forth along the opening in the brambles.

"Bloody incredible," Elaina added, staring at him still, though now there was a small smile on her face. What she could find amusing about all this he could not imagine. He was sure he'd find out soon enough.

"The child could be a powerful arohim, one of our best," Smythe offered, trying to see the best in the situation. He'd said the same thing to himself many times.

"Or it could be a freak," Amina countered, glaring at him. "A monster that wreaks havoc across the land as it sees fit."

"But Aros' power surely would not be available to it in that case," Elaina said.

Amina tossed her hands up. "Can you be sure? Aros can withdraw his grace from us if we lose the right to wield it, but this is something new altogether."

"I do not think that will be the result," Smythe said, going out on a limb. He did not know how he knew, but he was sure. Well, almost completely sure, anyway.

Amina was suddenly standing inches away from him, her gaze intense. "How can you know?" she asked him quietly. The world around them seemed to disappear, until it was just him and her and nothing else. She could do that when she wished. "Look at what she did." She threw a hand back, toward the spiny mountain of vines. "That is not a power I wish to test, Henley."

He felt Elaina's hand slip into his and squeeze comfortingly. Love radiated from her. It did from Amina, too, but there was also anger, and some fear. That last was not something he'd sensed from her often.

"She was protecting me," he replied just as softly. "She is good. I believe it. Or at least, she's not evil. She is as ancient as the hills and just as hard to read, but she wants balance for the world, and she is not claimed by Maharad. Of this I am certain."

Amina searched his face for a long time, and he felt her vala pulse in him like a rush of warm honey in his veins. He held to his resolve, letting her feel his heart. Finally, she nodded. "I trust you." She touched his face briefly before whirling around and striding into the bramble tunnel. "And I very much hope you are right," she added without looking back.

Elaina smiled up at him. She was still holding his hand. He could feel her relief, and also a streak of amusement. "We'd better follow her," she said, releasing his hand as she started forward. "Just try not to fuck any more Guardians tonight, if possible."

"Don't have to tell me twice," he muttered as he followed. Once inside the vines, the tunnel shifted and lengthened as they walked, occasionally dropping the body of a Herald as it came free of the tangle. Smythe's mouth twisted in distaste as he stepped over a severed head. Other detritus littered their path; discarded weapons and clothes, tents shredded to strips of yellow canvas, pieces of camp furniture, arms and legs torn from bodies. Vayani had not been gentle. It felt too quiet in here, like a graveyard in the Edincairn at midnight.

"At least she spared the horses," Elaina whispered from beside him. Smythe realised she was right; he had not sensed or seen any dead horses either.

"She wasn't mad at the horses," he replied quietly.

Amina walked a few paces ahead in silence, her head swivelling as she searched with her vala. She avoided bodies and other obstacles alike with her usual flowing grace and not so much as a murmur of discomfort. After a few minutes, she pointed off to their left. "This way, Henley." The vines did not move for her, but when Smythe got a little closer and faced that direction, the tunnel began to expand that way. He couldn't sense much down there except for more of the same, but Amina had keener senses. Sure enough, about thirty paces on she stopped where the body of an older man hung from his neck on the side of the tunnel as if by some dark ritual, a thick vine wound around his throat. His ragged cloak was bloody, but Smythe could sense the red knots of rank on his shoulder. This man had been a commander. A very high rank among the Heralds. Despite the rank and the particularly gruesome display, Smythe couldn't tell why Amina had led them here.

Elaina grunted sourly as she regarded the corpse's bulging eyes and bloated tongue. "Almost too harsh a death, even for a Herald."

Amina slipped a hand in behind the commander's cloak and pulled several slips of paper from a pocket. "The contents of these may be interesting, though I will need light to read them." She tucked them away in a small pouch she kept at her belt. "Lead us away from here, would you Henley? I have had my fill of this place."

That sounded like a bloody fine idea to him.

*

In the early hours of the morning, Aran landed before the gates of Ironshire, his eyes wide. Where before the tall log gates had stood proud and strong, they were now smashed down, blackened and burned, lying in splinters, some as thick as a man. The town walls were in bad shape, too, the heavy stone buckled in some places, or simply gone in others, leaving gaping holes.

The smell of char hung thick in the air as he stepped into the town, though the fires had long gone out. Many of the houses and shops and taverns were in similar condition. Piles of bones and ash awaited him as he walked the deserted streets, remnants of bonfires made up of darkspawn bodies.

Sadness welled in him as he passed the market where he'd first met Rayna, now a mass of ash and rubble and dried blood. The feeling only grew stronger when he reached the street where Smythe's house was. Or what was left of it. Half of the two-storey red brick building was collapsed, showing the ruined interior of the place Aran had once called home for a brief time, one that seemed so long ago now. Another life entirely.

In the town square, he paused and stared around. His own battle experience was not enough to piece together what had happened here, but a bubble of vala-memories - knowledge from arohim long dead - floated to the surface in his mind, piecing together events and creating visions that played before him as if he was seeing it for real.

Hordes of darskpawn invading the town, easily overpowering the ill-prepared town guard, most likely at night, killing or capturing as they desired. The invaders held the town, likely for several days, waiting. Darkspawn did not do that normally. There was no sign of a single Herald. No remnant of a yellow cloak, no lance or pike or sword branded with their insignia. Where had they gone?

Aran realised his feet were moving, and as he walked, the vision sped forward, happenings of the last few days playing around him in his mind.

Soldiers attacking the town, a massive force punching through the gates and swarming the darkspawn. Dwarves, Elves and Men fighting together. In other circumstances, that might have made him smile.

Even this much fighting would not explain the fires, however. Amina, Elaina and Smythe would not have allowed the burning of buildings except at great need, and the darkspawn would not have set fire to buildings they were holding. So how, then?

He was almost back to the front gate when the pieces of the puzzle slotted together to create a horrible picture. "Oh, Aros," he breathed as the explosions echoed in his mind. It was almost as if he could see them, great gouts of fire throwing soldiers and horses in all directions, blowing holes in the walls, levelling buildings. He whispered a prayer for the dead, and another of thanks that his friends had been spared; he knew Elaina was alright, and he would have felt her grief if something happened to the others. A near miss, though. Very near.

"Clever," he muttered as he stared around, his face hard. "Brutal, terrible, but clever." The Heralds had abandoned the town before the darkspawn arrived, leaving the citizens to fend for themselves, but not before laying deadly traps.

"It did not help them, in the end," a woman's voice said from behind him. He had not sensed her coming. In less than a heartbeat he was facing her, Oroth ready. There was more than enough anger in him to set the blade searing in an almost white heat. "Their cleverness."

She was tall and darkly beautiful, with hair the colour of new spring grass and eyes that matched. Her lush, ripe form was wound about with leaves and vines not unlike an Elvish lasselath, leaving plenty of skin bare despite the cool morning. A somewhat swollen belly suggested she was with child. Something about that made him frown, but he pushed it aside.

"Who are you?" he demanded, standing firm.

The woman studied him for a moment, looking him up and down before nodding. "Yes, I am content with you." She appeared not at all fazed to be facing a man with a glowing sword. Was she Elvish? Her ears were not pointed, nor were her eyes the right shape. He felt into her, and found vastness, an infinite void of incomprehensible depth. It would take him months to even decipher a tenth of what she was. But just that sense was enough for him to know.

Oroth cooled as he lowered her, returning to normal steel. "You are Vayani," he said, receiving a nod from the Titan.

"You are perceptive, for one so young," she replied smoothly, her voice sounding like a breeze sighing through a tree-filled hollow on a summer afternoon. Shoots sprung up between the cobblestones around her feet, reaching for the sun that was still yet to fully breach the horizon.

"Maharad does not influence you," Aran observed, sheathing his blade. There wasn't much point keeping it out; if she decided to end him, there was likely little he could do about it.

"He does not," she confirmed, stroking her belly with one hand. Aran frowned again. For the briefest moment, he had felt something, but it couldn't be. "I am my own." Those bright green eyes of hers seemed to see through him, past him. "The ones responsible for the ruin of this place have been destroyed."

"Destroyed? All of them?" Aran asked, for a moment wondering if she meant just the Heralds that were here, or all the Heralds everywhere. Surely, she could not be that powerful. Could she? Vayani was considered one of the lesser guardians, inferior to Agni or Sadani or Rava. Not that Aran was going to say that aloud.

Instead of answering his question, she stared around at the rubble of the once proud town. "This was his home, once," she said. Aran couldn't tell if she was speaking to him or to herself. Whose home? She stroked her belly again. "I will restore it, though I am weakened at present. It may take some time." At the last word, a circle of new grass grew outward from her, expanding one yard at a time until it filled the street before the ruined gates. Creepers emerged from the ground all around, winding themselves around brick and stone and wood and clearing it away, or fitting back into place what was not too badly damaged. Corpses of darkspawn sprouted mosses and fungi as they began to break down and sink into the earth.

Aran turned in a circle, staring in wonder. After a minute or two, the new growth slowed greatly, but did not stop. Vayani exhaled heavily, as if it had taken great effort. "The restoration has begun," she said, a hint of weariness in her otherworldly voice. "The seeds have been planted. Time will attend to the rest."

Aran blinked as he noticed the huge town gates had been pulled back together, the timber logs bound and erected by vines as thick as his legs. They looked stronger than ever. This place would be a green, growing paradise soon, worthy of the Elves themselves. He suddenly realised what he'd sensed earlier. "The child is Henley's, isn't it."

"Fare well, Anarion," was all he got in response. "The samana approaches." She turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Aran called. "Do you know where Agni is? I must find him."

She stopped but didn't turn back. Long moments passed before she finally answered. "Look for the shining black mountain with the belly of fire. He slumbers there, but he will wake soon for the samana." At that, she swayed down the street, turned a corner, and was gone.

Shining black mountain? How could a black mountain shine? Belly of fire had to mean a volcano, but that could be anywhere. With one last look around at the ruined town that had now been promised new life, he launched up into the burgeoning dawn, headed northwest.

*

The massive force of Dwarves, Men and Elves crept north for three more days, inching toward Maralon. The towns and villages along the way were largely deserted, though a few stragglers did join the army as it passed, most enlisting as infantry or as workers to help with the endless jobs an army this size demanded. Cooking, laundry, smithing, hunting and so much more.

Smythe wished for more soldiers, but they took what they could get. There had been no reports of darkspawn, though the scouts always reported they were not far ahead. Always not far ahead; a day or two, maybe three at the outside. Part of Smythe wanted to take Amina and Elaina and race ahead. Surely three arohim could do a great deal of damage before the rest of the army caught up. But it was a foolish thought, one that would surely see them dead if it were acted upon. He did his best to curb his impatience, but it was difficult.

On the night of the third day, he lay in his tent, bare beneath his blankets, Elsa snuggled in beside him. She was always a pleasant distraction during these dark days. He didn't get to spend enough time with her, lately; she had almost as many responsibilities as he did, with managing the folk from the Chapel alongside old Ari. Keeping several thousand people organised and in check was no small task.

"You're worrying again," she murmured against his chest. "What have I told you about incessant worrying?" He glanced down at her, meeting her big dark eyes. As pretty as she was capable, Elsa was thirty-five, though since the melding the fine lines at the corners of her eyes had smoothed, shaving a few years off her face. It was a benefit of the melding, though Smythe wouldn't have cared if she'd kept the lines; she'd been perfect already.

"I can't help it," he told her, gently squeezing her fingers where they were playing in the hair on his chest.

She propped herself up on her elbow, her sandy hair falling down below her head as she looked down at him. His eyes trailed lower, to where her full breasts hung, resting against him. "Want me to take your mind off things?" she asked, giving him a wicked smile. "Again?"

He laughed. "You've just spent the last hour trying to 'take my mind off things,' lass," he replied, lifting his head to peck her lips. "If you can't make me stop worrying, then it can't be done."

She shook her head. "I disagree. I think I need another try." She threw a leg over his waist and mounted him.

"Alright," he conceded, putting on a doubtful tone. "Do your best, woman."

"Oh, I intend to," she purred, trapping his cock between their bodies. Her wet heat rested atop his length. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be a blubbering mess."

"Is that so?" he growled, putting his arms around her back and squeezing her close. She moaned softly as he kissed her neck, and her hips began to buck gently against his hardness. She smelled so good, of rose-scented soap and clean sweat from their lovemaking.

She was right; he was already starting to forget about his worries.

A rumble of thunder in the distance brought Smythe awake. Another storm? A second rumble followed, confirming his fears. He sat up slowly, gently shifting Elsa aside. "What is it?" she mumbled sleepily.