Soulblade: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Romance (A Dance of Fire and Shadow Book 4)
Soulblade: Chapter 24

“BRAC! GRAB HIS ANKLES and pull him clear while I search for Elf-sign.” Deris steps away from the path and investigates the moss-covered tree trunks on either side.

All I can do is watch passively as Brac pulls Dragar back a few paces and waits for further orders, his brow furrowed as he glances around for potential threats.

After a few moments Deris gives a gasp of surprise.

“All the clues were there––but I did not think it could be possible…” He pulls a tiny woven shape from its hiding place among the moss and moves back to the path, kneeling again to draw a series of runes in the smooth mud with the end of his dagger. I can hear the lilt of his chanting but I cannot discern the words. Probably in Elvish in any case.

Finally he looks up. “I have disarmed the wards. We can now pass unharmed.”

“What about Dragar?” I can only surmise that he has proved his innocence by falling foul of whatever those Elf-wards chose to inflict on him.

“We get him on his horse and hope we meet the weavers of these wards before he succumbs fully to their effect.” Deris stoops to help Brac heave the big man unceremoniously over the back of his horse like a load of baggage.

When he looks round, there are a dozen arrow-points aimed at his heart.

The archers are dressed in blended forest shades that could outmatch even the greatest skills of Sylvani weavers. And they appeared so silently, all I can do is marvel at their agile, almost liquid movements.

I understand almost nothing of Elvish beyond the few songs and poems Deris would teach me as we rode together in happier days back in Samaran. I love the lilting cadences of it but I can only interpret this conversation based on the tension I can feel in the exchange. Still, it needs no detailed translation to understand that these forest-dwelling Elves are not at all pleased that we have defeated their wards. They really do not want us to travel any further into their territory.

And they are particularly offended by Dragar’s presence.

It takes Deris long and anxious minutes to persuade them to lower their weapons. At which point I feel able to relax a little and the next thing I know, I’m falling off the horse and hitting the ground.

When I open my eyes, I am lying on a bed of soft moss, staring up at an arched roof of woven living branches. A small brazier burns nearby.

“Deris? Where am I and how long have I been unconscious?”

I can’t see him but I hope he is still watching out for me. I feel uneasy, lying here in an unknown place, flat on my back, too weak to move.

“I’m here. You’re safe.” Deris moves into my field of vision.

“What happened?”

“You fell off your horse.”

“Hmph. I remember that bit. What happened after that?”

“Your unexpected and clumsy performance succeeded far better than my words had done in persuading these forest Elves that we were in no state to be any threat to them. All I had to do after that was remind them of their Fae pledge to aid stricken nomads on the road.”

“So where are we?”

“One of their sentinel outposts. They guard their borders fiercely. Kariel is the leader of this patrol garrison. He judged that you and Marin would not last long enough to reach their main haven in the heart of the forest.”

“So I wasn’t being melodramatic in thinking I was going to die?”

Deris gives a huff of exasperation. “You both should have been a great deal more melodramatic instead of so damned determined and stoical! Kariel says he can’t understand how you have lasted this long.”

I let out a slow breath of relief. “It sounds like he knows what happened to us in the spirit-world.” One look at Deris’ tense face suggests that knowing and fixing might not be the easy sequence I was hoping for.

“They will bring their best healer. You were stabbed seventeen times with morden-blades. Probably when you were fighting the ghoul you told me about. You said you felt the cold piercing through you?”

“Yes, but there was no wound, no blood.”

“Would you expect that, in a world of spirits?”

“No, I suppose not. What about Marin?”

“Twenty. He must have been attacked while he was pulling you out. He said he felt the cold too, like being stabbed by icicles, but he was too focused on getting you out of there to pay much attention at the time.”

“So now what happens?” I manage to turn my head far enough to see Marin laid out on the other side of this strange woodland room. He doesn’t move, so I hope he is unconscious again and not dead. Deris is quick to reassure.

“He is still alive, although Kariel has not seen anyone who has lasted this long with so many morden-blades in him.”

“Stubborn determination as usual, I expect. The healers know how to draw out the blades?”

“For several generations they have lived in this place, barely two days from Duhokan for a fast rider. This is not the first time they have seen victims of the Temple of Death, mainly foolish young men convinced there were treasures concealed within.”

“That’s its name? Temple of Death?”

“They say it had another, back in ancient times when it was an outlier of the Mage Citadel, a place of power and wealth, before it was invaded and changed––but the forest-dwellers do not know that time. Death is their name for it now.”

“Descriptive and appropriate.”

“Kariel says they are deeply grateful for the danger we faced to close the veil and end this plague emanating from Duhokan. They even hope that life might slowly improve for them.”

I’m sure he is about to say more when two Elves quietly enter this strange room of shimmering leaves. I have seen the taller of them before, aiming an arrow at Deris on the forest trail. I assume this is Kariel.

He steps forward to introduce his companion. “This is Orlin, our healer.” He lays a woven basket of jars and boxes on the low table beside my bed, glances at Marin and walks out.

I look up at Orlin. She is much older than I had first thought, although I know this is the way of Elves. Her long dark hair is held back in long rows of braids and her robe is deep green, marked with runes.

I feel a stab of concern that she seems to want to heal me first. “Orlin, please start with Marin. He bears more wounds than I do.”

She glances briefly over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ariel. I have to wait until he is awake. I have been waiting for you these last two hours.”

I notice the same sad look in her eyes that Kariel wore when he looked at Marin, but I refuse to even think about the likely reason for it.

“Then let’s get this over with. Maybe I can help you with Marin once I’m back on my feet.”

She makes no reply, simply reaching over to set a small pot on the brazier. Soon a sweet aroma fills the air and the heavy weariness lifts a little from my body. She takes my hand and raises it in front of my face.

“Look. You are already fading into the spirit world. If I do not draw these blades, you will become one of those malevolent wraiths such as attacked you.”

I look at my hand. It seems even more transparent and weightless than it did before. I shudder at the thought of what I might become.

“Then just do it. Quickly.”

“Of course. I can stop that fate befalling you. But you may not live through the experience. The shock is often too great. You must concentrate your mind on my words, focus on the Elf-song as I work. This is the only way you will make it through this journey back into life.”

“Anything! I would rather die than spend an eternity as one of those things.”

Orlin takes a long slow breath and begins her song. It is beautiful, haunting, but it brings challenge, not comfort. Then she presses her hand onto my shoulder and I feel a cold twitch through skin and muscle as she grips something and pauses for a moment, looking steadily into my eyes, as if making sure I am ready.

Then she draws out a long white blade, thin and fine as a needle.

The pain sears through me, wrenching and twisting as if trying to pull every organ from inside my body and it takes a few moments before it occurs to me that the screams I can hear are my own. Through the swirling mist in front of my eyes I watch her drop the stiletto into the flames of the brazier. The fire hisses and the flame turns white and then blood-red for a few moments before the blade vanishes.

Orlin pauses her singing. Her instructions are quiet but severe. “Ariel. You must be able to hear the song. If I have to keep waiting for silence, this will take far longer than it should.”

All I can manage is a pathetic whimper.

“I’ll try to keep it quiet.”

“Good.”

The song starts again, weaving through the green-rippling air around us.

Only sixteen more to go…

I CAN SEE STARS GLIMMERING softly in the spaces between the arch of leaves above me. By the time Orlin had reached the last few wraith-daggers, her song had become blended with my grim determination to live through the ordeal so that I could help Marin.

Orlin walked out a few minutes ago, muttering something about needing more herbs. I hope she is not going to plaster any more over my body. The hot, wet layers of fragrant plant-paste were comforting when she first bound them to me, but now they are cooling they are drawing heat out of me that I would much prefer to keep for myself.

Deris has disappeared. I glance across at Marin. He has not moved since I first saw him in here.

Hells, I can manage without herb-paste and he doesn’t need any more cold squashed next to him.

I struggle to sit up, the cold wraps of sodden bandages weighing me down like heavy layers of lumpy seaweed. As soon as I succeed in stripping off the last one, I walk unsteadily across the smooth paved floor and stretch out under the covers next to Marin. He is naked just as I was, and he is deathly cold. I dare not hold him too tight in case I press the wraith-knives deeper into him. It seems strange that I still cannot see or feel them.

Cautiously, I reach out my hand, softly gliding over the contours of his body. I notice with a shock how much leaner he is now, muscle and sinew ribbed like bands of steel under his cool skin. It is as if the fight against the wraith-poison has exhausted his flesh as well as his strength.

Then I feel it. A tiny stab of cold against my fingertips as they brush across his shoulder. I circle it cautiously, exploring the way it lies, not unlike the way I learned to draw bee stings as a child every time my love of honey let boldness overcome wisdom when seeking the nests. I’m tempted to try to draw the needle out myself but Orlin’s warning stays in my mind.

You must listen to the song…

I can only remember a few soft notes of the song, but I repeat them over and over, hoping it will help Marin to wake up before it is too late.