War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6 Read online

  ‘You can hear us?’ Jarlain forced herself to a seated position and looked at the Elder. Tears streaked the older woman’s face but they were tears of wonder as she looked at the bear.

  ‘So many ancient memories are returning to me,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes looked far away and began to glow subtly with the blue of the Sight. ‘When Hai left us, hope left my heart, despite what he said. Now hope fills it once more. I see a bright future before us but on far different shores, and the path to it is dark, many will not survive.

  ‘Now our people are so few in number. Look at them, we’re all that remain of the once great peoples of Unafey. But ahead, if we dare to reach for it, a new world dawns.’

  ‘A new world,’ Jarlain echoed, catching the feeling of hope.

  ‘A world like nothing we have seen before.’ Sharnu nodded. ‘But between us and it the black chasm of Oblivion yawns.’

  Jarlain shivered. ‘We must leap across it.’

  Sharnu’s eyes lost their faraway look. Smiling, she squeezed the younger woman’s hand.

  Jarlain ate Tallen fruit whilst Sharnu and Fenn slept. Fighting back tiredness, she looked at the giant boat filled with the slumbering people of all the tribes of the Uncharted Lands. She had never seen so many people in one place; there were at least a thousand of them, many of them wounded, some seriously. Her eyes lingered briefly on those whose chests no longer rose or fell and her heart became heavy.

  ‘They did not die in pain,’ Murlonius spoke softly. ‘In this place, their souls are easily found by Zanufey.’

  Jarlain turned to the boatman. He stood at the prow with his back to her. He was not rowing but wading with his oar. It seemed impossible that he could manoeuvre this massive boat filled with thousands in this manner, but this was the Sea of Opportunity and anything was possible.

  Yisufalni sat beside him, staring straight ahead. The Ancient looked exhausted as she gripped the side of the boat. The pale, strained face and distant look in Yisufalni’s eyes made her realise the Ancient was deep in concentration. Murlonius’ face was set in a grim expression and there was a sheen of perspiration on his brow.

  Jarlain made her way over the sleeping bodies towards them.

  ‘Something hit me on the head but…we made it out, didn’t we?’ asked Jarlain.

  Yisufalni spoke without looking at her. ‘He’s seen us. He knows. They’re hunting for us at this moment. I’m doing all I can to conceal our passage.’ She passed something shiny to her.

  Jarlain took the strange metal dart with a vicious tip. Inside was a tiny vial of green liquid.

  ‘Venosian saran poison,’ said Yisufalni. ‘Deadly. A special tool of Baelthrom’s second-hand man, Hameka. He saw Murlonius and I together, clear as day. Now, Baelthrom hunts us. He knows we meddle in the affairs of Maioria against him. Despite our curse he has seen what we can do. He will not let us live.’

  Murlonius spoke. ‘That dart was meant for you. To save you, and thus the Navadin, Yisufalni had to expose us.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jarlain. Had she jeopardised the lives of the very people who had saved her and her peoples? The thought made her feel sick.

  ‘Do not be,’ Yisufalni smiled. ‘I made the choice. Responsibility rests with me.’

  ‘You can’t have known,’ added Murlonius.

  There was no hint of accusation in either of their voices. They accepted all that happened, without question or judgement. Humbled, Jarlain was awestruck by these beautiful beings, the ancestors of the Elves. Wisdom, grace and sorrow radiated from them.

  ‘The lives of the Navadin are now far more important than our own,’ said Yisufalni.

  Jarlain frowned.

  Yisufalni continued. ‘There’s only one last task left for us to do before our time is complete.’

  Jarlain saw the frown of pain pass across Murlonius’ face, though he said nothing.

  ‘What?’ Jarlain asked. What was this thing they had to do that caused him pain? But they did not answer. She tried formulating another question but found her mind drifting and a deep sleep stole over her.

  The sound of waves slapping the side of the boat awoke her. Jarlain opened her eyes and shivered in the cold. The sea rocked more than usual and a thick, damp fog had replaced the soft mist. She sat up at last, thankful she wore her armour to fight the chill.

  Fenn was already awake, his snout lifted and twitching as he smelled the air. The fog cleared revealing craggy grey rocks and a thick forest of evergreen trees clustering down to the water’s edge on either side of the boat.

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Jarlain, her voice hushed so as not to wake the others.

  ‘Brackish water. We travel upstream along one of the many rivers flowing down from the central Everridge Mountains between Davono and Lans Himay,’ said Yisufalni, her eyes scanning the fog-covered land.

  ‘The boat has arrived at the destination of the one who wanted it the most,’ said Murlonius.

  ‘Marakon is here, then?’ Jarlain tried to see if there were any soldiers or knights moving through the forest but there was nothing.

  Murlonius turned and smiled at her. ‘Not you, the bear.’ He nodded to Fenn.

  The bear twitched his ears.

  ‘You chose here, why? What is here?’ she telepathed to him.

  ‘We call the bears. Woo has not much time. I smell Oodabans here, they can help you humans. Otherwise they will die of cold. They have no fur.’

  ‘Wait, who is Woo? What are Oodabans.’ Jarlain frowned.

  ‘Great Woo of the Forest. Ood is her mate. Oodabans, deer people.’

  Jarlain blinked in surprise. Woo was Woetala in bear speak, but did he really mean the Karalanths Marakon had told her about?

  Murlonius and Yisufalni stood up. Jarlain squinted to where they pointed and was startled by what she saw.

  Antlers appeared through the fog, then the heads and bodies of the people they were attached to. These people had antlers on their heads but were otherwise human down to the abdomen and then animal for the rest. They looked like the three-prongs from her Gurlanka homelands, only much bigger. She realised her mouth was open and closed it. All of the people were now awake and staring at the Karalanths in silence.

  Only when they lowered their drawn bows did Jarlain realise they had weapons pointed at them. There were five deer-people, four males and a female, clustered on the stony-bank at the waters’ edge. They stared in equal measure back at the two Ancients and the enormous boat filled with refugees. Looks of awe spread across the Karalanths’ faces and their white tails flicked nervously back and forth.

  Some dropped their gaze respectfully, reminding Jarlain of the power and authority the Ancients might once have commanded. These two before her were the last of their race, just as the boat-load of refugees she sat amongst were the last of her race. She swallowed painfully.

  The boat ground gently on to the pebbles and Fenn jumped out. The Karalanths looked at the bear, their surprise deepening as he padded fearlessly towards them. It struck Jarlain that they weren’t in the least bit afraid of the bear, when most humans would have run.

  The nearest Karalanth, a man with long, greying hair and fur, put away his bow and arrow and spoke in a clipped language to the bear. He raised his hand and touched Fenn’s fur, stroking his great head down to his neck. Fenn seemed to accept this as some kind of greeting. The bear turned and looked at Jarlain as if wondering where she was.

  Hesitantly, Jarlain stepped over the side of the boat and walked towards them. She laid a hand on Fenn’s neck as the Karalanths eyed her up and down. The male Karalanth said something over his shoulder to the others, who replied and nodded their heads.

  ‘You are dressed as a soldier of the Feylint Halanoi, and yet your race is not one of them. You are of those people,’ he nodded to the refugees, ‘but they are not dressed as you. Who are you to be bear companion?’ the man spoke perfect Frayonesse like Marakon, with only the barest hint of an accent.

  ‘I am
Jarlain of the Gurlanka. These are some of my clan, the others are other clans. Cousins. We are all that remain of the peoples of the Uncharted Lands. The Immortal Lord came, with his Dread Dragons.’

  The Karalanth nodded and took a deep breath. ‘I am Triest’anth, and we Karalanths are also few in number, but not so few as these two Ancient Ones before us.’

  He turned from Jarlain and walked gracefully towards Murlonius and Yisufalni. The other Karalanths followed.

  ‘I have heard of your kind but never seen them,’ said Triest’anth. ‘You are but a myth of myths and yet here you stand. Are you truly the last?’

  ‘We are, Brave One. The world is changing and our time is nearly done. We bring with us the last of a mighty race, also a myth of myths and possibly older. Here stands before you the first of the Navadin.’ He nodded towards Jarlain.

  The Karalanth looked shocked. He glanced back at Jarlain.

  ‘Great Doonis came to me,’ she said quietly. ‘I was close to death. He returned to me two things, memory and speech. Memory of what we once were and the language of the bear. This is so my people might live. But we are weak and battle weary, and we do not know how to survive in this new world. Will you help us?’ She caught Sharnu smiling at her from the boat, a look of pride on her face. There were warriors, Elders, chiefs and Leaders of the Hunt amongst the refugees, and yet it would be she who would lead her people.

  Triest’anth studied her face, as if weighing up the responsibility of what she asked of him.

  ‘Woo has not much time,’ repeated Fenn.

  The Karalanth looked at the bear, clearly able to hear him.

  ‘I do not feel I have a choice,’ said Triest’anth. ‘But the bear is right, Woetala is dying. There is not much time. Because Doon has graced you, we will help you live.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jarlain bowed deeply. ‘Come.’ She motioned to her people.

  With everybody’s help, including the Karalanths, the tribes of the Uncharted Lands climbed out of the boat, helping the injured.

  ‘Danger draws near, our time is done here,’ said Murlonius. Jarlain watched as he replaced the curious hourglass back into the sack at his feet. ‘In the astral planes, others come.’

  ‘Thank you, Murlonius,’ said Jarlain.

  Both he and Yisufalni nodded.

  The boat, now back to its normal small size, ground off the stones and back into the water of its own accord. Glimmering mist formed in the fog.

  3

  Dwarves, Demons and Karalanths

  Marakon waited by the entrance as soldiers and horses filed into the demon tunnel, faces pale, weapons drawn.

  The stone door ground shut, sealing them in thick blackness as the torches all went out. Knowing what was going to happen didn’t lessen the carnal fear that knotted itself in Marakon’s stomach.

  ‘Demon doors always shut after something has passed through them, and all light is extinguished. Somehow they know,’ he said loudly, forcing his voice to sound almost bored. ‘Look, Velistor glows only dully. There’s nothing here for us to fear. Try lighting the torches again.’

  Soldiers rummaged in packs looking for flint and tinder. Sparks lit up the cavern and torches flared back into life. The relief was palpable.

  ‘There’s not enough air here to feed the flames and us,’ Eiretonne growled, his gravelly voice somehow booming although he had spoken quietly.

  Someone took a few steps and then paused when they heard a loud crunch.

  A torch was held low.

  ‘Bones,’ a voice said with a tremor.

  The horror of a demon skull assaulted Marakon’s eye. Its thick cranium and large, empty eye sockets bore into his own as if it saw and hated him again. Its skeleton lay in broken bits around it.

  ‘Decapitated after its death. It must have been killed by magic that prevented it exploding,’ said Marakon.

  ‘Why only one?’ asked Justenin.

  ‘Mortally wounded Shadow Demons fade into the shadow taking their victims with them before they die. They leave no trace of themselves or their prey. But the others, the Grazen, they explode when killed,’ said Marakon.

  He scanned the tunnel and passed his hand over the wall. It came away black. ‘Look, see? I thought these walls were black but they’re grey beneath. The rock is blackened with soot and heat. This place is thick with dead demons only we can’t see most of them.’

  His explanation was intended to reassure but he found it unnerved everyone even more, including himself. Demon wraiths were the last thing they needed. Thoughts about demon battles eons past crowded his mind. Had he fought here? There had been so many battles in so many places, he most probably had.

  He shook his head. They had to get moving. ‘Bokaard?’

  ‘Sir?’ said the Atalanph captain, his blue eyes shining in the dark.

  ‘You bring up the rear. You can see in the dark if anything is following us.’

  The Atalanph nodded and made his way to the back.

  ‘Eiretonne?’

  ‘Yes, Commander?’ The dwarf stepped closer, a determined look in his eyes.

  ‘Stay by my side,’ Marakon commanded. ‘You can also see well in the dark in these tunnels. I’m hoping you’ll have a better dwarven feel for underground caverns than I do. Where are the wizards you were bringing?’

  The dwarf motioned with his hand and an unlikely slender dwarf female came forward. Brown freckles covered her nose and cheeks in an attractive manner and her long braid hung over one shoulder to her waist. She looked frightened, her large brown eyes wide and her helmet askew. She also looked completely uncomfortable in her ill-fitting armour that hung about her frame. She held her short sword too limply and Marakon quickly worried she’d do more damage to herself than the enemy.

  He held back a sigh. Wizards never made good warriors. This one looked no good for battle, but the Feylint Halanoi had only allowed him two wizards of the ten he’d requested. If this was the best of them he worried what the second one was like. He remembered another dwarven female, an accomplished warrior who had been impaled upon the deck of his ship many months ago. Would this one share a similar fate? He prayed not.

  ‘She’s not a warrior, Commander, but what she lacks in strength she doubles in battle magic,’ said Eiretonne, guessing his thoughts. ‘That’s the reason the Feylint Halanoi hired her. She is not a witch or seer but a wizard. They say some women are finding the power again; they say it’s because of the Raven Queen.’

  ‘I can believe that.’ Marakon gave a nod, relieved somewhat. He turned to the dwarven woman whose cheeks had begun to colour under the scrutiny.

  ‘Name?’ he asked.

  ‘Shelley, Sir,’ she said.

  Her voice was quiet but at least it didn’t tremble.

  ‘Shelley, when it darkens cast a low light but not so much it drains your energy. Beware of demon wraiths, they move in the shadows. Are you familiar with demon magic? Good. At this point in time, any we encounter should be our friends, but be wary.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Shelley, bowing awkwardly. She hurried away.

  He turned back to Eiretonne. ‘And where is the other wizard?’

  ‘Er, well, I bargained for her over two other wizards,’ said Eiretonne, standing straighter and confident in his choice. ‘You see, well, the other one was really two—twins, you see, Sir. They could not be separated. Looks can be deceiving, but I know a good battle wizard when I see one. She has more ability than the other two combined. I was so impressed, it made me believe that the power is finally returning to our women folk with the rise of this, er, Raven Queen.’

  Marakon took a deep breath and let it go slowly. ‘I guess I’ll have to take your word for it, Eiretonne. Let’s hope you’re right.’

  ‘Aye, Sir, you’ll not be disappointed.’

  ‘Still, we only have one wizard for one hundred soldiers… I’d prefer one to ten. Never mind.’ Marakon sighed and waved his hand. ‘Justenin?’

  The tall officer stepped into the ligh
t. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Protect the wizard at all costs. Take a position beside her and back from the frontline.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  Marakon made his way past the waiting soldiers until he stood at the front. He peered into the blackness beyond the torches and dull light of Velistor. Who knew what lay in that darkness…

  Eiretonne stepped beside him, the keen edge of his axe reflecting the torchlight. No one said a word as they moved forwards. Thankfully, demons came in large sizes and the tunnel was high and sometimes wide enough to let three soldiers pass side by side.

  As he walked, many questions flitted through Marakon’s mind but eventually they all boiled down to one: how would he know which way to go when the passage split—and split he knew it would? He placed all his trust in Velistor, but how did it know where he wanted to go? Maybe it only ever sought out demons. He would know, his inner feeling said, just as he had known in that lifetime eons ago.

  Eiretonne pointed ahead, snapping him out of his thoughts. ‘Look, the tunnel brightens.’

  Sure enough, the blackness of the tunnel gave way to an eerie grey light that came from nowhere in particular.

  Marakon pursed his lips into a smile, now remembering the mysterious demon light. It grew until everything was bathed in muted soft grey. ‘Douse the torches, there’s enough light to see and we might need them later.’

  They moved forward, the mood of the soldiers changing from pensive to bored as the tunnel continued endlessly. After an hour, the passageway made its inevitable split into two tunnels.

  ‘Halt,’ Marakon called and the line shuffled to a stop.

  He bent down to inspect the floor and then the sides of each tunnel, looking for a clue. Memory flashed. He held the tip of Velistor against the ground of one tunnel and gently scraped it around the circumference. Velistor hummed and grew brighter. Strange, luminous green symbols flared where the spear passed, making the demon symbols usually hidden to human eyes, visible.