Isubane’s Echo, Chapter 10: The Unveiling

Image by Gemini

Walking cleared the mind. Cat wished the walk stretched another twenty miles, but he had barely one to sort through his jumbled thoughts before reaching the encampment of Beornen’s Barbarians. His friends remained silent; Beldere simply stared forlornly at the ground, his tears gone. The soldiers’ jokes, an attempt to drain adrenaline and emotional overload, carried to him. The air hung thick with stunted empathy; Cat still smelled the blood, saw the vacant eyes of what were, moments ago, living, breathing fathers, sons, daughters, and mothers. Guilt and sadness wrestled for dominance, drowning the relief of being alive and unscathed, and the hollow pride of victory.

“It’s a good thing old Catwright isn’t trying to cause trouble; I don’t know if the city could handle it if he truly applied himself. Told you all this would be an exciting assignment!” Spikey’s voice, Cat knew, carried intentionally, fishing for an emotion, a reaction. Anything.

Cat turned, bringing the soldiers to a staggering halt. “Yes, Spikey, things are about to get very exciting,” he said, his voice calm but hard. “I wasn’t making a real effort before, but now I feel I have good reason. There will be a great deal of trouble in our future,” he paused dramatically, “if you choose to stay. I have plans that may not align with your job descriptions. I want you to think long and hard about where your true loyalties lie, because the Duke and his druid council might dislike what I do next. If family and loved ones depend on you, you may want to seek a new assignment, because being around me will soon become far more dangerous.” He resumed walking, leaving the now-silent soldiers exchanging trepidatious glances.

“That goes for the three of you as well; this was just the first battle in a war. I wasn’t raised to lose wars.”

“I will stand with you, my lord.” Chatwick’s unusually sober voice declared, his hand on the hilt of his new sword. The stark sincerity of his proclamation made Cat smile.

“Thank you, my friend,” Cat said, “and please, just call me Cat.”

“I’m here, for as long as my mother lets me stay,” Seleger said wryly. Cat was surprised she hadn’t already arrived, tucking her boy into a security box and dragging him back to Breckan’s Hold.

“Let me in,” Beldere urged.

“Yes, you’re right.” Cat sighed. “I’m ready to let you link with me. I think you should link with all of us. I’ve been stubborn and foolish. If we’d been linked, that encounter could have gone very differently. I ignored the advantages of our working together for my selfish pride, and for that, I apologize.” It had been difficult to admit the truth to himself, but speaking the words, finally surrendering, felt good. Cat already sensed the initial probe of Beldere’s awareness, and with a small, mutual effort, the mental barriers formed a small aperture.

I’m here. The touch of Beldere’s mind felt soft and reassuring. Cat had linked with battlemages, battle priests, and druids before, but this felt more personal, warmer, yet at the same time, he focused his will to avoid panicking and pulling away from the intrusion.

Can you see my plans?

Some of them.

I want you to train as well, wear armor, learn to defend yourself.

Very well.

Linking, or “creating thought webs” as some soldiers called them, facilitated instant, efficient communication. It demanded discipline and practice to learn, but it significantly increased any fighting force’s effectiveness.

Heees inmyhead in my head my ohohohohooooooh, I hope we can we can stop to pee soon needtopeeneed to pee… hungry smell sausages oh mmm pork sausage, Watcher’s britches look at… breasts breasts big beautiful bouncing bosomes, so soft so smooth and… The stream of thought cut off abruptly.

Beldere sighed aloud. “It may be some time before Chatwick can join with us fully.” Seleger laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

“I think I see a public latrine up on the left,” Cat said.

Moments later, the humor faded as a palpable tension demanded caution. Rounding the last corner, they saw the Barbarians’ encampment: a newly raised rock berm guarding the front, and three dozen mercenaries armed with projectile weapons behind its defenses.

A towering man stood before them, wearing a gleaming breastplate over well-worn leathers, a variety of weapons strapped all over him. He stood relaxed, yet ready. Beornen’s voice boomed. “Greetings, Lord Isubane and friends, please forgive our wariness. I heard you just destroyed a much larger mercenary company. If you’ve come for trouble, you’ll find us no easy meat.” Cat believed him; he knew from his conversations with Garreth that the Barbarians hired for quality, not numbers. Their leader emanated a power unlike anything the young warrior had experienced. It was an aura of lithos, and something more.

“We’re not looking for trouble. You invited me here.” He wanted to say much more, but it had already been a long day, and Cat felt he’d exhausted his week’s supply of speeches.

The Barbarians in front and the soldiers behind both relaxed. “Come then and enjoy our hospitality; we have drink and more drink, and some food. Killing makes you thirsty.” Cat wished he could say he hadn’t personally killed anyone, but he knew it would sound hollow.

“Gunther and many of his lieutenants were friends of mine,” Beornen began once they were all seated and served a large draught of dark beer. “They weren’t great friends or smart friends, but they were decent people considering their line of work.” The tone felt challenging but not overly harsh. This was a man who understood some of the situation but wanted a better explanation.

Cat would not apologize, nor would he avoid responsibility. “I know greater powers are at work here, yet I didn’t take the threat seriously until today. For selfish reasons, I overprepared for something I didn’t think would happen. My enemy convinced others to do its work, through gold or magic or both, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s gained, and we’ve lost.” Catwright took a long swallow of the smooth, dark drink. Beornen considered him for a long moment.

“What would you have done if you knew for sure they were coming?”

“I would have confronted them immediately.”

Beornen laughed. “Just like that, eh? Well, that might have worked. What will you do now?”

“I have a lot of confronting to do.”

Beornen steered the conversation toward more pleasant matters. They discussed martial training and the logistics of running a mercenary group. Cat listened with great interest, and Beornen happily talked about his barbarians. The mercenary leader was not truly a barbarian, but he had been raised among some of the more civilized tribes of the northern plains. They practiced a martial form called Stoakchau, which complimented the forms of lithos very well. Cat had heard of the fighting style but wasn’t proficient. He had learned dozens of forms from most of the known realms, but his instructors considered the nomadic tribal styles too undeveloped to bother with. Beornen was a master of lithos and had taught what he could to his company, making them an excellent group for fortification defense.

“Garreth wanted me to offer you a job, but I don’t think you’d take it. Also, I’m not sure I want your enemies.”

Catwright smiled. “No, I don’t think you can afford me. I was actually going to offer you a job.”

Beornen laughed along with several of his lieutenants, including Garreth. “A good mercenary company avoids work that gets them killed. I have a feeling I know what you want.”

“There’s this creature called the ‘unseen’ that wants to capture me and use me in some sort of ritual. How much to go and kill it for me?”

Beornen’s smile turned grim. “You should seek out the king of Mecre with that request; that seems a proper quest for the Everborn himself. I’ve heard of this creature, but I know only myth and legend, and that it’s far too dangerous to take lightly. Such figures exist in many cultures: the Ssythe, the Grulken, the Etyrack, and the Liephen, to name a few. My people call these beings ‘Old Ones’; they are great powers among their species, evolved beyond mortals but not quite gods, though they hunger to take that next step. You might compare them to dragons, or elder druids, or the Mecran elemental knights, but not nearly so benevolent. If this thing moves so boldly, it must believe it’s close to ascension. Do not underestimate what it will do to achieve its goals. I’d warn you to proceed with caution, but I see that’s not your way.”

“Where should I start, and who would help?”

“Educate yourself; start with the libraries and scholars of this great city. For the rest, you’ll need subterfuge. The Red Hand is a good group for this; most of their people are in the city. I believe a few members of Echo Company and the Shifting Sands are also in the area, but some of them are almost as vile as the slavers. As for allies, people with grudges are bound to be looking for ways to strike back. Just don’t pour more ale than your cup can hold.”

“I appreciate your suggestions. Garreth speaks highly of you, and I consider him a good judge of character.”

“He speaks well of you also,” Beornen stood abruptly. “He also says you can fight.” Catwright had to smile; he had known it was coming but felt excited nonetheless. Despite all the carnage less than two hours ago, it was barely a warm-up compared to what he was used to.

For the first time in almost two years, Catwright found himself completely outmatched. Beornen wielded an active lithos aura which slowed the younger warrior considerably. The mercenary commander complimented the boy on simply standing under the intense gravity magic. Cat had trained under similar spells’ effects and knew the trick was to shift his stance, focusing on his own lithos movements and mana, to guide the opposing mana around him and negate the crushing effect. Yet Beornen could actively move and alter the aura, unexpectedly shifting it to throw Catwright off at opportune moments. The larger man could also manipulate metal, increasing his axe’s speed or changing its direction without regard for momentum. This effect even extended to Catwright’s weapon and armor to some degree, though it obviously took greater effort. Still Cat almost dropped his sword twice. Beornen casually admitted that with enough time he could weaken normal metal enough that a sword would break and steel plate crack like glass. He heated up the boy’s armor a bit to prove his point, and if not for the leather padding, Cat’s skin would have burned badly. It grew uncomfortable enough that Cat dismissed his armor for a bit to cool off. At one point, Cat tried grappling with the barbarian, managing an effective chokehold, but before he could apply any real pressure, he began to feel nauseous and weak. He struggled to breathe, and his vision darkened. “Stop!” The word, imbued with the power of a divine order, froze Beornen, a look of surprise crossing his face, and Cat immediately felt better. Beldere was angry, the most intense Cat had ever seen him.

Beornen, still locked in place, managed to form words. “I wouldn’t have caused him any permanent harm, priest.”

“You were seconds away from a point of no return,” Beldere’s voice quavered. “I don’t think I could have brought him back from that.”

“I was aware; I only wanted him to loosen his hold a bit.” Beornen moved again, stretching his limbs. “There are metals and minerals inside the body, and when I make contact with the skin, I can manipulate those as well. I simply wanted to show that wrestling someone like me isn’t a good idea.”

“Point taken.” Cat remained lightheaded, and his muscles responded slowly; he had to focus just to stay standing. Beornen still looked at Beldere.

“You are powerful for one so young. I am an empowered disciple of Toram the Harbinger, yet you held me in place, helpless, with but a word. Toram is no fledgling god like your Watcher of the Wood, so your faith must be strong indeed.”

“You’re a priest?” Cat asked, finally able to move his mouth. “Is that how you manipulate your aura?”

“I am a Herald of Toram, though my blessings come in the form of empowerment for myself and the warriors around me. I have a great affinity for what you call lithos, as do many of my people, but the aura is aided by runecraft.” He removed his breastplate by using his aura to flip some quick-release latches and gently lower it to the ground. He then peeled back his leather shirt to reveal two symbols, both a little larger than an inch square, glowing with a sapphire hue, engraved onto his chest.

“Dwalven runes?” Seleger spoke up with interest. “On your skin? I always thought they had to be on metal.”

“The Dwalven craft them onto their armor and weapons because their items are virtually indestructible by our standards. They also know the secrets of crafting and so can carve as many as they like and also repair them properly. Doing the same for mundane arms would be quite expensive.”

“Can’t your runes be ruined by being cut or disfigured, like slave runes?” Cat asked.

“No, this is a much more elaborate binding than a simple slave brand. It’s also soulbound, so as long as I survive, they will regenerate.”

“Wow,” Seleger whistled. “That must have cost…”

“About twenty-five thousand gold each, yes.” He watched the boys’ eyes widen and simply smiled. “Worth every copper? No?” Cat could only nod in agreement. The lithos aura had completely flummoxed him, and he had trained specifically to counter such magic. On a battlefield, very few people would adapt in time to survive a second attempt.Beornen, with his singular, awe-inspiring power, was merely a man – a formidable warrior, yes, but still a man. Yet, this man spoke of ‘Old Ones’ with a deference that chilled Catwright to the bone. What ancient, unimaginable powers did those beings wield, if even Beornen and his company of fierce barbarians felt such dread? Cat needed to learn, to grow stronger, for the true war, he knew with chilling certainty, had only just begun.