Chapter 13: New Arrivals

Smythe strode back and forth along the short row of villagers, eyeing them critically. They stood in a crooked line across the Chapel’s training yard, spears and pikes dug up from Elaina’s basement held haphazardly before them in uncertain hands. A few held lances retrieved from the bodies of Heralds that no longer required them. The steel tips of the lances shone in the bright morning sun, while the rest of the weapons were dulled with age and rust.

Tarien had taken the Elves back to Ildernass yesterday, with the exception of Induin and Liaren, whom were a short distance away teaching another group of Rostiners how to shoot a bow. From what Smythe could see, the Elvish twins were having about as much success as he was.

Kedron was leaning against the northern wall of the Chapel, watching the proceedings with interest. He looked better than he had, but his youthful face was still a little pale. His vala was not yet developed enough to heal him any quicker, but still he was recovering well considering he’d taken an arrow to the chest. Nasty business, that. Could have killed the lad on the spot.

Lena and Imella were by Kedron’s side, as always. The three were effectively inseparable. Smythe was keeping a careful eye on that; it was bad enough the lad already had one meldin before being fully trained. Another one would only make things worse.

For the tenth time that morning, Smythe silently – and sarcastically – thanked Aran for haring off on another adventure and leaving him with the job of training farmers how to fight and nursing an injured par’vala.

“Steady it,” he grunted as he stepped up next to an ageing fellow with hair more gray than brown. Smythe grasped the spear firmly, just above where the man’s hands held the haft. “Keep the butt down here. That will keep the tip at the right angle.”

The fellow nodded and set himself again. Some of the others tried to copy him, most of them unsuccessfully. Smythe wanted to shake his head in disgust, but Aran’s instructions – delivered on the Plane last evening – had been clear: wait at the Chapel until further notice, and teach the Rostiners to fight. Sooner or later, an angry swarm of Heralds was likely to come marching down from Maralon, and every able body would be needed.

Smythe adjusted a few more stances and angles before stepping to the middle of the line and back a few paces, so they could all see him clearly. “Right!” He barked, tucking the tip of his boot beneath the shaft of a lance he’d left lying on the dirt. He kicked it up to his hand smoothly and set himself in the stance he was teaching the Rostiners.

A few of them jumped, startled by his shout, while others made impressed sounds at his display. “This is how you form a pike line, or the beginnings of one, at least. When you are being charged by an enemy, you kneel and ground your spear like this,” he demonstrated by doing so. “And you hold it firm. The enemy will have no choice but to try and run over the top of you, or to abandon the charge.”

“And what if they have horses, my Lord?” One man – Bandry, Smythe thought his name was – asked nervously.

“Then you hold it tighter,” Smythe replied flatly as he rose from his kneeling position. Bandry swallowed. “I am teaching you as much as I can with the time I have,” Smythe told them firmly. “These are dark days, with ulunn on the rise and the Heralds even madder than usual. You are better off knowing even a little about fighting than knowing nothing at all.”

They all nodded agreement at that. A moorhen’s call from the northern border of the Chapel grounds brought Smythe’s head around. A second, closer call followed, but this time from a snow raven. He’d taught some of the younger, more agile boys how to whistle like certain birds – birds that weren’t native to the Emerin Forest – if anyone approached the Chapel. Up in the treetops, the boys had a good view of anyone passing beneath them.

A moorhen’s call meant more than fifty men. A snow raven’s meant the newcomers may not be friendly. Smythe cast his eyes over the ragtag line of villagers. Fifty men could do a lot of damage to these simple, peaceful people, even with Smythe to protect them.

“Remain here and practice what you’ve learned this morning,” he told them, dropping his lance and loping off down the grassy incline toward the northern wall. As he approached, a boy came scrambling over the mossy stone and raced to meet him.

“Master Smythe!” the boy said excitedly. “There’s a man out there wants to meet with you!”

Smythe frowned. “Did he ask for me specifically, lad?”

“Yep!” The boy piped, still catching his breath. “He said he wants to see whoever is in charge, and that’s you!”

Smythe had tensed for a moment, but then relaxed. Whoever this visitor was, he wasn’t asking for Smythe by name. “Thanks, lad,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I’ll take it from here.”

The boy scampered back up the yard toward the Chapel. Smythe headed for the wall, easing Lightbringer in the scabbard on his back before vaulting the tall stone barrier and landing lightly on the other side.

A man awaited him about twenty paces away, dressed in country clothes under a rough jerkin sewn with steel discs. He had a sword belted around his waist. Smythe accessed enough of his vala to assess this fellow’s intentions. Surprisingly, he appeared to be decent of heart.

“You are in charge of this place?” The man asked.

“I am,” Smythe said simply, studying the fellow. Only a year or two older than Aran, he was tall and fit, but he looked uncomfortable in his jerkin, as if wearing it were new to him. Despite the risk, Smythe kept his vala expanded to about a hundred feet into the forest. He didn’t want any nasty surprises. From what he could sense, he and Garen were the only people this side of the wall within that radius.

“I am called Garen,” the man said, walking forward with a hand extended.

Smythe folded his arms across his chest, ignoring the offered hand. “What are you doing here?” He asked directly.

Garen looked confused for a moment. “I ... don’t really know.”

Smythe felt a scowl coming on. “You don’t appear to be a trouble maker, Garen,” he began. “But if you don’t answer my questions to my satisfaction, I will treat you as one.”

Garen paled a little, and his eyes went to Lightbringer’s hilt sticking up over Smythe’s shoulder. He began to talk, and Smythe listened intently. It didn’t take him long to work out that Aran’s efforts prior to the fight against the Heralds had yielded results. Garen and the hundred men he had waiting a mile back in the forest had felt Aran’s vala and abandoned Stallen in the night, unable to follow the mad Herald any further.

What would have happened had five hundred men come over the wall instead of four? Smythe doubted a positive outcome; an extra hundred men would have most likely tipped the scales the wrong way, and Berrigan Stallen would be alive, even with Aran throwing around that massive power of his. Could even Aran have handled a hundred more?

“Go and get your men,” Smythe told Garen once he’d finished explaining. “Bring them to this spot. I wish to see them.”

Garen ran off into the forest at once and returned almost an hour later. He was trailed by a collection of men and women as awkward-looking as himself. They filled the small clearing and stood facing Smythe in an arc three men deep.

A distant rumble reached Smythe’s ears. Terrific. Another storm. He hoped it wasn’t one of those northerlies, but his gut was telling him otherwise. The newcomers shifted nervously at the sound; they knew how bad the storms had been getting.

“You are all farmers, tradesmen?” Smythe asked them as he searched them with his vala. By the grace of Aros, they were all goodhearted people. He got a multitude of nods in reply. “Are there any fighters among you?” To a man, they shook their heads.

“Heralds scooped us up from our villages on the Plain,” Garen said. “Lumped us all together, put weapons in our hands and taught us which end is the pointy one before dragging us down here, to the forest.”

“The pointy end,” Smythe repeated flatly. “Excellent.” Thunder again, a little closer, this time.

Suddenly, an echo resonated through Smythe’s vala from one of the younger men. A boy no more than eighteen, Smythe realised as he looked closer. Tall and lanky, the lad had a shock of fair hair and deep, dark eyes. More importantly, he possessed the vala.

Yet another arohim appears, yet would there be enough time to train the boy? “We do not have long,” Smythe said, raising his voice and addressing all present. He wasn’t sure if he meant the approaching storm or the larger, more threatening problem. “Follow this wall behind me east and you will find a gate. I will meet you there. Welcome to the Emerin Chapel of Aros.”

Smythe stood inside the open wrought-iron gate and watched the newcomers file through. They had hurried back for their horses, and Smythe was pleased to see they had provisions for travel stuffed inside their saddlebags. The Heralds had seen to that much, at least.

Thunder sounded regularly in the distance, growing closer every minute, yet the sky remained clear of clouds and the late morning sun shone bright and warm.

Induin and Liaren had wandered over to enquire what was happening, and Smythe had quickly filled them in. They stood next to him, looking as beautiful as always, even in simple breeches and tunics of deep forest green. No few of the men in the large party eyed the twins with interest as they entered the Chapel grounds.

Induin and Liaren felt different than usual, in the last few days. Or at least, they did to Smythe. Something had changed in them; he could feel it. There was more of a glow about the pretty twins than even their Elvish heritage could account for. Smythe was willing to bet he knew what it was, too.

He reached out a hand and grabbed the blond boy as he trudged past, snatching him out of the line. “You,” he said to the startled youth. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Dern, sir,” the lad stammered. “Ostin Dern. From Elkershire.”

“Elkershire, ey?” Smythe repeated. Elkershire was one of the more northern villages on the Sorral, not too far from the Karvanis. “Come and see me later, and I’ll help you with that problem you’ve been having.”

That remark got Smythe a few strange looks from those close enough to hear, but a light of understanding shone in Ostin’s brown eyes. Smythe was willing to bet the lad’s vala was causing him all kinds of trouble, especially with girls.

“Yes, sir,” the lad said. He stepped back into the line and moved up the white cobblestone path toward the Chapel.

The twins eyed Smythe curiously for a moment, but then Liaren’s expression brightened. “He’s like you, isn’t he? That boy?”

Smythe nodded and began to push the gate closed as the last of the arrivals came through. “He is,” he confirmed when he turned back to the Elves. “Now I have two pups to train, where before I had one.”

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy,” Induin replied brightly. “The world needs as many arohim as she can get.”

“On that note,” Liaren began before Smythe could object to the grumpy remark. “We had a question for you, if you don’t mind?”

Smythe shook his head, and she looked behind her, back up the hedge-lined pathway before continuing. Apart from the three of them, there was no one else in sight.

“Were there ever any arohim that weren’t Human?” Liaren asked tentatively. “It’s just that I’ve never met any others that weren’t, and I was curious.”

Smythe’s suspicions were confirmed. “Your carrying his child, aren’t you?” He asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “Both of you, I’ll wager,” he added, waggling a finger to point at each of them in turn. “Knowing Aran.”

They nodded bashfully, but Induin jumped to Aran’s defense. “It wasn’t his idea,” she explained. “We had to convince him, but he saw the right of it, eventually.”

Smythe snorted. “I’ll bet he did.” The twins reddened and grinned cheekily at the same time. “To answer your question, however,” he began slowly. “I truly do not know. From what I do understand, the arohim recorded in the histories were always Human. Nothing else was ever mentioned.”

Their faces became downcast. “We thought as much,” Induin said sadly. “But we wanted to be sure. It would have been nice if the babes turned out like Aran.” Liaren put an arm around her sister and squeezed her close.

Smythe put a hand on each of their shoulders and looked down at them kindly. “I know that no matter what, these babes will be special,” he told them sincerely. “And they will do great things, arohim or not.”

That seemed to lift their spirits somewhat. Their beautiful faces brightened a little and they hugged him fiercely, pressing their faces to his chest. Smythe put a hand on each of their backs and held them for a moment. Their embrace was cut short by a shadow falling across the Chapel grounds as the sun was finally veiled by thick black clouds.

Another shadow fell, too, this time invisible, intangible. A feeling of foreboding and menace, darkness and dread shrouded Smythe’s heart as the sun vanished. It was connected to the storm, somehow.

“Time to be inside, I think,” Smythe said as the wind began to stir restlessly in the trees. He hurried up the path, ushering the girls before him and wondering how he was going to fit everyone inside the Chapel. Bloody storms. He hoped Aran and Elaina didn’t get caught in it, wherever they were.

CHAPTER 13.1: Priestess

In a wide, circular room deep beneath the Temple, Amina sat cross-legged and naked opposite an equally nude Sara. The bearskin rug beneath their bottoms was the only furnishing in an otherwise bare and undecorated chamber. Sunstones blazed hotly in their niches within the stone walls.

Their nudity was necessary, for this level of training required total awareness of one’s own physical body, right down to the finest, almost invisible hairs on the skin. Amina held Sara’s power inside her own – much as a bank holds a river – and used it to guide the girl back to balance when she lost control. Her slips were growing rare, now, however, and she never made the same mistake twice.

Amina studied the much younger woman intently, feeling the shifts as she practiced handling different volumes of her considerable vala. Sara’s beautiful face remained calm, her eyes closed and her breath even as she shifted her hold on her vala and expanded it outward, until it encompassed the entire Temple.

Sara was in a deep meditative state, exploring the depths of her power, as well as herself. Early in her training, the experience had been confronting, and often frightening, but now she was at peace within herself, for the most part.

It was not an easy thing for a woman to uncover her deepest truths and face them. That was what made a Priestess different from other arohim; a Priestess knew herself, inside and out. She was truth incarnate, laid bare for all to see, and understood who she was.

Sara’s training was almost complete – at least, the part that required Amina’s guidance was – the rest would be learned by experience and lessons only life could teach. She certainly looked the part of a fledgling Priestess; the skinny girl that had arrived at the Temple so many months ago was now a true beauty, transformed by her vala into the most attractive possible version of herself.

Lush, chestnut hair fell down around her shoulders, framing a gorgeous face with well-defined cheekbones and a sleek jawline. Her nose was fine and her lips were full but shy of plump. She was less curvaceous than Amina; smaller in the hips, thighs and bottom, but still her slender form was graced with flowing curves that suited her perfectly. Her breasts were not as full as Amina’s, either, but they sat proud and bold on her chest, resplendent and generous on her frame.

Sara’s eyes came open, then, like brilliant sapphires that sparkled in the light of the sunstones. She smiled, flashing straight, white teeth. “So, how was that? Did I do good?”

Amina wanted to cluck her tongue in irritation, but instead found herself smiling back. Sara had all the bearing of a young princess, beautiful and poised. Stately, even. At least until she opened her mouth. She had the tongue of a Dwarven tavern maid, at best, and at worst ... Well, it mattered not. Amina would hammer it out of her eventually.

“Yes, child,” Amina said patiently. “You did very well.” She accentuated the last word to put emphasis on the correct grammar.

Sara beamed. “Thanks, Amina! You’re a bloody good teacher, you know? I didn’t know my tits from my toes a few months ago, what with all this vala hokum, but now I feel bloody invincible!”

Amina groaned internally. Sara was speaking more eloquently, for the most part, but as soon as she got excited about something she slipped back to her old ways. Amina couldn’t blame the girl, she’d been raised on the streets, after all.

“Thank you, child,” Amina said graciously as she rose to her feet. “That concludes our lessons for today.”

Sara pouted a little, but stood as well. Amina couldn’t help but notice the other woman’s body in all its glory. Her pubic hair had long since all fallen away, leaving her as bare and smooth as Amina herself.

Amina remained where she was, watching Sara; sensing the girl had a question.

“Priestess?” Sara asked tentatively. “I was wondering when it might be alright for me to ... you know ... have some fun?” She blushed slightly, but otherwise remained composed. Her back was straight, her shoulders square, and she did not shift her feet.

Amina’s lips quirked in the beginnings of a proud smile. Sara was rapidly growing into a woman, if she hadn’t already. “You passed onto that level some time ago, child,” Amina replied.

Sara’s fine brows drew down. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked,” Amina answered.

“So, you’re saying I’ve been walking around in this cock-hardening body, hiding myself away for no reason? Why would you do that? That’s so mean!” She was beginning to sound petulant. The line between woman and girl was still sometimes a little thin for Sara.

“Girl,” Amina said warningly.

Sara’s expression immediately softened and she dropped her eyes. “Sorry, Priestess. I meant no disrespect.”

“There is a time for being told what to do,” Amina explained firmly. “And a time for discovery by one’s own self. Mastery does not come to those who spend their life waiting for the next instruction. At the same time, one must learn to follow when it makes sense to do so.”

“Yes, Priestess,” Sara said. “I do not understand fully, but I do not think I am meant to, yet.”

Amina smiled at that, both for the comment, and for the manner of speaking. “That is a wise response, Sara. You will do well, child. Continue to apply yourself.”

Sara nodded and thanked Amina, and then a considering look crossed her face. Amina felt the girl’s vala expand again briefly. “That’d be bloody right,” she muttered. “No men in the Temple! Except for Tavish. Now what am I supposed to do? I don’t reckon any of the girls have a cock they’ve been hiding.”

Amina almost sighed. One moment Sara was the perfect Priestess in training, the next a foul-mouthed urchin. Amina could talk dirty with the best when she so desired, but there was a time and place for such things. A woman needed to command respect, and it was difficult to do so when you spoke like a commoner. Sara would learn this, eventually.

Sara had a point, though. With Aran and Smythe and Kedron off in the Emerin Forest and Erik out preparing for the arrival of the refugees, there was indeed an absence of men in the Temple. “You will have to make do with what is available, child,” Amina said curtly. “And if I see you anywhere near Tavish, I will skin you, do you understand me?”

Sara dropped her eyes again. “Yes, Priestess.”

“I suggest you pay a visit to Sorla,” Amina advised. “She has been eager to see you for some time. She asks about you often.” A great part of Sara’s training had been conducted in total isolation, so Sara had had little time for socialising.

The younger woman’s expression brightened. “A fine idea, Priestess,” she said graciously. “I will do so at once.” Amina turned to leave, but was stopped when Sara added hesitantly; “Unless, of course, you would like to be with me, instead?”

Amina turned back to see Sara’s gaze roaming over her body. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and her cheeks were slightly flushed. Her pink nipples had hardened into stiff points atop her creamy breasts.

Amina felt a flutter in her belly as she studied the other woman in turn. It would be easy to make love with Sara, here and now. And most pleasurable, too, but unfortunately now was not the right time. She walked back to Sara and placed gentle hands on the girl’s shoulders. Her soft skin felt wonderful beneath her palms. “Your offer is tempting, chatra, but I cannot indulge this desire today.”

Sara gazed back at Amina, her brilliant blue eyes open, vulnerable, hot with desire. Despite herself, Amina found herself leaning in and pressing her lips to the other woman’s. Sara moaned at the contact and pulled Amina close as she deepened the kiss, but Amina stopped her with a gentle finger on the chin.

“That is all, for now, child,” she whispered kindly, but firmly. Sara nodded obediently and stepped back. For a moment, her hand strayed toward her womanhood as if she intended to pleasure herself, but she schooled herself back to composure.

Amina noted the discipline with pride. It was not an easy thing to resist the allure of a Priestess. Sara was learning well. “I kissed you not to tease,” Amina explained. “But to promise our time together, as soon as you are ready.”

Sara smiled. “As you say, Priestess. I very much look forward to it.” Her voice was still a little smoky. “If I may be excused?”

Amina nodded, and Sara strode gracefully toward the archway that led out of the room. She walked seductively, each foot placed perfectly in front of the last, which set her hips and bottom swaying alluringly. That was one lesson she had taken to like a duck to water; the subtle – and not so subtle – arts of seduction. A Priestess’ body was a useful tool with or without her vala. There were times when using the vala was dangerous, or inappropriate, hence the methods of simple, physical attraction.

Sara had commented early on in her training that she wished she’d known these tricks – like how to walk to draw a man’s eye – while she was living on the streets. She jokingly said she would have spent every night in a feather bed with a full stomach, courtesy of an obliging man.

Amina watched Sara leave, admiring the way her slim back with its dimples just above her hips flared into her peach of a bottom, perky and round. Yes, she very much looked forward to sharing herself with Sara.

Expanding her vala, Amina checked on the rest of the Temple. Sorla and Jeira were bathing in one of the smaller bath chambers in the aronduri quarters. Jeira was washing the half-Orc’s back as they chatted amiably.

Rayna and Bella were working on one of the chambers that were in disrepair, waving glowing sunstones over collapsed pillars of marble that fit itself back together as if it had never broken. That room would be guest quarters, once restored, though Amina wondered how long it would be until the Temple needed guest accommodations once again.

Lynelle was attending to some washing in the chamber designed for such; a large, square room fifty feet on a side with a huge fireplace on each wall that heated internal pipes in much the same way as the bath chambers did. Two rows of flat, stone cisterns ran down the centre of the room which could be filled with hot water for washing clothes.

Lynelle was standing at one such, stirring the clothes in the cistern with a long wooden pole. The pretty Elf was humming a gentle melody as she worked. Unclothed – probably to save dirtying her own garments – her slender body glistened damply from the heat and steam in the room. The sunstones in the washing chamber were unlit – there was no arohim present to light them – but that bothered Lynelle not; her Elvish eyes could see perfectly well in the dark.

Higher up, Ayla and Tavish were practicing their mohar, slowly and deliberately conducting each movement as they’d been taught. Tavish’s vala flickered a few times as Amina watched. It would not be long before she would have to begin teaching him how to access it; the boy was learning quickly.

Ayla was applying herself, also, but her progress was a little slower due to her lack of access to her vala. Fortunately, she had her brother to help her along when she struggled.

Amina risked opening her vala further to try and sense the whereabouts of Erik and Sylvia, but there was no sign of them for ten miles around the Temple. Where could they be? They’d been gone five days; more than long enough to inspect Suravale and return, unless something had happened to them. Amina dearly hoped they were safe. To lose even one of their own during such a fragile time for the Order was unthinkable.

Sending one of the others – or going out herself – to look for the two aronduri was a foolish idea. If the worst had happened, risking more lives was pointless, and Amina needed to be here to protect the Temple and her inhabitants. It hurt, however, knowing that Erik and Sylvia might be in danger.

No, she would not believe Aros would abandon them. Not now. Not when they had served Him so faithfully. “May Aros guide and protect you both,” she whispered in prayer to Erik and Sylvia as she left the meditation chamber. The sunstones winked out as the passed through the archway.

Wanting to do something useful, she made for her own quarters, hoping to find at least one of the Paladins on the Plane.

Chapter 13.2: Decisions

Erik rode his dun gelding through the knee-high grasses of the Sorral Plain, the tall blades waving gently in the afternoon breeze. With the plain so flat, the motion of the grass looked like a vast, green sea undulating beneath a sky dotted with puffy grey clouds. The odd copse of pine or elm were like islands in the ocean. There weren’t enough clouds to threaten rain, but they were numerous enough to frequently cast rolling shadows onto the plain as they crossed the sun.

Sylvia rode beside Erik on a short grey mare, her sharp emerald eyes scanning the plain for any sign of the refugees they’d been seeking since leaving Suravale. Erik had been tempted to head straight back to the Temple to deliver the news to Amina regarding Palavus, but the thought of leaving the refugees wandering aimlessly had stopped him.

“Where in the bloody hells are they?” She muttered as her head swiveled from side to side. Her voice was a strange blend of high yet husky. It was decidedly attractive.

Erik had asked himself the same question a hundred times since yesterday, to no avail. They were currently riding southeast, with the Karvanis looming to their west. The canyon that led back into Suravale was two days’ ride back northwest, the way they had come. Erik had hoped to have found the refugees by now and led them safely into the abandoned city, but they were proving difficult to locate.

“For the tenth time,” Sylvia began in an irked tone. “You could let me scout.”

For the tenth time, Erik shook his head. “No,” he said firmly, not taking his eyes off the horizon. “Splitting up now is a bad move. A battalion of Heralds could appear at any time.” A sudden shift in the wind brought the smell of smoke to his nose. Sylvia sat up straight; apparently, she smelled it, too.

“You smell that?” She asked, turning to him. She was so pretty, with those delicate features and that golden hair that flowed free save for a narrow braid that ran over each lightly pointed ear. She wore a tight brown tunic and breeches that molded her petite body closely, making Erik wish they had time to stop and have some fun before continuing their quest.

He nodded. “That wind came from the west, over the foothills.” Sylvia grinned and wheeled her mare around in that direction, but Erik held up a hand. “Wait. That could be a Troll’s cookfire or a Herald camp for all we know. We should approach carefully.”

Sylvia eyed him dubiously for a moment, but then nodded agreement. “Fair enough. I don’t fancy being eaten today. Or questioned by Heralds.”

“Nor do I,” Erik agreed, studying the land. Less than a mile to the west, the plain began to slope upward into what were the foothills of the jagged-peaked Karvanis, home of Suravale and Temple Sura. “But if it is the refugees...”

“I’ll handle it,” Sylvia announced confidently as she smoothly dismounted. She doffed her cloak and tossed it across her saddle, then checked the several knives tucked into her narrow leather belt. Erik had seen her hit a target no bigger than his palm at thirty paces with one of those. She had more tucked up into her sleeves and strapped to her ankles, too.

She handed Erik her reins and he took them with a sigh. “Alright,” he agreed. She was the obvious choice; she could remain unseen far more successfully than Erik. “But be cautious, yes? I don’t want to explain things to Amina if you’re pretty head ends up on a spear.” He meant it jokingly, but he couldn’t keep genuine concern out of his voice. He cared for Sylvia, and hated the thought of any harm befalling her.