The Huntsman of Adamos (Quartet)- draft

CH HARVEST OF GRIEF

Abrieth stood next to Guardian Regulus and across from Guardian Ra-utath, “My Lord Guardians. The warriors are ready, and the Huntsmen are behind the Xelusian lines awaiting your command to strike the Blood Mages.”

“And how are our numbers, Protector Abrieth of Adamos?” Ra-utath asked.

“We outnumber the enemy three to two here and in some places on the lines, three to one. It will be a lopsided battle. Do you wish me to pull back the novice corps?” Abrieth inquired. He did not like the idea of young men below the age of 300 sent to war front as he and his brother had been at 184 years old.

“No, Protector Abrieth, this will give them practical experience without them being in real danger. It is never wise to waste a teaching exercise,” Ra-utath boasted and Abrieth noticed that Regulus’ cheek twitched. Bowing, Abrieth turned and walked away.

Standing with his group, Abrieth gave orders to his more experienced warriors to be paired with the novices. They watched as the sun of Xelusia climbed higher as still the enemy made no movement. They could see the smoke of the fires from the Blood Altars rising behind the enemy, slowly changing the dusty gray-taupe of the sky to a slightly peach colored. There was a sound on the wind like the vibration of a bell or the hummed note of a song. It was pleasant, seductive to the ear, lulling to the senses. With barely a thought, Abrieth pulled his sword. The enemy was coming. The enemy was all around him. It was time to fight, time to kill.

The song pulsing in his mind told him this and he believed it. Suddenly, there was a shout of surprise or rage or pain and everyone was fighting for their lives. Woven into the song was a single voice that called to Abrieth, begged him to flee, to come to the mountains, to come to her, she would save him. But he had to get there first, he had to fight his way through an army to get to her, to the one singing just for him.

Yurieth and Seamus were watching a group of priestess blood mages around a blood altar, as the fire rose from it, their eyes glowed with a strange peach color. He had never seen that color of magic, or had he? His head began to hurt, and he could hear a strange sound almost like music or the tone of a bell. It lulled his mind and whispered to him that he was surrounded with enemy, to slay them. He felt Seamus move and rolled to the side as Seamus huntsman’s blade embedded into the ground where the Yurieth had knelt.

Yurieth rotated and clipped Seamus jaw with the handle of his ax, then slammed him hard in the back of the head rendering him unconscious.

Yurieth pushed his power over the music and his mind shouted to Regis and his huntsmen to kill those using the blood altars. All of them, including the women and to render anyone under the influence of the strange magic unconscious. Yurieth restrained Seamus before turning to fire several arrows at the women. Suddenly, he remembered something he had read once as a child. In the myths, there was a story about women who lived in the sea and sang to lure men to their deaths and to do their bidding, they were called Sirens. The name the Xelusians had given their Priestess Blood Mages.

Yurieth reached for Abrieth but the music was blocking the bond between the brothers. He could feel his brother fighting, felt that he was wounded.

‘Abrieth, don’t listen to the music, get to the mountains. It is the Priestesses of the Blood Mages.’ Yurieth got no acknowledgement from Abrieth but Regis reached out to him.

‘Yurieth, I had to kill Danen. The warriors of Aetheria are slaying each other.’

‘I know, brother, I figured out what a siren is, a magical songstress who seduces the souls of men. It hurts to resist but somehow our magic is protecting us.’ Yurieth responded. ‘I am traveling north to the next altar, go south.’

Regis swore then responded several minutes later. ‘The healers are unaffected, I am protecting one, but the warrior he healed rose up and attacked us.’

‘Listen carefully, the Sirens are making our brother warriors slay each other, the only way to stop it is to kill the sorceresses. We no longer give mercy because of gender.’ Yurieth wanted to shout against his pain but instead he traveled as quickly as he could north.

‘Fight with honor, Huntsman Yurieth.’

“Fight with honor, Huntsman Regis.′

Yurieth stalked across the battlefield. He had killed nearly two dozen women today; all sorceress priestesses of the Blood Mages. Once the magic had been quelled, he had led the surviving warriors in retreat. Pulling back the maimed forces of the Aetherians to safety had taken priority, they had left those who were forever dead laying on the battlefront. It was nearly dawn when Yurieth and the eight Huntsmen who possessed the ability to use heart heal magic and the dozen surviving healers, who also resisted the sorcery, began searching through the bodies looking for survivors.

As Yurieth walked, the blood of the fallen squished around his boots. Hundreds of bodies were gathered; protectors, warriors, mages, and huntsmen were piled together with the healers they had killed. Even three of the five guardians that had been on Xelusia were dead, having slain so many of their own warriors before being killed or in the case of Voltrais and Regulus, who were subdued by Yurieth and Regis and a young healer named Oren of the house of Odini.

Oren’s older brother, the Oracle-mage, Odini the fifth of the House of Odini approached Yurieth. “Lord Yurieth, I must begin the spell to cremate the bodies before the Xelusians try to collect blood shards from them. Have you found your brother?” The day Yurieth and Abrieth were born was the day the Pools of Destiny had changed Odini and his magic too.

“No, Lord Odini, I have not. Are you sure they will attempt to defile the bodies? I have never seen them harvest blood or blood shards from dead bodies.” Yurieth asked.

“I have made an extensive study of the documents you and your huntsmen have gathered over the years. It is not a common practice, but the Blood Mages will not pass up on the bounty our dead offer.” Odini looked around, he trembled for a moment in uncharacteristic emotion before his stoic demeanor returned. “I must begin before the sun rises.”

“Do it. We will continue up the line until the last of our dead are safe from the Blood Mages.” Yurieth turned to walk away then stopped, turning back, “Lord Odini, do you know magic they used to make our warriors slay each other?”

“It was an extinct form of magic, one not used since the first war. It is called the Song of Seduction in the old language, a form of magic used by arctic seafaring nomads called Juhrtheim, those who wielded it were called Sirens. The Xelusians have somehow recovered this lost form. Only those with healing magic can resist.” Odini’s voice was as dull and bland as a simulated one while fire circled and burned up the dead of Aetheria .

“And oracle magic?” Yurieth asked.

Odini nodded, “And oracle magic.”

Every time the Xelusians approached the battlefield. Yurieth and his huntsmen killed everyone who didn’t retreat. They tried to use another siren on them but Yurieth and Regis hit her with magic enhanced arrows and killed her before any others could be affected. It took three days to deal with the dead, and no one slept. The Aetherians had lost thousands of stones of territory but it was nothing compared to the loss of life.

Abrieth remembered the strange song and the sound like a bell or hum of bees, and above it all a voice calling to him to flee, to come to her. He had killed more enemy than he thought existed in the world, and been wounded, but he made the tree line and staggered up the rugged hill. A hooded female rushed out from behind a tree and caught him before he could collapse. Her touch soothed his terrified soul, her voice drowned out the strange music that urged him to kill.

She loaded him onto the back of a small land skimmer and hurried away. He woke at a large manor. The hooded woman rushed out and held a cup to his lips, it was a healing potion of sorts.

“Please.. Please...” she begged, her Aetherian was broken. “Get up, must go inside… must hide before anyone comes… They will stop this place… on their way to the Temple City.”

“Why?” His throat felt like fire and his face hurt, he thought he remembered being burned by mage fire, but he wasn’t sure. “Why are you helping me?” He asked in Xelusian.

The young woman’s pale coral eyes were fearful for a moment then she answered in Xelusian, “I... I’ve been dreaming about you for a long time. The White Oracle told me you would come, but that I would have to rescue you. The Dark Oracle is teaching the priestesses to be sirens. They... they made your soldiers kill each other. Only healers or other sirens can resist the power of the dark magic. Please, please, get up. I must hide you.”

Abrieth’s head began to swim when he stood up, he staggered against her as she guided him. He stopped staring at a portrait, but she dragged him forward and to a blank wall. She touched the wall and it vanished. Once they were down the corridor, the wall closed itself. She supported him into a bedroom, and he was amazed at how strong she was. He fell forward onto the bed and she rolled him over, quickly stripping his armor and spreading healing paste on his wounds. Her magic tried to soothe him, but she didn’t know what she was doing, so she just wished for him to sleep comfortably. She washed him and changed his bandages and forced him to drink fortified broth and potions. Most of all she prayed they wouldn’t be found.

Finally, on the fourth day, she jerked awake to find him running his fingers through her hair.

“You’re alive, you’re safe. When you heal, I will help you return to your people,” she promised.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked quietly.

Her chin trembled, “I... uh... You don’t know who I am?” When he didn’t speak she looked away. “Helping you is the right thing to do.”

Tears began to leak from her eyes, and she rose quickly but he caught her wrist and pulled her onto his chest. His dark gold eyes held hers as his fingers brushed her tears away. He kissed her with a gentleness she had never known in her life, for the first time she felt something fluttering in her soul that wasn’t pain.

“I know that you are my sealed one, Princess of Xelusia, and that your Grandfather, the Shadow Mage King wishes to bleed all that is good from both our worlds, and your grandmother is the high priestess called the Dark Queen.” His large hand pulled hers up for them both to see. “I know that you have been hurt and never loved as I will love you if you come with me. My mother and our allies can teach you to be a proper healer and you will never be bled again.”

A sob escaped her lips as she scrambled away from him. “I can’t go with you, you don’t want... want me... I’m tainted... used... I will never be pure like the women of your people, that was taken from me when I was a century old. I have no power like the rest of my family, my mother was a breeding slave kidnapped when the Temples of Light were destroyed. She was bled over my grandfather’s blood altar until I was ten then my sister and I were forced to kill her. I am only alive so that when my grandmother goes to the devouring shadow, the Dark Queen will have a choice of whom to indwell between my sister and I. Either way, I am dead.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he promised. “I, Lord Abrieth, a Protector of the House of Adamos, vow to protect you, my sealed one.”

She shook her head, “I’m sorry, you can’t save me. I’ll... I’ll get you something to eat.” She ran away before he could ask her name.

Later, she brought him some food and a healing tea and stood while he ate and drank, shifting from one foot to another.

He asked, “What is your name?”

“It is best if you don’t know. I’ve met you; you will live. That is enough for my heart.” She answered, then said, “I need to comb your hair.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, “Why?”

“To take your grief, I am keeping you from remembering what my grandmother and her sirens made you do, but the more you heal, the more likely you are to remember. I don’t want you to remember.” She held out a comb and an obsidian bowl.

“Will I forget you?” He asked curiously, mildly wondering if her magic would help his brother.

“No, that is a different kind of magic that I don’t possess. You will remember but without the pain it would cause you normally,” she explained. She chewed her lip, “I should put you to sleep, so you won’t experience the pain when I comb it away.”

“What are you trying to heal me from, what are you keeping me from remembering?” He demanded suspiciously, he could barely remember how he got here and nothing since standing on the ridge with his brother.

“Under the influence of the siren’s magic, you... you killed many...”

“I’m a warrior, I have always killed in battle,” he interrupted.

“You killed your comrades.” The princess looked at him with so much sadness and sympathy, he was suddenly afraid he had harmed Yurieth.

“Then I want to remember and feel my grief, I would not dishonor them by not acknowledging what I did. Tell me your name, and I will let you comb my hair.” He bargained with her.

“I am Serapha, Second Princess, daughter of Prince Lucif, granddaughter of Apollyon and Bab’lonia of the House of the Fallen Star. I don’t know who my mother was before she came here, except that her name was Evannae.” She admitted in such an ashamed voice.

“Serapha from seraphim, a type of angel. You are my angel. I trust you.” He said quietly. “Please begin.”

As she ran the comb through his hair, he almost convulsed with the pain and horror that ripped through his soul. Her tears matched his and she combed drops of something that looked like dark blood into a black bowl. His breath was panted in and out in pain.

Soon it began to slack, and she whispered, “We are almost there.” Three more strokes and he could look at the horror of what he had done without hating himself.

“It is done. The harvesting of grief always leaves a little pain, but it won’t be crippling to your soul.” She turned and poured the bowl into a dark bottle.

“Thank you, my angel,” Abrieth said as he sunk back down, falling asleep.