Vanquished

Chapter 1

It was a week’s march to the Lake of Whispers, the depths of which concealed the man Evrenor sought. Some said the sorcerer had been buried in water for a transgression against the gods. Others claimed his body had been placed in the lake by his men after a great battle had been lost. The truth was they knew very little about the last of the mighty sea sorcerers, and what they did know resided in the book now in Evrenor’s hand. Out of all the Quennin warriors, Lord Ynduras had chosen Evrenor for this difficult task. He would not fail.

Watching for the enemy at every step, Evrenor and a small force of his most trusted men had traveled the long and treacherous route to the lake in the hope of rousing the ancient sorcerer and enlisting his aid. Even now, the enemy Ulanesh grew in numbers and spread across the land. The Ulanesh were a large and brutish race, and all attempts to reason with them had been rebuffed with violence—in some cases ending in death for the emissaries who had dared approach them. The desire for conquest was all that drove the dark, beast-like soldiers. Which meant war was inevitable.

To fight an enemy with such superior numbers, the Quennin would need all the allies they could get. That included an ancient magic-user, whom only a scholar like his king could have even known existed. Lord Ynduras’s orders repeated in Evrenor’s mind: "Take this book and travel south to the pool they call the Lake of Whispers. There you must recite the incantation so the sorcerer will hear the call and wake from millennial slumber."

The shore came within sight, and the winds already carried the murmurs for which the Lake of Whispers had been named. Evrenor had reached his destination. He and his fellow Quennin halted in front of the water and looked at the glossy pool that lay unmoving before them.

Is there anything we should do to prepare? Pharanor asked.

Evrenor gripped the tome more tightly. No. We only need this book to guide us. Just be ready for whatever happens.

The men inclined their heads. They were stalwart companions—warriors he trusted with his life.

Evrenor walked to the edge of the murky water and looked at the mirrored surface. The lake might have been beautiful if it had not possessed quite so haunting a vestige, but it seemed to hold a certain promise. The shore was soft and foul-smelling, and he hardly drew a breath as he opened the old and crumbling book and ran his fingers across the page. Although he could not understand the script, his talent for languages was one of the chief reasons he’d been chosen for this mission. He carefully reviewed the sound of each foreign word before he began to speak in a slow and steady cadence.

"Nalevte. Nalevte. Ng te sumardes sa. Al anam aste quia. Al losun aste quia. Brea ut soji, Ososhi. Spira."

He didn’t have to comprehend the words to feel their power. As the last syllable left his lips, the whole forest went unnaturally silent. Even the insects were hushed, as if they, too, were waiting for a response. A breeze wafted across the surface of the water and blew the musty odor of the ancient pages in Evrenor’s face. He didn’t blink.

After a moment, a subtle motion caught his eye. The bits of sediment that had hung suspended on the glassy surface of the lake suddenly began to skim away from the shoreline. It was as if they were drawn by the pull of a nearby waterfall or had turned into water bugs that skittered and dove. The first sound reached his ear—the soft churning of water. It emanated from the center of the lake.

As he watched, ripples began to span out from the epicenter, growing stronger until a bubbling froth ensued. A concussive surge like muffled thunder blasted through the air, sending his men staggering back a step. In the middle of the watery broil, a body slowly floated to the surface. It was bound in black cloth, so its features were concealed, but he could make out the shape of a head and arms. At last, the turmoil ceased, and the lake resumed its dormancy except for this one obtrusion at its surface.

Evrenor closed the book and stared at the mysterious figure. Hyvril, he called to one of his soldiers.

The man hesitated a moment but then strode forward.

Come with me. With a deep breath to steady himself, Evrenor stepped onto the muddy bank.

Hyvril stayed by his side, and their boots sank deeply into the clinging muck. They had to force each foot forward as they waded into the cool, dark water. Their cloaks floated on the surface behind them, but the depth posed no challenge to their height. As they reached the shrouded form in the middle of the lake, the water only reached their forearms, and they easily took the body in tow. The figure didn’t stir as they dragged it back to their waiting comrades.

After hauling the body onto the dry land beneath the trees, they laid it gently on the ground. Evrenor bent to pull the wet cloth from the face. A quick tug unmasked the man, and he jolted in surprise.

It’s a woman! Antyar, another of his men, exclaimed.

Yes, it was. Where there should have been a broad brow and stern jaw, there were instead the delicate features of a female. Like the men he led, Evrenor was taken aback, but he didn’t let shock paralyze him.

Unbind her, he ordered.

His men obeyed and moved their swift fingers to the knots that held the shroud tight. They cleared the ropes and pulled back the dripping fabric to reveal her body. They all studied her curiously.

The mysterious young female wore an exotic white dress, and her hands rested at her sides. On her chest were stains from flowers long rotten and dead, and small chains of shells encircled her limbs and hung from the braids of her bronze locks.

What do we do now? Antyar asked.

Evrenor opened the book and perused it. He doubted it contained further guidance, even if he could have translated it. This foreign text seemed to be a journal or history of sorts. The fading pages were written in several different hands and appeared to age as they progressed. The last author had filled only a single page, and it was from this source that Evrenor had read.

He closed the tome again and studied the face of the woman. She showed no traces of death, and although she looked pale, there was still some healthy color in her skin. Kneeling beside the body, he reached out to touch her. Her flesh felt cold beneath his fingertips, but it was still soft and undamaged, and her lips held no tinge of blue. He ran his hand down her arm in search of a pulse.

Huuuuuuuuh! The woman startled awake with a violent gasp for breath.

The unexpected sound gave Evrenor such a start that he jumped to his feet. The body that had lain inanimate suddenly awakened, and the woman shuddered and convulsed. She desperately gasped for air and flailed her arms, and her gaze darted in every direction, although he wasn’t sure if she actually saw anything.

Witnessing her distress, Evrenor immediately dropped to his knees and captured her hand. He spoke softly to help calm her with his voice.

Peace, lady. He spoke in the barter tongue—a language old enough and common enough that he thought she might understand it. Be at peace. You’re among friends.

She continued to writhe and gulp for air, oblivious to his presence. He held fast to her hand and watched the droplets that had clung to her eyelashes stream down her cheeks.

Peace, he repeated, gently stroking the back of her wrist.

That word at last seemed to reach her, and she ceased her struggle. She began to draw breath more easily and finally focused on his face. There was a sharpness in her gaze that revealed her wits were returning to her.

It’s all right, he assured her. You’re safe.

She regarded him for a long moment before parting her lips. Are you real or another nightmare?

Although her voice rasped with disuse, he heard her clearly. It was an odd question, but the expression on her face and terror in her eyes revealed it to be most serious.

I assure you I’m real, he answered. He was relieved that she at least understood him. Lie still and rest a moment. You’re free now and have nothing to fear.

Although she didn’t respond, her face began to smooth with calm, and he could see she breathed the fresh air without difficulty. More color seeped into her cheeks, and her gaze moved between his face and the sky far above his head. When she struggled to sit up, he helped her.

Once seated, she appeared to survey the land around her, as well as him and his men. Then, still clasping his hand, she rose to her feet, almost teetering before finally standing steady and letting go. Evrenor remained poised so that he could catch her if she stumbled.

Who are you? she asked, looking at him directly.

He could see she wasn’t completely recovered, so he spoke slowly so that she could easily comprehend him. I am Evrenor of the Quennin. My men and I were sent here by Lord Ynduras to retrieve you from the lake.

In a whisper, she repeated his name several times and then fell silent as she looked at the ground.

When it appeared this was all she would say, Evrenor asked the question he wanted answered. And what is your name?

My name? She blinked for a moment and then straightened. "I am Valkaria, daughter of Valkinor, the ososhi of the Shieslamar. I rule the great isle where the seas have no names. She frowned as she looked at the forest around her. I don’t know this place. What land is this?"

Evrenor thought about how best to tell her. He didn’t know the exact location of her homeland from here, and she’d been out of the world for far too long to be familiar with its landmarks now.

I can’t answer you, Lady Valkaria, he admitted. Not in names you’ll understand. You’re very far from your home to the south.

She seemed to accept this, though she continued to scowl. Perhaps she understood what had befallen her?

Do you remember how you came to be here? Evrenor asked.

Her face darkened, and he could see she struggled to recall, but she looked defeated. No, I remember only the darkness.

Evrenor found this disturbing, but he didn’t let it show. Seeing the questioning glances from his men, he made his decision. It wasn’t safe for them to stay here.

We must get her to Lord Ynduras as quickly as possible, he announced. He’ll decide what to do.

Looking at Valkaria, he noticed her entire body shivered with cold. Her skin was already chilled from the water, and he could only imagine how deeply the air bit her. It would be a great disgrace if he succeeded in recovering her this far only to lose her to the climate.

The clothes, he ordered swiftly.

Pharanor fetched them and handed them over.

Evrenor suffered a brief flash of embarrassment. I apologize, he told her as he passed her the bundle of garments. We were expecting a man, so we didn’t bring appropriate garb for you. At least these should be warm and dry.

This news didn’t appear to offend her, and she accepted the offering with a small bow of her head. He immediately looked around. The trees here were thick enough to offer decent concealment.

We’ll wait in that clearing, he said, pointing to an opening in the woods set back away from the lake. Please join us as soon as you’re ready, and I can take you to my king.

Although clearly dazed, she agreed, so he and his men left to give her some privacy. Despite the unexpected turn in their mission, Evrenor knew his orders hadn’t changed. Whoever or whatever Valkaria might be, he needed to escort her safely to Lord Ynduras.

VALKARIA WATCHED AS the men walked away. It was a terrible thing to remember nothing but torment and oblivion. She was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, barely able to recall her own name. Everywhere she looked, there was soil instead of sand and trees that grew large and thick with staggered limbs. Even the air didn’t move as it should. It gave only the faintest puffs and carried an earthy odor. As for the people who had surrounded her, they were odd-looking strangers with black eyes and hair like starlight. They wore strange garb and spoke with a foreign accent. The whole situation was frightening and confusing, and she felt, more than understood, that she was far from home. More than anything, though, she feared slipping back into the darkness.

Valkaria looked at the bundle Evrenor had given her and discovered she was clasping it to her chest like a child. The waters that had embalmed her had left a chill in her bones, and she shivered uncontrollably. The breeze, though languid, seemed to sap what was left of her warmth, so she hastened to dress behind the nearby tree.

After removing her soaked dress, she took off the jewelry on her wrists, arms, ankles, and neck, leaving only the ornamentation of her hair with its many beaded strands. Then she stooped to unfasten the sandals on her feet and laid everything on the ground beside her. With numb fingers, she untied the bundle to look at the fresh garments they’d given her. Such perplexing clothes. There was more than one piece, and each seemed cut in an odd shape. How was she supposed to don them?

Peeking cautiously around the tree trunk, she looked at her rescuers in the distance and made a quick study of their garb. She then returned to her task and began reconstructing what she’d seen of the men onto herself. This was a difficult challenge, but she ultimately succeeded, down to the last clasp on the clumsy shoes. By rolling up the hems at her ankles and pulling each shoe strap tight, she managed to make everything fit reasonably well.

Rising to her feet, she then tested each foot to get used to the feel of the large and deadening shoes. Once she was sure she wouldn’t fall over, she gathered her sandals, jewelry, and dress. She decided to stow the former two articles in the large pocket that hung from the belt at her hip, but the dress was badly discolored.

Valkaria stared at it for a moment, taking in the many stains. Then she noticed a tear in the fabric. Putting two fingers through the slit, she discovered it was a clean cut made beneath the ribs. A shiver went through her, and she clenched her jaw. She touched the same spot on her body as she suffered a phantom pain, but she shook off the sensation.

Striding toward the gloomy water she’d just escaped, she gave the garment one last look of distaste. With a grunt, she tossed it to the center of the pool, where it floated on the surface for a moment before it sank.

With warmth and strength returning to her body, she turned away from the water and went to join her rescuers. She eyed them closely as she approached. These Quennin formed a company of twenty men, all of whom had various weapons strapped to their backs and belts. Although vaguely exotic, their faces were kind, and she had to make a quick judgment about their character. Whatever motive had driven them to find her in this dreadful part of the world, they had done her a great service. Foolishly or not, she felt safe in going with them.

I’m ready, she told their leader.

Evrenor looked her over from head to toe, clearly judging the fit of the clothes on her, before he nodded.

We leave now, he told the others.

Not knowing what else to do, she followed him as he set off through the forest.

Chapter 2

Perched on the highest bough of a distant forest, Damir raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and peered over the canopy. He first looked toward the north where he and his friend were heading, and the endless green treetops assured him that life still flourished in that region. With a twist, he then reviewed the way they’d come, and he felt a familiar sadness weigh on him. Along this pathway, decaying patches rotted away the greenery in growing portions and betrayed the presence of the enemy. He couldn’t suppress a sigh.

Centuries ago, when the first invaders had moved into the ancient forest, his people had worried about the land then, too. His people, the woodsman, had remained unseen—their greatest talent—and had waited and watched to see what the newcomers would do. Over time, they had discovered that these people, whom they eventually named the dhahamash—friendly foreigners—were no threat. The dhahamash took only the fallen limbs for their fires and were kind to the life around them. As a result, the woodsmen decided to let them be.

Despite living in such close proximity, Damir’s people didn’t interact with the outsiders.