Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (15 page)

The first guard from the left wing reached down to grasp the sheriff’s shoulder. Reacting on instinct, the sheriff seized the arm and twisted it with a snap. To the surprise of the invaders, the Somnambulist didn’t react to the pain; rather, he reached out with his other arm. Another guard joined him. Tashi performed a leg sweep, knocking over both his opponents. However, more of the impassive guards closed in.

Brent was still horrified, but the dragon’s attention was focused outside. This sheriff must be Jotham’s friend, the man they had come to meet. If only he had a weapon! Brent looked down at the iron-hard staff in his own grasp. Taking a deep breath, he called to the besieged sheriff, “Take this!” With great effort, the boy tossed the staff through the air. ashi dove across the stage like a tumbler to catch it. The action on the stage below had an unreal, exaggerated quality to it, almost dreamlike. As soon as the weapon was in Tashi’s hands, the man planted his feet, stood back against the wall, and didn’t move.

Zariah pointed to the stage and addressed her guards from the front. “Kill the infidels!”

Bjorn followed his leader’s example. He, too, lifted a blade from the unconscious guards and began laying about like a madman. The trio of jumping somnambulists had regained their feet, drawn swords, and limped in pursuit of Bjorn into the midst of the sleepers.

Wind whirled and whistled outside. Brent turned his head to watch the winged snake swoop and dive repeatedly. In spite of the nearly gale-force winds that ripped at the tendrils of fire, the guardian moved so fast that no one from the ground would have suspected anything other than foul weather. The fire was almost extinguished. However, a small shelter of hay still protected the oil-soaked birthplace of the blaze. The Kiateran stared up at the skies, paralyzed with fear, but didn’t leave his post.

The dragon swooped again, braking with its wondrous wings, and snapping its tail at the last instant. Sven was propelled into the fire, knocking aside the hay. He ended up quenching most of the inferno with his body as he thrashed around on the ground. On the last pass, a full rain barrel from the corner of the building was tossed by the same unseen force and bursting on the oil patch. The remaining flames on the wall hissed out of existence.

Inside the Temple, the repeated thumps rattled the wooden lathe wall. The great winds and other inexplicable sounds spoke of something large trying to beat its way in. All the acolytes in the amphitheater watched the barrier, praying it would hold. The acolytes from the stone building barred their door firmly before fleeing to the safety of the cellars.

Tashi began breaking knees, arms, and hips with devastating accuracy. But the nine Somnambulists were held back by little short of death. Gathering his energy, he uttered a single word, and stomped his foot as hard as he could. The stage collapsed under him, taking all but one of the guards with him into the hole.

Zariah pulled at her hair in rage.

The Stone Monkeys slashed furiously at the helpless soldiers.

The gong sounded. Sleepers began sitting up slowly. The cut-throats swung with utter desperation as their window for survival closed. When the three guards from the stage closed on Bjorn, he shifted to defensive blows, and his mentor Ekvar began mowing a path through the reluctant risers to come to his aid.

Sword thrusts that might have killed the men from the North passed through them, doing only a fraction of the damage they should. Their god protected members of the Forge of Kiateros against damage from the weapons their priesthood made. One would suppose that a truly righteous member of the preisthood would’ve taken no wounds, but this pair was far from pristine. Still they wrought a terrible revenge for each cut inflicted, killing another eight guards before Zariah noted the trick. “Use the hilts, spears, or your fists.”

With the guards off their feet under a pile of rubble below the stage, Tashi broke the legs of every man near him like a badger defending his den from the hunter’s dogs. The piles of treasure below the stage worked to his advantage, causing the guards to slip as they tried to counter his onslaught. No man died, but none would climb from this pit any time soon.

Then the dragon appeared again in the bell tower, gazing down at the carnage.

Brent saw the dragon and gazed for a moment into the gray rainbow of its eyes. If it chose to enter the fray, it’d certainly turn the tables and doom his friends. Remembering Zariah’s exact words, and being a lawyer, he said to the awesome beast, “I, too, am priest of the Way, and I gave you all warning of the fire. Save me!” Then he let himself drop, fearing the pain of the impact, but praying for the miracle.

Air lifted him up. Jaws caught the neck of his robes and carried him gently downward. The dragon hung Brent’s clothing from a sharp hook on the wall, his feet dangling a full pace from the floor. The boy opened his eyes. Another miracle! Brent found himself still able to see almost everything but helpless to move.

By the cots, a spearhead passed through Ekvar without harm, but the wooden shaft dragged his intestines outside his skin. The mute threw his dagger into his attacker before collapsing into oblivion.

Bjorn faced a dozen determined opponents who’d closed in a circle around him. Brent could do nothing to stop the soldiers. Lacking a weapon, he stared downward, unwilling to watch another friend butchered. That’s when he saw the bells around his own ankles. Shouting to the last of the Stone Monkeys, he said, “Use your bells!”

Moments later, Bjorn vanished from the perceptions of the guards. He ran to the wall where the boy was hanging. Another hand of Somnambulists from the left wing of the parsonage entered the amphitheater and moved toward the commotion.

Zariah, concerned for her own safety, ordered Serog to whisk her to the center of the circle of Somnambulists. In a blink, the high priestess stood in the heart of her knot of protectors. “Gather around me, shoulder to shoulder. Let nothing pass your ring, seen or unseen. If infidels appear in the temple, even for a moment, let loose your spears.” There were so many guards, they had to form two rings.

Nigel hid behind a pillar as he pulled a scroll from the thick lining of his cloak. The scroll had been hand-copied from the Book of Bards. Until this morning he’d been unable to use it. Now, there was a chance.

Bjorn cut Brent free while the guards were reforming and grabbed another spear from the rack. Both crouched in hiding behind a brazier.

Tashi leapt out of the pit.

Zariah stretched open both hands and the entire stage filled with torch light.

Four spears arced toward Tashi from her circle of defenders. The man in black mail turned sideways and drew his left hand palm up against his abdomen. Then he pushed his right with the holy myrtle staff outward toward the attack as if lifting a heavy weight. The first spear missed by a wide margin. Two more spears clattered off of his sides as if he were made of granite. The fourth spear struck his staff and shattered. Then the sheriff took a cleansing breath before announcing, “Such is the Way of Stone. Surrender and you may yet live.”

All the remaining non-combatants fled at this ultimatum and told others to do the same as they left town with anything they could carry.

Zariah wasn’t impressed. Instead she ordered, “Enough! Serog, neutralize him.”

Tashi turned to face the guardian as it bowed its head toward him in a pre-combat cony of respect. The sheriff didn’t echo the gesture immediately but discretely pulled the magic coin from his purse with his left hand. He said to the dragon, “I have bested others of the Fallen, and have since come to be their ally. To lessen the Fallen only strengthens those I despise. I have no quarrel with thee unless thou maketh it.”

The dragon didn’t react to his boast, but said, “I am she that protects this Door. Without my will, the stones would have long ago collapsed. This priestess has saved me from wandering the waste places. You of all people should know how that feels. I am bound to serve her commands.”

The gender surprised Tashi, but he took the idea of another female trying to kill him in stride. He said, “You have grown fat with years of plenty, of sacrifices dragged to your table. I’ll not go easily. I am a Master of the Way.” Then he bowed his respects to complete the ceremony.

The dragoness laughed. The Way of Stone used mass in combat, but she knew that velocity could inflict far more damage. So it was written in the laws of this world. “Your teacher may have bested me, for his was the Way of Water, and he shone brighter than a month of days. However, you’re weakened by your ordeals and don’t know how to stand before the Way of Air.”

At the last word, before Tashi could reform his stance, Serog dove down in a blur. The sheriff tried to dodge, but the glancing blow from her flanks knocked him several paces across the floor to hit the jamb of the great Door. The holy myrtle staff and magic coin rolled from his limp grip. The dragon circled for the finishing blow.

Brent was frantic. He now regretted having wasted his jumping trick so soon. How could he endanger himself again? Looking around in desperation, the boy saw the answer almost glowing before him. “Attack Zariah,” he hissed to the man hunched beside him. “Hurry!”

Bjorn thought the boy insane, but owed Brent his life. Taking his second spear, Bjorn hurled it into the center of the great circle of protection. Again, sparks flew from his fingertips. The arc was so high it almost scraped the ceiling before plummeting. However, something else above them moved faster. Serog made the air ripple like the heat over a burning forge as she appeared between the missile and its target. None of the villains sustained so much as a scratch, but Tashi had his reprieve. All Bjorn could manage was a weak, “I’ll be; it worked.”

The serpent coiled protectively about the priestess in case there were any other assassins. Meanwhile, three Somnambulist spears replied. Bjorn was unable to dive clear of all of them. One pinned his right arm against a bunk bed. He’d throw no more thunderbolts this day. Brent rushed over to jingle both their bells, vanishing from sight again.

Zariah could not see through the dragon, but repeated her earlier command. “Serog, attack the sheriff!”

Tashi cleared his head. Unable yet to rise or crawl far, the sheriff groped around for an impromptu weapon. His hand fell upon the black brick that had been blocking the Door open. When the dragoness swooped a third time, he heaved it directly into her predictable path. The ancient glass brick struck Serog squarely in the forehead, causing a far greater reaction than Tashi could have imagined. Wobbling and thrashing in midair, Serog reared back and roared. Nothing had hurt her like this since the Falling. The bellowing was so loud that the timbers in the roof shifted and dust trickled from the mortar in the stone walls. Then she plummeted to the floor, plowing up bunks and ricepaper partitions.

Recovering, Tashi tried unsuccessfully to push the Door shut. However, each Door had been progressively harder to close than the last. Perhaps Serog’s will did indeed hold this Temple up. If so, all Tashi had to do in order to win was break that will. Too bad there were no more bricks. But his armor was made of the same pain-storing material.

The dragoness shook off the blow and crawled toward her stone perch. Tashi ran across the stage and launched himself across the space between them. In the normal world, he might not have made the distance. But here by the portal of Dreams, all things seemed possible for one who believed. He caught the barest edge of her tail and that was enough. Pressing his blackened armor into her body, he could hear the sizzle. The dragon shrieked in rage.

Serog flipped over and smashed the offending man against the corner of the stage. The stage cracked and Tashi’s ribs gave. His old wound flared up again, forcing him to release his grip in order to draw even a shallow breath. He did manage to stand this time before she recovered. He stood his ground, he performed the maneuver called Summoning the Boulder. Unwilling to touch that armor of night again, Serog coiled her body around a large piece of furniture. Like a cracking whip, the dragoness hurled the wall of wood at him. Upon impact, his will held strong to the stage. But the stage, weakened by earlier blows, tore out from under him. Tashi flew across the room again to be buried by the debris.

The dragon snorted with anger as it slithered up onto the remaining stage. Poking his head out from the rubble, Tashi said in a pained whisper. “Is that the best you’ve got, fiend?”

“Serog, use your powers to make me Alana for him.” Tashi’s head injuries and memory loss had made questioning difficult, even under drugs and hypnosis. After over a week of interrogation, Zariah had discovered that Tashi had been adopted by the head of the Executioner’s Guild. Before his injury, he’d been seduced by the guildmaster’s young wife and his shame had been unendurable. The guild had a death warrant out on him for this crime.

The dragoness seethed and twisted, wanting to quench her anger. Zariah strode forward to the stage, the Somnambulists parting before her like wheat. They formed a protective column so that no harm could befall the priestess. Eventually, the priestess stood on the platform, five paces from the unmoving sheriff. Serog opened her mouth to speak, but Zariah pointed sternly. The dragon returned to her place above the Door and vanished into the Great Eye.

The remaining stage changed. On three sides it became a room drawn from Tashi’s patchwork memory. The others could watch it all unfold as a play. Brent forced woundwort from his pouch into Bjorn’s mouth while he held pressure on a fountain of blood. A poultice and a bandage should be next, but Brent couldn’t move his hands to get them or his friend might pass out from blood loss and shock. If they lost mobility, they were both dead.