38

Once again, Miraveh had to put aside what she wanted to do for something more pressing. She passed Sialira, still holding Daras' body on her lap, her tears silent, but she couldn't comfort the young Witch. Not yet. Mandelar led her past all of the survivors and even the injured watched her as she strode past. No accusations, as she had expected, but looks of hope and of concern.

Now Mandelar stood looking at nothing before glancing at Miraveh and then back at the empty space. Miraveh had not taken much notice of where the portal had opened up to, instead carrying Daras away to lay him down far from the portal's boundary. Mandelar raised her hand and pale blue tendrils of magic snaked out, spreading and becoming almost a circle of magic in the air.

"One of the children sensed it first. The boy has little magic, but, for some reason, his sensitivity to magic is incredible." The circle of magic in the air pulsed with surprising violence and Mandelar flinched. "I don't know how this is happening, but the portal has been held open. Not enough to pass through, but enough to sustain the link between there and here."

Miraveh stepped closer to the portal's remnant and raised her own hand, palm outwards, and allowed her magic to flow. Purple tendrils began to reach out and then became entwined with the pale blue of Mandelar's magic. She reached further, pushing her magic into what remained of the portal and pulled back. She had touched something else, something dark and familiar.

"Yaerual!" She turned to Brothimir. "Can he do it? Can he reopen the portal?"

"I ... don't know. Possibly. I don't know him well, but rumours say he is among the most accomplished of Karline. Raised from a young age to use relics." Brothimir circled the flickering ring of blue magic, rubbing a stubbled chin. "We, Karline, had heard of portals but could never work out the process. I only know now because of the girl. But if anyone can learn from seeing it, he can."

Again, Miraveh reached out with her magic, testing the opening from this point to where they had fought with the Hunters. She could almost sense other Karline surrounding the remains of the portal there. A number of different presences prodding and tugging at the hole between places. She could feel the portal shuddering.

She released her magic and looked around. Along with the body of Daras, Miraveh could see several people laid upon the ground, others tending to wounds. Some, she supposed, could travel, but others could not. Not at any great speed. Had they managed to bring the cart through, it could have carried those too injured to walk. For the tiniest fraction of a moment, she considered leaving them behind and saving the majority.

The presence of the Velaurian Order stronghold began to loom over her. A fear gripped her at the thought of the place. Brothimir had wanted to come here from the very first moment, to regain a relic for himself, urging her to take a relic, one bound to her, and she had considered that many times. But other things about the stronghold preyed upon her.

Alran. Confirmed by Yaerual to have been a member of the Order of Velaurian Warriors, turned traitor, to hear the Karline speak, Miraveh feared she would learn things about her lost mentor that could change how she thought of him. She did not want to learn that he was once less like the honourable Velaurian Warriors and more like the Hunters O' The Dark that they became.

"We can't run." She could not abandon the injured. To do that would insult Alran's memory and his teachings more than anything else. "It has to be the stronghold and may the universe pity us if it's a mistake. Mandelar, how long before they manage to open the portal again?"

"Days. I think. Three, at the most. But if they learn the secrets of creating portals, we would not have only those Hunters that chased us from Comragon to contend with. They could bring Hunters from all across the world." Mandelar shuddered and Miraveh realised that the Witch gripped a relic in her hand as her magic pulsed once again. "I could stay here. Hold it closed, try to make it more difficult to read what magic was wrought to create the portal."

"No. They will come whether you hold the, back or not and we need your strength." Miraveh gently lowered Mandelar's hand, the Witch's magic fading away, and took the relic from her fingers. "Do not use the relics unless absolutely necessary. They can be addictive but soul destroying. Besides, we only have five remaining."

"Four." Brothimir held up his hand, showing all of them the burned, scarred flesh of his palm. "It took everything I had to open that portal. The relic wasn't bound to me and it burned, passing so much magic through it. But we can have more. Enough for everyone. In there."

"If I used a relic, I could make portals myself." She ignored Brothimir's insistence on reaching the stronghold. "I could create a series of them and we could ..."

"No. Portals leave a scar upon the face of the world. They heal, eventually, but they can be tracked by that scar." Mandelar continued to shake her head as she spoke, looking as Miraveh rubbed her injured ribs. "Besides, even were you at full strength and with a relic, I doubt you could create more than three or four portals before you exhaust yourself."

Brothimir listened to mandelar then pointed towards the stronghold and Miraveh's stomach turned. The thought of gaining a relic of her own almost made her giddy, but the thought of what she became while using them made her feel nauseated. She wasn't herself while using relics. Or she became too much like her true self. Either way, the relics amplified every scrap of darkness within her. She became nasty, arrogant and brutal while using them. But they had nowhere else to go

"We'll see when we get there. Turotara." She didn't have to look around for the big woman, Miraveh knew she would not have gone far. "See if you can fashion some stretchers to carry the wounded behind the horses. They don't have to be comfortable, only mobile."

"Yes." One word. No arguments. No sarcastic undertones. Turotara had probably already set out before Miraveh stopped talking.

"In the meantime, you need tending to yourself. That ear is a mess." Brothimir reached up a hand towards the side of Miraveh's face and she swatted it away, none-too-gently. "Well if you won't let me look at it, have someone clean it up. The last thing we need is our boss collapsing with an infection fever."

Miraveh had said all she wanted to say. Turotara would begin organising everyone to prepare to head towards the stronghold. Mandelar would keep her eye upon the still-open portal. Miraveh knew she didn't need to tell either of them what to do for the moment. Brothimir could do what he liked. If he wanted, he could go to the stronghold and search for his precious new relic. Miraveh didn't care what he did.

Instead, she found herself walking back to Sialira and the body of Daras. Each step appeared to take an age. Each lift of the foot like straddling a mountain. Each stride the length of the world. After a fashion, Miraveh hoped that she would never reach them. That each step only took her half-way and then another half-way and another. Each step becoming shorter, but never reaching the destination. Always half-a-step away.

Sialira didn't look up as Miraveh reached her, yet somehow sensed Miraveh's presence. Without looking, the young Witch held out her hand and Miraveh closed her fingers around those tiny, unspoiled fingers of Sialira. Unspoiled, apart from the Daras' drying blood upon them. Sialira pulled Miraveh down to kneel beside her and, as soon as Miraveh settled upon her knees, Sialira leaned her head against Miraveh's shoulder.

"You're blaming yourself." Sialira still held Miraveh's hand even as her other continued to stroke Daras' shaved head. "Don't. I don't. One day, when you make me angry again, and you will, I'll say something awful and blame you, but that will just be anger. We do that. Humans. We strike out in the best way to hurt people. I want you to know, now and forever, that I don't blame you and never will."

"Sialira, I'm ... I should ..." Miraveh looked down to her hand and realised that Sialira had started squeezing it so tight that it almost hurt. "I do blame myself. I always will. Without me, he would never have been there. It's what I do. Others always get hurt."

"People get hurt all the time." For the first time, Sialira looked up to Miraveh. Her eyes swollen and reddened, she had no accusation there. "He was a good man. A kind man who had nothing but happiness to give. He would have followed you to the end and I ... I think I had fallen in love with him. He felt it first, of course, but, yes, I loved him. I really did."

Once again, Sialira laid her head upon Miraveh's shoulder, continuing to stroke Daras' head. It surprised Miraveh that Sialira didn't blame her. If nothing else, the young Witch had never seemed reticent to make her feelings known to Miraveh and she did so, often. It almost disappointed Miraveh. Had Sialira thrown all her anger at Miraveh, brought down every ounce of self-important indignations and condescension, accused Miraveh of being arrogant, a fool, an idiot, selfish, she would have understood. She would have agreed.

"We'll need to move soon, to the stronghold." Even now, Miraveh could not say it. She couldn't tell Sialira that, in her own way, she had loved Daras too. A sisterly love, but love, nonetheless. "We can give him funeral rights there."

"I know." Sialira released Miraveh's hand and curled her arm around Miraveh's arm, holding tight. "Soon. I think he'd like to have his funeral there. He would have felt like the King of Thieves."

All around them, people were preparing to head towards the stronghold. Humans, elves, goblins. All working together without a flicker of dissent. The Candidate passed them by, bowing her head, the golden aura leaving a blur in the air that only Miraveh could see. The girl, Peknida, had no idea what her future held. That, one day, she would help to hold back the gods from the world and save everyone from their uncaring excesses. She would keep the world pure and safe.

With the many injuries surrounding them, those already dead back in the tall grasses near Comragon, and those injuries and deaths yet to come, Miraveh didn't see much purity or safety. How much worse could it be were the gods to walk upon the world?

-+-

Miraveh paused once again, taking the ring, given to her by the Phrenica of the Jukunashar Coven, from under her armour and held it tight within her hand. Closing her eyes, she poured as much magic as she could into the trinket but, try as she might, she could not communicate with the Phrenica. Whether they were too far away, or Jukunashar had become overrun by Hunters O' The Dark, or even whether the dragon had become bored with protecting the distant city and attacked it, Miraveh could not say.

The ring remained silent, as it had along the way towards the Velaurian stronghold that still seemed so very far away. She had not tried to use the ring before, thinking they would not have the time for the Phrenica to send aid, but they had time now. Days, or less, with only the stronghold before them for protection. If, when, the Hunters discovered the secret of portals, they would need all the aid they could muster, and more.

The makeshift litters left scratch marks along the stony ground and, where they found soil instead of stone, gouges through the muck and dirt. Even the worst tracker could see exactly which way they headed and then the fight would begin again. Only, this time, they had far fewer people to defend themselves. She looked back at the ragtag bunch of tired, hungry humans, elves and goblins and wondered how much more they could take.

Sialira walked beside the litter carrying the body of Daras. She hadn't moved further than five feet from him since they had started the long trek towards the foreboding structure of the stronghold and whatever awaited them there. Miraveh wished she could give the young Witch the comfort she needed, but she couldn't. She had to show strength, resolve and calm. For all of them.

"You carry a lot of weight for shoulders so young." Brothimir had taken to walking beside Miraveh, but she barely acknowledged his presence. "A lot of guilt. I can tell. I can understand that. The things I have done, that I've witnessed. I can never be forgiven, I know this, but ..."

"No, you can't be forgiven." Still she received no answer from the Phrenica. She returned the ring inside her armour and continued walking. "Not by me. And neither can I. Nor do I want forgiveness."

"You need forgiveness, even if it came only from one person." The Hunter looked over his shoulder. "The girl can't forgive you because she doesn't think you need it. She thinks you only carry the guilt for things she has witnessed, but your burden is far greater than that. I can tell."

Miraveh looked away, the sneer that twitched onto her features hidden from him. He knew nothing of what he spoke. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept. Saved from the dreams of accusing faces that haunted her by dint of not closing her eyes long enough to dream. She didn't want to sleep. Too many new faces would come to her. One, more than any other, she did not want to see.

Up ahead, she could see Turotara running back to the group of shambling, exhausted refugees. Upon her shoulders, she carried something and, when she reached them, Miraveh could see the carcass of a goat lolling against the big woman. Turotara looked pleased with herself and hooked the dead animal onto the back of a nearby horse.

"We'll not starve. I found a herd of near three dozen goats around a small pond up ahead. And many more in the foothills, if my eyes didn't deceive me." She tugged the shoulder material of her leather armour to her nose and grimaced at the goat smell. "Water is available. Several streams, though I'd prefer to boil it afore drink it straight. We should stop for the night. The weather is mild and they all need rest."

"We don't have the privilege of resting for the night. We can rest when we aren't so exposed." She jerked her chin towards the stark, broken stone walls of the stronghold. "We can take a short rest for now, but we can reach the stronghold before morning. Caught in the open, here, we'll be overrun."

Turotara didn't argue. She made a round of all the refugees, giving them leave to rest for a short while, and many of them dropped to the ground where they stood. Miraveh looked to the goat carcass. These people needed food and water and they needed it now. The little supplies they had brought with them on the horses had already run out. They would need far more than one goat to feed them all and far more time to cook the meat than Miraveh could afford.

She paced in front of the group, impatient to continue on towards the stronghold. Each moment spent recovering lost energy was a moment closer to the Hunters learning how to create portals. Brothimir had learned in an hour, aided by Sialira, yes, but Miraveh felt certain that Yaerual had intelligence greater than Brothimir. He would work out how to create portals sooner rather than later. After all, she had only seen a portal created twice and she felt certain she could create one herself, should her magical strength return.

Her fingers flexed and she played magical energy across and between them. Her strength returned, but not fast enough. She could take a relic and try to create a portal, right now, but she feared using relics again. Feared herself. Instead, rather than take that chance and transport these people to safety in an instant, she forced them to march the entire way. Her cowardice repulsed her.

Again, she tried to communicate with the Phrenica of Jukunashar and, again, she heard nothing. She almost ripped the ring from around her neck, thinking to toss it away as she would any useless, broken thing, but she couldn't. The ring returned to the inside of her armour and she gave Turotara the signal to get the refugees moving. They still had far to travel.

"Have you given much thought about what awaits you in there?" Brothimir, trying once again to start a conversation. Miraveh wished he would leave her alone. "The source of Karline relics. That's what awaits you. You've felt the power a relic can give. Imagine a relic bound to you and you alone. Imagine the power!"

"Enough!" Miraveh knew her shout carried along the flat, stony ground. Reaching the ears of many, if not all, of those who followed in her wake. She lowered her voice. "When we reach the stronghold, you will show me where these relics are and I will destroy them. No-one else, not Karline, nor Witch, not you and certainly not me will ever make use of them again."

"You may not find it so easy to destroy the source of the relics." Brothimir looked away. For so long, now, he had shown eyes only for Miraveh, yet now he looked away. "But I defer to you, no matter how much I want a relic again. You have my word, I will say no more of it."

Brothimir lapsed into silence and Miraveh could tell that he left something unsaid. She could compel him to speak, to tell her everything he knew about the relics and their source, but she wanted nothing to do with them. That wasn't strictly true. She desired a relic like she had never desired anything before. The power. It intoxicated her. But she could not trust herself with one. Not again.

They continued on through the night, taking short rests here and there. None complained. None failed to stand once again to continue the trek towards the stronghold. These tired, hungry people showed more strength of spirit than she had seen in many warriors. She began to feel admiration at their determination. Now, they did not have far to go.

As they had neared the stronghold of the Velaurian Order, Miraveh began to suspect they had made a mistake. From afar, the place looked damaged, but still remained intact in important areas. The keep still looked strong from a distance. Up close, those first observations seemed optimistic. The stronghold did not look as though it could weather a light breeze from the sea, let alone a magical siege.

Most of the outer wall had collapsed and the inner wall had fared as badly. Towers had once reached toward the skies, giving observers wide views in all directions but back towards the mountain. The keep, itself, had deep cracks running up the walls. Cracks that Miraveh could not have seen from a distance. Her heart sank and she forced herself not to look back to those that had followed on this fool's errand.

"It isn't as bad as it looks. Trust me. It's safe." Brothimir stood ahead and to the side, sweeping his arm to urge Miraveh forward. "You made the right decision coming here."

Miraveh looked up to the crumbling walls. A road, rutted and broken, led around the remains of the walls, sloping upward and hugging a wide moat that didn't look as though it had held water in it for centuries. She glanced down into the man-made ditch only to turn her head away. Skeletons adorned the bed of the moat. The many dead that had tried to capture the stronghold in times past.

Wary, Miraveh led the refugees along the road, skirting the moat, until they reached what was once the drawbridge, now only one strip of long, rotted wood, perhaps a foot-and-a-half wide, crossing the gap between castle and the lands beyond. Miraveh knew she had to test that strip of wood and she crossed as quickly as she could and, upon reaching the other side, it felt as though she had crossed some invisible barrier.

Something was here. A presence the like she had never felt before. A presence that felt faded and lost. She couldn't say exactly what she sensed, but it felt ancient. An ancient, magical thing and that thing felt sad.