"The Barrow On Lonesome Peak"
May. 24th, 2023 03:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Barrow On Lonesome Peak"
4/24/2022
I.
"This is the Barrow we have come to investigate," Frank Mills said, laying one hand lightly on the grass-covered earth which composed the strangely symmetrical mound. A cool, detached scrutiny in his dark eyes came to rest on the great pile of massive weather-worn dirt. Grass grew on it but sparsely.
"Talk about a desolate place!" Unicorn said. "Who would have thought to find such a spot in this vicinity? Except for the smoke from that chimney over the hill, you'd never suspect there's a good-sized city right nearby! Looks like the Olivera family owns more land than I thought."
"Even before the Oliveras closed the area to the public, the locals have shunned this Barrow for centuries," the Trom replied.
"Yeah? Why is that?"
"Folklore and local legends warn them," Mills said in his even tones as he walked around the pile. "Nothing more substantial than that."
"We've found local legends sometimes are worth listening to!" Unicorn muttered uneasily. "Folklore handed down gets distorted but it can be based on real menaces." Ashley regarded her new partner without warmth. Just over five feet tall and barely one hundred pounds, the platinum blonde was still gorgeous at forty and the snug black field suit flattered her but her sour expression made her feelings clear.
She still found it unsettling how exactly Frank Mills resembled founding KDF member Leonard Slade. Six feet one, around two hundred pounds and in great athletic shape as shown in his own field suit, the Trom had the same regular bland features, clear olive skin and short black hair she had seen in many photos of Slade. If she had been shown the photos without knowing how old they were, she would have had no hesitation in saying they were of this man. But Slade had died thirty years ago.
Did the Trom clone themselves? Did they breed different occupations the way dogs were bred? Ashley Whitaker was becoming increasingly uneasy as she realized how little she knew about this strange Race.
"Historical records indicate that the Olivera family claimed this property in 1733," Mills announced. "They were not farmers themselves but leased out land to tenants and became wealthy. I can not find more than one mention of this Barrow, and that is a brief reference in a June 1853 letter to 'the cursed mound on Lonesome Peak.' There have not been any magazine or newspaper articles on this Barrow, to my knowledge."
Deciding she had to try to be civil because she was going to be working with this guy on the team, Ashley said, "Kenneth Dred left so many thousands of books. He collected forbidden knowledge for fifty years. We've managed to catalogue the titles and authors but honestly I doubt if anyone has even skimmed through most of them, let alone read them."
"Our captain has not agreed yet to allow a team of Trom researchers to begin scanning all the texts systematically. This would provide an invaluable amount of information about the history of the Midnight War but Sable declines to allow it."
"Well, that's her decision," Ashley replied, managing not to snap at him. "So. As I understand it, this thing is basically a tomb? It's a big pile of dirt over an ancient grave of some king or aristocrat?"
"Yes. They were more common in Northwestern Europe, but the practice has been found wherever Humans occupied land. My sensors are not functioning properly and I am not sure why. Readings are taking much longer than usual to collect."
Ashley began pacing around the mound, checking it out from different angles. "I bet that's gralic energy. It interferes with your tech. Megan had the darndest time dealing with gralic manifestations."
"I agree. One reason why my people have wanted an agreement with the KDF is to be able to study gralir. We have not been able to quantify it. Gralic force seems to connect conscious thought with known effects such as electromagnetism, gravity and kinetic energy."
The little blonde could not hide a gleeful smile. "That must drive you guys nuts, something you can't explain even in theory."
"We are motivated to seek knowledge," Mills replied evenly. "But we accept that many phenomena may remain beyond the scope of understanding."
Ashley sighed. You couldn't tease Frank Mills or bait him into getting annoyed. She knew, of course, that the Trom were not normal people repressing emotions... they were the result of thousands of years of breeding out emotions. Even their hormones were detached from their behavior. It was like having to interact with the fantasy of a perfect serene Zen master in a way. She hated it.
"Anyway," she said, "You're going to be busy trying to scan this heap?"
"Yes. There is no way to tell how long it will take to obtain useful results." The thin flat device in his hand chirped as if to comment.
"It's getting dark. I'm not gonna be of any use right now, to be honest. I think I'll get a few hours sleep while I can. The way the Midnight War goes, once things start to happen, we might be on the go for a couple days non-stop."
Frank Mills seemed not to have heard her at first, but finally he said, "You might sleep inside the CORBY. That would provide security."
"Nah, it's a beautiful night. Warm and dry and breezy. I think I'll sack down a little distance away, over by those trees there. Beep me if you need me."
"Understood." Studying the screen on his Link, the Trom apparently had already dismissed her from his mind.
Trudging through the high grass, Ashley had enough self-awareness to realize she resented this new member because she felt he was trying to take Megan Salenger's place. In a literal sense, he was. Frank Mills had been sent by the Trom to apply for membership in the Kenneth Dred Foundation and to be sponsored at Tel Shai, filling the vacant slot in the team left by Megan's death. That was reasonable enough, and the team would benefit from his joining. From a practical view, it made perfect sense.
But emotionally...! Megan had been Ashley's closest friend, not only in the Midnight War but since her childhood. They had spent many of their free days traveling and socializing happily. Even Megan's romance with Archie had left space for Ashley. And Megan's sudden violent death only two months earlier had stricken Ashley to the heart. She was still healing from her divorce as well, which didn't help. But even though the Unicorn understood her loss and grief had nothing to do with Frank Mills, she couldn't help disliking the man. Or the Trom.
In a round clearing near the edge of Lonesome Peak, the CORBY sat, landing gear held by chocks. The all-black stealthcopter had no markings on it, and its sleek sharklike shape gave it a decidedly sinister appearance. Ashley unbolted a hatch into the rear storage compartment and tugged out her knapsack with its sleeping bag fastened around its upper edge. From a cooler, she extracted a chilled water bottle, a ham and cheese sandwich in cling wrap and a bag of corn chips which she tucked away in her pack as well.
Staring up at the brilliant late Spring night sky with its crescent moon, Ashley relaxed enough that she realized how tense she had been. Even a few hours sleep would clear her mind. Ashley was picking a likely spot to stretch out when she sensed movement near her.
II.
II.
Ashley turned back toward the Barrow but stopped suddenly. Wrapped in her own introspective thoughts, she had approached within a few feet of someone before seeing her. This was an incredibly old woman, thin and bent, leaning on an ebony stick. Bright silver hair was done up in a bun behind a hawklike face whose hooked nose and prominent chin nearly met. Ashley thought she had to be ninety years old, but those cornflower-blue eyes shone with sharp awareness behind the wrinkled lids.
Standing well back, almost unseen in the gloom, was a silent figure entirely concealed in hard leather armor. Nothing could be seen of its face behind the visored helmet. So still did it stand that Ashley hardly noticed it.
"What would you be doing at the Barrow?" she asked in a deep, powerful voice. Unicorn looked at her in surprise. The old woman spoke in English, but with a strange lilting accent. She sounded almost as if she was singing. It reminded Ashley of a tonal language like Mandarin.
"We were speculating on its history," Ashley answered in a friendly tone, hoping this woman wasn't some crank out to start an argument.
The white-haired head turned slowly to gaze up at the peak. "I have little liking for the disbelieving man who was with you," she said somberly. "Who are you?"
"I'm just a researcher, unappreciated and underpaid," Unicorn answered. "My name is Ashley Whitaker."
A strange light gleamed in her cold eyes. "Ah. The Unicorn."
"That's flattering, you've heard of me then?"
"Aye, I knew Mary Cassidy long ago. Your mother, the first Unicorn," she answered, "but I have been far away for a long time. All is changed. I would not have returned, but I was drawn back by a call you would not understand. Tell me, would you open the Barrow if you could?"
Ashley started and gazed at her closely, deciding that she had somehow overheard their conversation. "It's not up to me to say," she grumbled. "My partner Frank Mills seem to think he's in charge of everything. He'll certainly open it and I'm obligated to help him. Of my own will... I would not molest it."
Her piercing eyes fixed on Unicorn's face as if trying to read her thoughts.
"Life without feeling is no life at all," she said somberly. "What does that cold bloodless mind know of the true history of this world? Empires has risen and fallen into dust scattered on the wind. But you know better. Thirty thousand years ago, before the lands and seas were remade, there brooded the Darthan Age. At its end, Romal the Mongrel stirred rebellion in all the Seven Races against Darthan tyranny. Against the sorcery of the Darthim, against their legions of Trolls and Snake men, their fell beasts Dragons and Malakim, mortal men stood defiant. Humans and Melgarin united, even the immortal Eldanarin took up arms for the first and only time. And the Darthim were smashed!"
"The Teachers at Tel Shai have told me about all this," answered Ashley almost in a whisper. "The most terrible wars ever. Whole nations were wiped out, they said."
"Aye, tis only truth. And the Darthim and the Eldanarin unleashed such great gralic destruction that life itself was within a hair-width of being lost forever. That was when the Higher Ones intervened. Great Jordyn, Eryasha and Cirkoth joined together and remade the shapes of the continents, the rivers and oceans. The world was remade. That was when the history known to modern scientists began."
"It makes me dizzy to think about it too deeply," admitted the Unicorn, huddling into herself as if chilled. "A cosmic reset button. But, let me ask. Why are you talking about this now?"
The old woman raised a single gnarled finger for emphasis. "A handful of objects survived the Great Change, untouched, remaining to linger in the new reality. I tell you, the Barrow is one of those remnants. Long have I stood watch over it, to be sure it remained untouched."
"But... We came to investigate it," Ashley said. "My partner won't leave it alone just because I say so. He's determined to learn everything he can."
"You have been sent here for a reason beyond what you suspect," Maeve the Seer said. "There are gigantic forces at play behind the scenes. You bear a talisman that is at the same time a great gift and a heavy burden."
"The Horn..." Ashley reached up and placed her fingers on the strap running diagonally down across her chest. The hilt of the white leather sheath protruded up by her right shoulder where she could unsnap it. "Yeah, I take it seriously."
"From what I discern, you have wielded it properly, young lady. You protect innocents from the evil children of the night. But I tell you this, neither you nor your mother before you unlocked the full power of the Unicorn horn. It will enact a destiny beyond your dreams. But now I tell you to tap its full strength for the ancient winds of trouble blow, and the Horn is sword and shield against the creatures of the night. A great evil stirs in its prison, which blind hands of folly may break open. But stronger than any evil is the Unicorn Horn, which has gathered power and strength through the long, long ages since that forgotten evil fell to the earth."
"But who ARE you?" Ashley exclaimed.
"I am... I was Maeve the Seer," she answered. "I will send you a vision. Come, Cormac."
Then, turning without a word, she hobbled away in the deepening twilight while Unicorn stood bewildered and watched her cross the peal and pass from sight, turning inland as she topped the ridge. Close beside her, protectively, the strange leather-armored companion kept pace.
Then Ashley rousted herself as if waking from a dream, went slowly up the slope and across the headland. When she crossed the ridge it was as if she had passed out of one world into another. Only one archaic touch was lent to the scene before her. Some distance inland loomed the straggling and broken lines of an ancient graveyard, long deserted and grown up in weeds, barely discernible in the dusk. Ashley saw a bent figure moving slowly among the crumbling tombs, and she shook her head bewilderedly. Was Maeve the Seer was touched with madness, living in the past? No. She didn't think so. The old woman's words had struck her like cold lightning.
Ashley unfastened the straps across her chest and carefully placed the sheathed Horn on the ground. She unrolled her sleeping bag, tugged off her boots and slipped inside otherwise fully dressed. It was ingrained habit by then to check her Link to make sure it was active and sending her location before going to sleep. If Mills or Sable or any of her team wanted to contact her, there would be no problem. The Unicorn yawned so hard her jaw popped, then turned over on her side and propped her head up on one elbow. Her free hand rested on the comforting solidity of the ancient Horn. With the next breath, she had dropped off into deepest slumber.
III.
At first she thought that she was dreaming, but no... it felt so different. Everything was dim and vague. Vast dark clouds churned and rolled away to slowly settle and reveal a distinct landscape, unfamiliar and somehow unsettling. She saw a broad bare plain, fringed by the grey sea on one side, and a dark, rustling forest on the other. This plain was cut by a winding river, and beyond this river Ashley saw a city such as her waking eyes had never seen. Stark, tower-topped granite walls loomed up over squat stone buildings. On that plain she saw with a jolt the aftermath of a mighty battle. Densly crowded ranks rolled backward and forward, steel flashed like a sunlit sea, and men fell by the scores as she watched. Unicorn saw hordes of gigantic Trolls, rough-hided and nearly naked but for leather harnesses. They were wielding crude hammers and axes, fighting tall men in horse-crested helmets and glittering mail, wielding long straight swords.
In the vision, Unicorn saw a dramatic figure striding through the aftermath. He was tall and strongly built, his tunic and cloak so tattered and blood-drenched he seemed entirely red. Shaggy black hair was slicked back by sweat and gore to reveal ears which rose to distinct points. This had to be the greatest warrior of the Darthan Age, Romal the Mongrel. He was one like no other, bearing traits of the Seven Races but belonging to none. The chipped blade of his sword was dripping with the blood of slaughtered foes.
The thunder of conflict was dying down, though here and there struggling clumps of warriors still dotted the plain. Down along the river, savage Trolls seven feet high, waist-deep in reddening water, bludgeoned and clashed with Melgar warriors whose mail could not entirely protect them from those brutal blows. Across the river a disorderly horde was staggering over and around the fallen.
The dark crimson sun was sinking low beneath storm clouds toward the horizon. All day Romal had fought beside the Humans and Melgarin and Eldanarin. He had seen enough slaughter to sicken the soul of even the most hardened man. He had seen the seemingly invincible Prince Duran struck down in the moment of victory, by the hand of a black-mailed giant whose name none knew. There was one brief glimpse of a black leather uniformed man with a gleaming helmet, and this could only be the Silver Skull of that earlier Age. Romal had met him before and was glad to see such a formidable warrior.
Indeed, the slaughter had been what poets would call a feasting of ravens, and he felt at least that no more would the dreaded Trolls stomp from their caves in the mountains and up from their tunnels to spread destruction. Far and wide the giant brutes now sprawled dead in their thousands, as ripe wheat lies after the reaping. Among them lay thousands of bodies clad in fine-linked Melgar mail, but the Tunnel-dwellers far outnumbered the dead of Androval. Even the Mongrel was weary and sick of the stench of raw blood.
Without fully realizing it. he had wandered far out on the plain, away from the river, but still the tawny-hided bodies lay thickly strewn, for the bursting of the ranks had scattered fugitives and pursuers all over the countryside, from the dark waving Wood of Tomar, to the river and the seashore. And on the seaward slope of Lonesome Peak, out of sight of the city, Romal came suddenly upon a dying warrior. He was tall and massive, clad in grey mail. He lay partly in the folds of a great dark cloak, and his sword lay broken near his mighty right hand. His horned helmet had fallen from his head and his white hair blew in the wind that swept out of the west.
Nearby was stretched out a white pony no larger than a deer, more graceful in its lines than a true horse. It too was breathing its last, mortally wounded by a deep slash across its sides. The mane was a white as its hide. From the wide brow between the closed eyes rose a spiral of ivory three foot long, tapering to a sharp point on which black blood dried. Romal instantly concluded that these two had met in combat only moments earlier. Each had dealt a fatal blow and received one in return. Now, both the warrior and the Unicorn were dying together.
Dark blood trickled from a deep rent in the old man's corselet over his heart. Romal approached him warily, a strange cold fear that he could not understand, gripping him. Sword ready to finish this enemy, Romal bent over him, and recognized him as the chief who had smote Prince Duran, and who had mown down the warriors of Androval as if harvesting a crop. Wherever he had fought, the Trolls had prevailed, but in all other parts of the field, the Melgarin had been irresistible.
"All seems lost," the giant gasped in a voice that sent a curious shiver of fear through Romal. "Doom and shadows stalk over the world and here has the Darthan Age seen its fall. I could not be in all parts of the field at once, and now I am wounded unto death. The Horn of that Unicorn pierced me to the heart! No man-made weapon could wound me. Death, thou hast not yet conquered me," he muttered deliriously. "Lift me up, man, and let me speak to you."
Now for some reason Romal complied, and, as he lifted the giant to a sitting posture, he shuddered and his flesh crawled at the feel of him, for his flesh was like ivory—smoother and harder than is natural for human flesh, and colder than even a dying man should be.
"I die as men die," he muttered. "Fool, I was to assume the attributes of mankind, even though it was to aid the people who deify me. The gods are immortal, but flesh can perish, even when it clothes a god."
His lion-like head fell back, and feeling shudderingly under his corselet, Romal could distinguish no heartbeat. He was seemingly dead as men die, but the Mongrel knew that locked in that semblance of a human body, there but slumbered the spirit of a fiend of Fanedral.
Romal knew who this must be. Angdros. The very instigator of war and hatred, a Human host for the spirit of Dread Draldros himself. Although he was forbidden by the other united Halarim to leave his realm of Fanedral, Draldros burned with hatred for all who lived free and he sought by every means available to cause as much misery and grief as possible. He had projected his power and his baleful will into this world, where it infused itself into a wicked Man who willingly bore it. And the Human host became Angdros.
Wise men knew this of the Higher Ones, who sometimes walked the earth in the guise of men. The Halarim, burning within Human hosts, could be wounded by certain weapons, and even slain. Romal felt a great sense of relief at the thought that finally the world would be rid of Angdros within a few moments.
The Mongrel turned away, feeling concern for the wounded Unicorn nearby. These beautiful beasts were rare in the closing days of the Darthan Age. Though they could not speak, they were clearly of Human or near-Human intelligence. A herd of fifty had appeared of their own volition at this battle, dashing nimbly in and out of the fighting to impale with their horns the Trolls, even though it meant their own own deaths. As Romal dropped to one knee beside the beast, the Unicorn lifted its head and fixed its crystal blue eyes on him. Infinite sadness and longing showed in those eyes. The beast bent its neck upward as far as it could. To Romal's surprise, the tapering horn fell off neatly at its base to drop into his hand.
"Is this a gift?" he asked in wonder and he thought he saw answer in those blue eyes before they closed. The sides of the Unicorn stopped heaving as its last breath was drawn.
All weariness and grief was burned away from Romal at that moment. He felt an urgency he had never known before. There was much to be done. With his great strength, he gathered flat boulders and heaped them for a rude couch and on it, shaking with horror, he placed the body of the war god. And as the sun set and the stars came silently out, the Mongrel was still working with fierce energy, piling huge rocks above the corpse. Surviving Melgarin came up and he told them of what he was sealing up, hopefully forever. They shuddered and helped him.
One of the Melgarin stepped forward and removed a small wheel which seemed to be of the palest gold imaginable. This was actually Ensalir, silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldanarin to hold gralic force. The Melgar laid the talisman on the broad chest of Angdros and prayed it would help to hold the war god insensate and harmless until the end days.
Many willing hands fashioned a strong, sturdy chamber of rocks wedged tightly together over the body, then shoveled dirt over it to form a mound six feet high. It was nearly dawn before they had finished. Romal asked if they would take an oath never to reveal what had been entombed and all swore by the sacred White Horse of Androval. Deep or sleeping, Angdros must remain buried until the day when the world will be unmade, forgotten by all which had once cried out beneath his iron heel.
Then one of the older Melgarin, a grizzled veteran with much knowledge of lore, informed Romal what a rare blessing had been bestowed upon him. The Unicorns were in their way very spiritual beasts, almost holy. A Unicorn horn freely given would have great power to protect against evil and to safeguard the innocent. Romal declared he would go to the Eldanarin and ask them to craft an Ensalir cap for the base of the Horn and to ensorcell it that it might be a new, potent talisman such as Sagehelm and Brightbolt were. He held up the Horn to the rising sun, and it gleamed of its own lambent light.
With that, Ashley started up from sleep with a gasp, confused and agitated.
She glanced about dazedly at the forest which, faintly lit by the starlight overhead, seemed strange and unfamiliar until she slowly oriented herself with time and space. So much to process. Seeing the actual Romal the Mongrel at a final battle of the Darthan Age. Learning the origin of the Unicorn horn which her mother had given her. And then it sank in what was buried, still alive, under the Barrow on Lonesome Peak...
IV.
Ashley was more shaken than she had expected. She had never experienced a genuine vision before, despite having spent most of her life in the Midnight War. It was a stunning experience. She felt no inclination to dismiss it all as an unusually vivid dream either, for the whole fantastic affair fitted in too well with certain formless vague suspicions concerning the Barrow which had already begun to coalesce at the back of her mind.
Snatching up her Horn and buckling its strap across her chest, she forgot her backpack and sleeping bag as she took off at a full sprint. At her peak, Unicorn reached Olympic qualifying levels but this was on uneven raw ground. She raced under the starlight with near panic rising for the first time in years.
All her thoughts were completely submerged by a wild jolt of horror at the thought of what the opening of the Barrow might result in. For she could not doubt the authenticity of that vision. It had been witnessing an historical event from thirty thousand years earlier. She believed it had happened and she was certain that under that hill of dirt and stones still lay that a possessed corpse in its semblance of humanity. She felt no hope that the body had fallen to dry dust over the ages. The will and malice of Dread Draldros himself was still imbued within it
As she neared the graveyard, Ashley slowed. She had a sudden urge to find the ancient woman she had met earlier. Maeve the Seer seemed knowledgeable in the mysteries and secrets of the Midnight War. She could be a big help, if indeed that darn fool Frank Mills loosed on the world the long forgotten demon of war known as Angdros.
Floundering thigh-deep in weeds, her feet sinking into the soft mold, Ashley stared in the gloom at the simple, tilted tombstones which were so worn and eroded by time that the lettering was unreadable. More than one was broken or fallen flat. But one of the markers was noticeably newer, still white and sharp-edged. With an uneasy premonition she leaned closer, striving to make out the deeply carven inscription. Partly by the dim light of the stars and partly by the touch of her tracing fingers, she made out the words and date, MAEVE COLLEEN KEHOE 1901-1976.
With a gasp of realization, Unicorn recoiled so violently that she lost her balance and fell back to a seated position on the ground. She had never believed in ghosts. Even with all the surreal and uncanny phenomena the KDF had encountered over the years, confirmed ghost sightings were exceedingly rare. But here was something she could not doubt. Maeve the Seer had appeared to her from beyond the grave to warn and to counsel. But there was no time to let all this sink in, there was the greater horror of the Barrow being opened!
As she reached the ridge, Unicorn saw, in the cold starlight, the Barrow and the figure that toiled beside it. Frank Mills had set up on metal stands three recording devices with their own lights. He was using an ordinary shovel, but with his enhanced physical strength, he had excavated one side of the Barrow within the past few hours. Even worse, he had lifted all the heavy rocks off the stone platform upon which a giant form could be seen reclining. All those millennia had caused no decay at all, and the weight of the rocks had done no damage. The body of Angros was immaculate. And as Unicorn hurtled closer, she saw Frank Mills lift the Eldanaran talisman up off the corpse's broad chest to examine it closer.
"No! Stop!" she screamed. "Put it back!"
A stifling wave of furnace-hot wind halted Ashley in her tracks twenty yards away, leaving her staring down from the slope and gasping in the heat. It was the searing wind from Fanedral. A lurid red radiance rose from the Barrow. With a deep resonant boom, a shock wave knocked Mills back twenty feet, the flash turning the rough stones to a sullen shimmering crimson.
And Angdros smoothly rose to loom up seven feet tall in his black mail armor. Ashley saw the inhuman glee on that awesome face, seemingly carved of marble. The baleful eyes burned deep crimson. From that beartrap mouth, unholy laughter rang out to mock all that lived.
Mills had immediately leaped up to his feet and jabbed his beam projector forward in an accusatory gesture. The photon ram had been known to cave in steel barricades and crack through granite cliffs but Angdros did not seem to even notice its effect. Quick as the Trom was, he had moved in too closely. One of those iron-ringed arms whipped out in a backhand slash that connected squarely. Frank Mills was flung tumbling across the rough earth with an impact that would have killed any unprotected Human.
Ashley regained control of herself. The thought echoed in the back of her mind that this moment was what she had been born for. All her training by her mother since childhood, her mother's own career as the first Unicorn, the fact that the ancient Horn had survived all these thousands of years... All that had been leading up to this confrontation. She swore she would not fail.
Frank Mill wasn't moving. There wasn't time to worry about him. The huge bulk of the wargod stepped out of the Barrow into the starlight, and a red nimbus of raw gralic energy crackled around each hand as he gathered his strength. In another instant, he would launch a deadly bolt to sear her into charcoal. But Ashley Whitaker felt a new calm and resolve beyond any fear as she unsnapped the the sheath across her back and slid the Horn out into her grasp.
As often as she had used her talisman against the creatures of the night, it had never felt so warm and solid in her grip before, almost alive. Against the surly red radiance of Angdros, the Horn was shining cool and white. Ashley felt the play of gigantic unseen forces swirling in the air all about her. As she held it high, Unicorn cried out as loudly as she possibly could, "With this Horn I remove thy power!"
From that ivory shaft blazed a single flash of white light concentrated into an arrow of purity against the emissary of malevolence. As it struck, the revenant screamed and flung his arms up over his face. With a rush, the power that Draldros was channeling into Angdros was driven out and dispersed. Flesh dried and fell away, bones collapsed and the black mail armor fell empty to the ground.
A cool refreshing breeze swept over the top of Lonesome Peak as the heated air was blown away. Ashley realized she was breathing hard, clutching the Horn so tightly her hands hurt. She was standing with her legs braced well apart and they felt locked into place. The Unicorn slowly regained her full awareness. She straightened up, almost fell as her knees trembled and then came back to normal.
What about Frank Mills? Ashley kept the Horn in hand, still not entirely convinced that the crisis was over, and trudged over toward her partner. The Trom was up on his hands and knees, trying unsuccessfully to rise. This visible weakness made him seem Human for the first time and Ashley felt a twinge of sympathy.
Swinging the sheath around, she slid the Horn into it and dropped down to kneel next to him. "Frank? Are you going to be all right?"
The invariably steady and confident voice faltered for once. "Yes. I have taken only minor damage. I was able to witness your confrontation with that being."
Ashley took him by the arm and one shoulder to help him rise. "Here we go. Yeah, that was pretty dramatic. I think I can explain in a few minutes who that monster was and what was going on here, but first we should get you comfortable."
"Thank you," Mills said. "I am almost back to normal function. We should report to Sable what has happened here and secure the area."
"Yeah, well, take it easy for a second." Ashley half supported him as the Trom became steady on his feet again. "That was quite a smack you took."
Mills straightened up, breathing easily. "In retrospect, I should not have removed that Eldanar talisman from the body. It seems clear the talisman was holding the being imprisoned. That was my mistake."
Ashley smiled as the final bit of tension between them faded. "Always something more to learn," she said.
5/25/2023
4/24/2022
I.
"This is the Barrow we have come to investigate," Frank Mills said, laying one hand lightly on the grass-covered earth which composed the strangely symmetrical mound. A cool, detached scrutiny in his dark eyes came to rest on the great pile of massive weather-worn dirt. Grass grew on it but sparsely.
"Talk about a desolate place!" Unicorn said. "Who would have thought to find such a spot in this vicinity? Except for the smoke from that chimney over the hill, you'd never suspect there's a good-sized city right nearby! Looks like the Olivera family owns more land than I thought."
"Even before the Oliveras closed the area to the public, the locals have shunned this Barrow for centuries," the Trom replied.
"Yeah? Why is that?"
"Folklore and local legends warn them," Mills said in his even tones as he walked around the pile. "Nothing more substantial than that."
"We've found local legends sometimes are worth listening to!" Unicorn muttered uneasily. "Folklore handed down gets distorted but it can be based on real menaces." Ashley regarded her new partner without warmth. Just over five feet tall and barely one hundred pounds, the platinum blonde was still gorgeous at forty and the snug black field suit flattered her but her sour expression made her feelings clear.
She still found it unsettling how exactly Frank Mills resembled founding KDF member Leonard Slade. Six feet one, around two hundred pounds and in great athletic shape as shown in his own field suit, the Trom had the same regular bland features, clear olive skin and short black hair she had seen in many photos of Slade. If she had been shown the photos without knowing how old they were, she would have had no hesitation in saying they were of this man. But Slade had died thirty years ago.
Did the Trom clone themselves? Did they breed different occupations the way dogs were bred? Ashley Whitaker was becoming increasingly uneasy as she realized how little she knew about this strange Race.
"Historical records indicate that the Olivera family claimed this property in 1733," Mills announced. "They were not farmers themselves but leased out land to tenants and became wealthy. I can not find more than one mention of this Barrow, and that is a brief reference in a June 1853 letter to 'the cursed mound on Lonesome Peak.' There have not been any magazine or newspaper articles on this Barrow, to my knowledge."
Deciding she had to try to be civil because she was going to be working with this guy on the team, Ashley said, "Kenneth Dred left so many thousands of books. He collected forbidden knowledge for fifty years. We've managed to catalogue the titles and authors but honestly I doubt if anyone has even skimmed through most of them, let alone read them."
"Our captain has not agreed yet to allow a team of Trom researchers to begin scanning all the texts systematically. This would provide an invaluable amount of information about the history of the Midnight War but Sable declines to allow it."
"Well, that's her decision," Ashley replied, managing not to snap at him. "So. As I understand it, this thing is basically a tomb? It's a big pile of dirt over an ancient grave of some king or aristocrat?"
"Yes. They were more common in Northwestern Europe, but the practice has been found wherever Humans occupied land. My sensors are not functioning properly and I am not sure why. Readings are taking much longer than usual to collect."
Ashley began pacing around the mound, checking it out from different angles. "I bet that's gralic energy. It interferes with your tech. Megan had the darndest time dealing with gralic manifestations."
"I agree. One reason why my people have wanted an agreement with the KDF is to be able to study gralir. We have not been able to quantify it. Gralic force seems to connect conscious thought with known effects such as electromagnetism, gravity and kinetic energy."
The little blonde could not hide a gleeful smile. "That must drive you guys nuts, something you can't explain even in theory."
"We are motivated to seek knowledge," Mills replied evenly. "But we accept that many phenomena may remain beyond the scope of understanding."
Ashley sighed. You couldn't tease Frank Mills or bait him into getting annoyed. She knew, of course, that the Trom were not normal people repressing emotions... they were the result of thousands of years of breeding out emotions. Even their hormones were detached from their behavior. It was like having to interact with the fantasy of a perfect serene Zen master in a way. She hated it.
"Anyway," she said, "You're going to be busy trying to scan this heap?"
"Yes. There is no way to tell how long it will take to obtain useful results." The thin flat device in his hand chirped as if to comment.
"It's getting dark. I'm not gonna be of any use right now, to be honest. I think I'll get a few hours sleep while I can. The way the Midnight War goes, once things start to happen, we might be on the go for a couple days non-stop."
Frank Mills seemed not to have heard her at first, but finally he said, "You might sleep inside the CORBY. That would provide security."
"Nah, it's a beautiful night. Warm and dry and breezy. I think I'll sack down a little distance away, over by those trees there. Beep me if you need me."
"Understood." Studying the screen on his Link, the Trom apparently had already dismissed her from his mind.
Trudging through the high grass, Ashley had enough self-awareness to realize she resented this new member because she felt he was trying to take Megan Salenger's place. In a literal sense, he was. Frank Mills had been sent by the Trom to apply for membership in the Kenneth Dred Foundation and to be sponsored at Tel Shai, filling the vacant slot in the team left by Megan's death. That was reasonable enough, and the team would benefit from his joining. From a practical view, it made perfect sense.
But emotionally...! Megan had been Ashley's closest friend, not only in the Midnight War but since her childhood. They had spent many of their free days traveling and socializing happily. Even Megan's romance with Archie had left space for Ashley. And Megan's sudden violent death only two months earlier had stricken Ashley to the heart. She was still healing from her divorce as well, which didn't help. But even though the Unicorn understood her loss and grief had nothing to do with Frank Mills, she couldn't help disliking the man. Or the Trom.
In a round clearing near the edge of Lonesome Peak, the CORBY sat, landing gear held by chocks. The all-black stealthcopter had no markings on it, and its sleek sharklike shape gave it a decidedly sinister appearance. Ashley unbolted a hatch into the rear storage compartment and tugged out her knapsack with its sleeping bag fastened around its upper edge. From a cooler, she extracted a chilled water bottle, a ham and cheese sandwich in cling wrap and a bag of corn chips which she tucked away in her pack as well.
Staring up at the brilliant late Spring night sky with its crescent moon, Ashley relaxed enough that she realized how tense she had been. Even a few hours sleep would clear her mind. Ashley was picking a likely spot to stretch out when she sensed movement near her.
II.
II.
Ashley turned back toward the Barrow but stopped suddenly. Wrapped in her own introspective thoughts, she had approached within a few feet of someone before seeing her. This was an incredibly old woman, thin and bent, leaning on an ebony stick. Bright silver hair was done up in a bun behind a hawklike face whose hooked nose and prominent chin nearly met. Ashley thought she had to be ninety years old, but those cornflower-blue eyes shone with sharp awareness behind the wrinkled lids.
Standing well back, almost unseen in the gloom, was a silent figure entirely concealed in hard leather armor. Nothing could be seen of its face behind the visored helmet. So still did it stand that Ashley hardly noticed it.
"What would you be doing at the Barrow?" she asked in a deep, powerful voice. Unicorn looked at her in surprise. The old woman spoke in English, but with a strange lilting accent. She sounded almost as if she was singing. It reminded Ashley of a tonal language like Mandarin.
"We were speculating on its history," Ashley answered in a friendly tone, hoping this woman wasn't some crank out to start an argument.
The white-haired head turned slowly to gaze up at the peak. "I have little liking for the disbelieving man who was with you," she said somberly. "Who are you?"
"I'm just a researcher, unappreciated and underpaid," Unicorn answered. "My name is Ashley Whitaker."
A strange light gleamed in her cold eyes. "Ah. The Unicorn."
"That's flattering, you've heard of me then?"
"Aye, I knew Mary Cassidy long ago. Your mother, the first Unicorn," she answered, "but I have been far away for a long time. All is changed. I would not have returned, but I was drawn back by a call you would not understand. Tell me, would you open the Barrow if you could?"
Ashley started and gazed at her closely, deciding that she had somehow overheard their conversation. "It's not up to me to say," she grumbled. "My partner Frank Mills seem to think he's in charge of everything. He'll certainly open it and I'm obligated to help him. Of my own will... I would not molest it."
Her piercing eyes fixed on Unicorn's face as if trying to read her thoughts.
"Life without feeling is no life at all," she said somberly. "What does that cold bloodless mind know of the true history of this world? Empires has risen and fallen into dust scattered on the wind. But you know better. Thirty thousand years ago, before the lands and seas were remade, there brooded the Darthan Age. At its end, Romal the Mongrel stirred rebellion in all the Seven Races against Darthan tyranny. Against the sorcery of the Darthim, against their legions of Trolls and Snake men, their fell beasts Dragons and Malakim, mortal men stood defiant. Humans and Melgarin united, even the immortal Eldanarin took up arms for the first and only time. And the Darthim were smashed!"
"The Teachers at Tel Shai have told me about all this," answered Ashley almost in a whisper. "The most terrible wars ever. Whole nations were wiped out, they said."
"Aye, tis only truth. And the Darthim and the Eldanarin unleashed such great gralic destruction that life itself was within a hair-width of being lost forever. That was when the Higher Ones intervened. Great Jordyn, Eryasha and Cirkoth joined together and remade the shapes of the continents, the rivers and oceans. The world was remade. That was when the history known to modern scientists began."
"It makes me dizzy to think about it too deeply," admitted the Unicorn, huddling into herself as if chilled. "A cosmic reset button. But, let me ask. Why are you talking about this now?"
The old woman raised a single gnarled finger for emphasis. "A handful of objects survived the Great Change, untouched, remaining to linger in the new reality. I tell you, the Barrow is one of those remnants. Long have I stood watch over it, to be sure it remained untouched."
"But... We came to investigate it," Ashley said. "My partner won't leave it alone just because I say so. He's determined to learn everything he can."
"You have been sent here for a reason beyond what you suspect," Maeve the Seer said. "There are gigantic forces at play behind the scenes. You bear a talisman that is at the same time a great gift and a heavy burden."
"The Horn..." Ashley reached up and placed her fingers on the strap running diagonally down across her chest. The hilt of the white leather sheath protruded up by her right shoulder where she could unsnap it. "Yeah, I take it seriously."
"From what I discern, you have wielded it properly, young lady. You protect innocents from the evil children of the night. But I tell you this, neither you nor your mother before you unlocked the full power of the Unicorn horn. It will enact a destiny beyond your dreams. But now I tell you to tap its full strength for the ancient winds of trouble blow, and the Horn is sword and shield against the creatures of the night. A great evil stirs in its prison, which blind hands of folly may break open. But stronger than any evil is the Unicorn Horn, which has gathered power and strength through the long, long ages since that forgotten evil fell to the earth."
"But who ARE you?" Ashley exclaimed.
"I am... I was Maeve the Seer," she answered. "I will send you a vision. Come, Cormac."
Then, turning without a word, she hobbled away in the deepening twilight while Unicorn stood bewildered and watched her cross the peal and pass from sight, turning inland as she topped the ridge. Close beside her, protectively, the strange leather-armored companion kept pace.
Then Ashley rousted herself as if waking from a dream, went slowly up the slope and across the headland. When she crossed the ridge it was as if she had passed out of one world into another. Only one archaic touch was lent to the scene before her. Some distance inland loomed the straggling and broken lines of an ancient graveyard, long deserted and grown up in weeds, barely discernible in the dusk. Ashley saw a bent figure moving slowly among the crumbling tombs, and she shook her head bewilderedly. Was Maeve the Seer was touched with madness, living in the past? No. She didn't think so. The old woman's words had struck her like cold lightning.
Ashley unfastened the straps across her chest and carefully placed the sheathed Horn on the ground. She unrolled her sleeping bag, tugged off her boots and slipped inside otherwise fully dressed. It was ingrained habit by then to check her Link to make sure it was active and sending her location before going to sleep. If Mills or Sable or any of her team wanted to contact her, there would be no problem. The Unicorn yawned so hard her jaw popped, then turned over on her side and propped her head up on one elbow. Her free hand rested on the comforting solidity of the ancient Horn. With the next breath, she had dropped off into deepest slumber.
III.
At first she thought that she was dreaming, but no... it felt so different. Everything was dim and vague. Vast dark clouds churned and rolled away to slowly settle and reveal a distinct landscape, unfamiliar and somehow unsettling. She saw a broad bare plain, fringed by the grey sea on one side, and a dark, rustling forest on the other. This plain was cut by a winding river, and beyond this river Ashley saw a city such as her waking eyes had never seen. Stark, tower-topped granite walls loomed up over squat stone buildings. On that plain she saw with a jolt the aftermath of a mighty battle. Densly crowded ranks rolled backward and forward, steel flashed like a sunlit sea, and men fell by the scores as she watched. Unicorn saw hordes of gigantic Trolls, rough-hided and nearly naked but for leather harnesses. They were wielding crude hammers and axes, fighting tall men in horse-crested helmets and glittering mail, wielding long straight swords.
In the vision, Unicorn saw a dramatic figure striding through the aftermath. He was tall and strongly built, his tunic and cloak so tattered and blood-drenched he seemed entirely red. Shaggy black hair was slicked back by sweat and gore to reveal ears which rose to distinct points. This had to be the greatest warrior of the Darthan Age, Romal the Mongrel. He was one like no other, bearing traits of the Seven Races but belonging to none. The chipped blade of his sword was dripping with the blood of slaughtered foes.
The thunder of conflict was dying down, though here and there struggling clumps of warriors still dotted the plain. Down along the river, savage Trolls seven feet high, waist-deep in reddening water, bludgeoned and clashed with Melgar warriors whose mail could not entirely protect them from those brutal blows. Across the river a disorderly horde was staggering over and around the fallen.
The dark crimson sun was sinking low beneath storm clouds toward the horizon. All day Romal had fought beside the Humans and Melgarin and Eldanarin. He had seen enough slaughter to sicken the soul of even the most hardened man. He had seen the seemingly invincible Prince Duran struck down in the moment of victory, by the hand of a black-mailed giant whose name none knew. There was one brief glimpse of a black leather uniformed man with a gleaming helmet, and this could only be the Silver Skull of that earlier Age. Romal had met him before and was glad to see such a formidable warrior.
Indeed, the slaughter had been what poets would call a feasting of ravens, and he felt at least that no more would the dreaded Trolls stomp from their caves in the mountains and up from their tunnels to spread destruction. Far and wide the giant brutes now sprawled dead in their thousands, as ripe wheat lies after the reaping. Among them lay thousands of bodies clad in fine-linked Melgar mail, but the Tunnel-dwellers far outnumbered the dead of Androval. Even the Mongrel was weary and sick of the stench of raw blood.
Without fully realizing it. he had wandered far out on the plain, away from the river, but still the tawny-hided bodies lay thickly strewn, for the bursting of the ranks had scattered fugitives and pursuers all over the countryside, from the dark waving Wood of Tomar, to the river and the seashore. And on the seaward slope of Lonesome Peak, out of sight of the city, Romal came suddenly upon a dying warrior. He was tall and massive, clad in grey mail. He lay partly in the folds of a great dark cloak, and his sword lay broken near his mighty right hand. His horned helmet had fallen from his head and his white hair blew in the wind that swept out of the west.
Nearby was stretched out a white pony no larger than a deer, more graceful in its lines than a true horse. It too was breathing its last, mortally wounded by a deep slash across its sides. The mane was a white as its hide. From the wide brow between the closed eyes rose a spiral of ivory three foot long, tapering to a sharp point on which black blood dried. Romal instantly concluded that these two had met in combat only moments earlier. Each had dealt a fatal blow and received one in return. Now, both the warrior and the Unicorn were dying together.
Dark blood trickled from a deep rent in the old man's corselet over his heart. Romal approached him warily, a strange cold fear that he could not understand, gripping him. Sword ready to finish this enemy, Romal bent over him, and recognized him as the chief who had smote Prince Duran, and who had mown down the warriors of Androval as if harvesting a crop. Wherever he had fought, the Trolls had prevailed, but in all other parts of the field, the Melgarin had been irresistible.
"All seems lost," the giant gasped in a voice that sent a curious shiver of fear through Romal. "Doom and shadows stalk over the world and here has the Darthan Age seen its fall. I could not be in all parts of the field at once, and now I am wounded unto death. The Horn of that Unicorn pierced me to the heart! No man-made weapon could wound me. Death, thou hast not yet conquered me," he muttered deliriously. "Lift me up, man, and let me speak to you."
Now for some reason Romal complied, and, as he lifted the giant to a sitting posture, he shuddered and his flesh crawled at the feel of him, for his flesh was like ivory—smoother and harder than is natural for human flesh, and colder than even a dying man should be.
"I die as men die," he muttered. "Fool, I was to assume the attributes of mankind, even though it was to aid the people who deify me. The gods are immortal, but flesh can perish, even when it clothes a god."
His lion-like head fell back, and feeling shudderingly under his corselet, Romal could distinguish no heartbeat. He was seemingly dead as men die, but the Mongrel knew that locked in that semblance of a human body, there but slumbered the spirit of a fiend of Fanedral.
Romal knew who this must be. Angdros. The very instigator of war and hatred, a Human host for the spirit of Dread Draldros himself. Although he was forbidden by the other united Halarim to leave his realm of Fanedral, Draldros burned with hatred for all who lived free and he sought by every means available to cause as much misery and grief as possible. He had projected his power and his baleful will into this world, where it infused itself into a wicked Man who willingly bore it. And the Human host became Angdros.
Wise men knew this of the Higher Ones, who sometimes walked the earth in the guise of men. The Halarim, burning within Human hosts, could be wounded by certain weapons, and even slain. Romal felt a great sense of relief at the thought that finally the world would be rid of Angdros within a few moments.
The Mongrel turned away, feeling concern for the wounded Unicorn nearby. These beautiful beasts were rare in the closing days of the Darthan Age. Though they could not speak, they were clearly of Human or near-Human intelligence. A herd of fifty had appeared of their own volition at this battle, dashing nimbly in and out of the fighting to impale with their horns the Trolls, even though it meant their own own deaths. As Romal dropped to one knee beside the beast, the Unicorn lifted its head and fixed its crystal blue eyes on him. Infinite sadness and longing showed in those eyes. The beast bent its neck upward as far as it could. To Romal's surprise, the tapering horn fell off neatly at its base to drop into his hand.
"Is this a gift?" he asked in wonder and he thought he saw answer in those blue eyes before they closed. The sides of the Unicorn stopped heaving as its last breath was drawn.
All weariness and grief was burned away from Romal at that moment. He felt an urgency he had never known before. There was much to be done. With his great strength, he gathered flat boulders and heaped them for a rude couch and on it, shaking with horror, he placed the body of the war god. And as the sun set and the stars came silently out, the Mongrel was still working with fierce energy, piling huge rocks above the corpse. Surviving Melgarin came up and he told them of what he was sealing up, hopefully forever. They shuddered and helped him.
One of the Melgarin stepped forward and removed a small wheel which seemed to be of the palest gold imaginable. This was actually Ensalir, silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldanarin to hold gralic force. The Melgar laid the talisman on the broad chest of Angdros and prayed it would help to hold the war god insensate and harmless until the end days.
Many willing hands fashioned a strong, sturdy chamber of rocks wedged tightly together over the body, then shoveled dirt over it to form a mound six feet high. It was nearly dawn before they had finished. Romal asked if they would take an oath never to reveal what had been entombed and all swore by the sacred White Horse of Androval. Deep or sleeping, Angdros must remain buried until the day when the world will be unmade, forgotten by all which had once cried out beneath his iron heel.
Then one of the older Melgarin, a grizzled veteran with much knowledge of lore, informed Romal what a rare blessing had been bestowed upon him. The Unicorns were in their way very spiritual beasts, almost holy. A Unicorn horn freely given would have great power to protect against evil and to safeguard the innocent. Romal declared he would go to the Eldanarin and ask them to craft an Ensalir cap for the base of the Horn and to ensorcell it that it might be a new, potent talisman such as Sagehelm and Brightbolt were. He held up the Horn to the rising sun, and it gleamed of its own lambent light.
With that, Ashley started up from sleep with a gasp, confused and agitated.
She glanced about dazedly at the forest which, faintly lit by the starlight overhead, seemed strange and unfamiliar until she slowly oriented herself with time and space. So much to process. Seeing the actual Romal the Mongrel at a final battle of the Darthan Age. Learning the origin of the Unicorn horn which her mother had given her. And then it sank in what was buried, still alive, under the Barrow on Lonesome Peak...
IV.
Ashley was more shaken than she had expected. She had never experienced a genuine vision before, despite having spent most of her life in the Midnight War. It was a stunning experience. She felt no inclination to dismiss it all as an unusually vivid dream either, for the whole fantastic affair fitted in too well with certain formless vague suspicions concerning the Barrow which had already begun to coalesce at the back of her mind.
Snatching up her Horn and buckling its strap across her chest, she forgot her backpack and sleeping bag as she took off at a full sprint. At her peak, Unicorn reached Olympic qualifying levels but this was on uneven raw ground. She raced under the starlight with near panic rising for the first time in years.
All her thoughts were completely submerged by a wild jolt of horror at the thought of what the opening of the Barrow might result in. For she could not doubt the authenticity of that vision. It had been witnessing an historical event from thirty thousand years earlier. She believed it had happened and she was certain that under that hill of dirt and stones still lay that a possessed corpse in its semblance of humanity. She felt no hope that the body had fallen to dry dust over the ages. The will and malice of Dread Draldros himself was still imbued within it
As she neared the graveyard, Ashley slowed. She had a sudden urge to find the ancient woman she had met earlier. Maeve the Seer seemed knowledgeable in the mysteries and secrets of the Midnight War. She could be a big help, if indeed that darn fool Frank Mills loosed on the world the long forgotten demon of war known as Angdros.
Floundering thigh-deep in weeds, her feet sinking into the soft mold, Ashley stared in the gloom at the simple, tilted tombstones which were so worn and eroded by time that the lettering was unreadable. More than one was broken or fallen flat. But one of the markers was noticeably newer, still white and sharp-edged. With an uneasy premonition she leaned closer, striving to make out the deeply carven inscription. Partly by the dim light of the stars and partly by the touch of her tracing fingers, she made out the words and date, MAEVE COLLEEN KEHOE 1901-1976.
With a gasp of realization, Unicorn recoiled so violently that she lost her balance and fell back to a seated position on the ground. She had never believed in ghosts. Even with all the surreal and uncanny phenomena the KDF had encountered over the years, confirmed ghost sightings were exceedingly rare. But here was something she could not doubt. Maeve the Seer had appeared to her from beyond the grave to warn and to counsel. But there was no time to let all this sink in, there was the greater horror of the Barrow being opened!
As she reached the ridge, Unicorn saw, in the cold starlight, the Barrow and the figure that toiled beside it. Frank Mills had set up on metal stands three recording devices with their own lights. He was using an ordinary shovel, but with his enhanced physical strength, he had excavated one side of the Barrow within the past few hours. Even worse, he had lifted all the heavy rocks off the stone platform upon which a giant form could be seen reclining. All those millennia had caused no decay at all, and the weight of the rocks had done no damage. The body of Angros was immaculate. And as Unicorn hurtled closer, she saw Frank Mills lift the Eldanaran talisman up off the corpse's broad chest to examine it closer.
"No! Stop!" she screamed. "Put it back!"
A stifling wave of furnace-hot wind halted Ashley in her tracks twenty yards away, leaving her staring down from the slope and gasping in the heat. It was the searing wind from Fanedral. A lurid red radiance rose from the Barrow. With a deep resonant boom, a shock wave knocked Mills back twenty feet, the flash turning the rough stones to a sullen shimmering crimson.
And Angdros smoothly rose to loom up seven feet tall in his black mail armor. Ashley saw the inhuman glee on that awesome face, seemingly carved of marble. The baleful eyes burned deep crimson. From that beartrap mouth, unholy laughter rang out to mock all that lived.
Mills had immediately leaped up to his feet and jabbed his beam projector forward in an accusatory gesture. The photon ram had been known to cave in steel barricades and crack through granite cliffs but Angdros did not seem to even notice its effect. Quick as the Trom was, he had moved in too closely. One of those iron-ringed arms whipped out in a backhand slash that connected squarely. Frank Mills was flung tumbling across the rough earth with an impact that would have killed any unprotected Human.
Ashley regained control of herself. The thought echoed in the back of her mind that this moment was what she had been born for. All her training by her mother since childhood, her mother's own career as the first Unicorn, the fact that the ancient Horn had survived all these thousands of years... All that had been leading up to this confrontation. She swore she would not fail.
Frank Mill wasn't moving. There wasn't time to worry about him. The huge bulk of the wargod stepped out of the Barrow into the starlight, and a red nimbus of raw gralic energy crackled around each hand as he gathered his strength. In another instant, he would launch a deadly bolt to sear her into charcoal. But Ashley Whitaker felt a new calm and resolve beyond any fear as she unsnapped the the sheath across her back and slid the Horn out into her grasp.
As often as she had used her talisman against the creatures of the night, it had never felt so warm and solid in her grip before, almost alive. Against the surly red radiance of Angdros, the Horn was shining cool and white. Ashley felt the play of gigantic unseen forces swirling in the air all about her. As she held it high, Unicorn cried out as loudly as she possibly could, "With this Horn I remove thy power!"
From that ivory shaft blazed a single flash of white light concentrated into an arrow of purity against the emissary of malevolence. As it struck, the revenant screamed and flung his arms up over his face. With a rush, the power that Draldros was channeling into Angdros was driven out and dispersed. Flesh dried and fell away, bones collapsed and the black mail armor fell empty to the ground.
A cool refreshing breeze swept over the top of Lonesome Peak as the heated air was blown away. Ashley realized she was breathing hard, clutching the Horn so tightly her hands hurt. She was standing with her legs braced well apart and they felt locked into place. The Unicorn slowly regained her full awareness. She straightened up, almost fell as her knees trembled and then came back to normal.
What about Frank Mills? Ashley kept the Horn in hand, still not entirely convinced that the crisis was over, and trudged over toward her partner. The Trom was up on his hands and knees, trying unsuccessfully to rise. This visible weakness made him seem Human for the first time and Ashley felt a twinge of sympathy.
Swinging the sheath around, she slid the Horn into it and dropped down to kneel next to him. "Frank? Are you going to be all right?"
The invariably steady and confident voice faltered for once. "Yes. I have taken only minor damage. I was able to witness your confrontation with that being."
Ashley took him by the arm and one shoulder to help him rise. "Here we go. Yeah, that was pretty dramatic. I think I can explain in a few minutes who that monster was and what was going on here, but first we should get you comfortable."
"Thank you," Mills said. "I am almost back to normal function. We should report to Sable what has happened here and secure the area."
"Yeah, well, take it easy for a second." Ashley half supported him as the Trom became steady on his feet again. "That was quite a smack you took."
Mills straightened up, breathing easily. "In retrospect, I should not have removed that Eldanar talisman from the body. It seems clear the talisman was holding the being imprisoned. That was my mistake."
Ashley smiled as the final bit of tension between them faded. "Always something more to learn," she said.
5/25/2023
