Chapter Twenty-Three Ruhlin #3
“You were sure nigh eighty years ago when we had another suitable fire blood in our grasp. I trust your wits are not so addled as to have forgotten his fate, one I might have shared if not for blind luck.”
“I have learned much since. It will work. But all other aspects of the procedure must be in place. The preparations are exacting.”
“Then be sure to spare some time for yourself. You look even more decrepit than usual. I’m sure this one will have enough left in him for you to mix up some of that glop that keeps you going. You’re no use to me a withered husk, old friend.”
Silence reigned for a prolonged moment. Ruhlin wondered at the expressions now worn by both of these impossibly old men, one degraded by time, the other seemingly impervious to its touch.
The absence of affection between them was stark, the Vortigurn’s concern merely that of a master for a useful servant.
Similarly, it appeared Moyirn couldn’t bring himself to address his king with the usual honorifics and any deference was plainly begrudged.
Finally, the Vortigurn let out a faint, short laugh and spoke again. “And that other matter? Does your friend in the north have more to report?”
“He does. It appears your estimation of Tuhlvyr Telmyrk’s abilities was correct. He lies dead and his army slain or scattered.”
Another laugh, this one tinged with satisfaction. “I’m beginning to like the cut of this Tielvik general’s cloth.”
“I know you have scant regard for my counsel in such matters, but to allow this rebellion to continue when our forces are so depleted…”
“Oh, stop bleating, Moyirn. It’s tedious. A revolt just now serves us well, as you know. Although, the progress made by these rebels in so short a time is concerning.”
“While the new queen across the sea readies her fleet.”
“And well she might. She has much to punish. I do look forward to meeting her. She sounds… intriguing. Pity all those useful children of yours got themselves caught, eh?” A moment of silence followed by a faint grunt of decision from the Vortigurn.
“Send… what is her name, the Ventra who can inflict pain with a glance?”
“Ruhna. I was going to suggest sending the twins…”
“No. I’ll have need of them soon. No other Ventra can command a stagna as they do.
Send Ruhna to bring me this Tielvik rebel, alive.
Only him, though. It’s necessary for his horde to remain intact.
The disappearance of their leader should serve to delay them a while.
Wouldn’t do for them to reach us too soon.
If it doesn’t work, I daresay we can scrape up another army to impede their advance.
Never a shortage of indolent youth in the Citadel.
” The door squealed open and the Vortigurn’s voice began to fade, footsteps echoing once again.
“Of course, should this new fire blood fail my next test, we can always send a cohort of Ventra to crush them completely…”
His voice ended as the door slammed shut and the lock clattered. Squatting in silence, Ruhlin met Ohtera’s gaze. “One of the fire blood?” he said.
“You.” She grimaced in apology. “He means you. Legends grow in this place, passed from one generation to another. There have been others like you: Vyrn Skyra, those born with the fire blood who conquered all set against them. Supposedly, the last allowed himself to be killed in the wuhltra, but there was one years before who survived. But the glory the Vortigurn promises the victors of the Meidvang was never his. One day, he simply disappeared, some say into Moyirn’s clutches. ”
Vyrn Skyra: Fire Blood. The phrase Ruhlin had first heard the day of his capture. It seemed Moyirn and the Vortigurn had been looking for another bearer of the Vyrn Skyra for a long time. But why? Judging by Hulyk’s fate, their purpose boded ill.
“I don’t know what they have planned for you,” Ohtera went on, as if sensing his thoughts. “But you, me, and Fernhyld must escape this place long before they can make it happen. I will not allow her to be sullied by the blood spilled in the wuhltra.”
Ruhlin’s mind raced with all he had learned about the Kelvengyr, seeking even the smallest avenue of escape.
He found none, his shared dreams with Moyirn the only crumb of hope.
But, given what Ruhlin had just witnessed, any faint trust he had begun to nurture towards the ancient degenerate had evaporated.
No, this prison had been too well made, too carefully designed with but one purpose: the caging of those blessed by the gods.
But, he recalled, there are two cages here, not one.
The Kelvengyr might be inescapable, but what of the wuhltra?
And had he not escaped a similar place not so long ago?
“There may be a chance,” he said. “But, for it to work, I need to do what you do. I need to both unleash the monster and control it.”
Ohtera’s eyes glittered at him as she regarded Ruhlin in silence before surprising him with a laugh. “Monster…” she repeated, shaking her head. “You know so little. You see, it’s not a monster. It’s a god.”