A Ranger From Adamnar

Lord Lof Vonas pulled his sword out of yet another T’Rundi body and kicked it aside. His brows drew together in a puzzled frown. The rain and wind had slowed significantly, but there was something strange about it. His thoughts were interrupted when he had to decapitate a T’Rundi. The stream of T’Rundi was slowing. Something had changed for the better. He felt the forest responding to it as well. He looked at the decimated south gate. T’Rundi were starting to run away from the stronghold. The feeling of power flowing through the forest grew stronger. He looked at Lord Berol and Iliard. He could see they had both noticed the change. “Van,” he asked, “What’s going on?”

Lord Berol closed his eyes for a moment. A smile came to his lips. He opened his eyes and looked first at Lord Lof Vonas and then at Iliard, both of whom were staring at him in confusion. “It’s Alana,” he replied. “She’s fighting the storm. She’s pushing it...no, she’s countering it.”

Both Lord Lof Vonas and Iliard said, “Alana?”

“What do you mean?” Iliard asked. “How is she countering the storm? How do you know it’s her?”

“I’ve felt it before,” Lord Berol replied. He stopped speaking to whirl around and skewer a T’Rundi who seemed to be confused about which way to go. He pointed over to the west end of the wall walk. “It looks like Alana is making quite an impact on the enemy.”

They all looked toward the west wall. At first all they saw were T’Rundi bodies flying off both sides of the wall and Rangers scrambling to get out of the way. Finally, Alana and Laren came into view.

“Blessed Asaeria,” Iliard said in wonder.

“Who is that with her?” Lord Lof Vonas asked.

“Laren,” Lord Berol said absently. He was focusing on the pair of women as they made their way around the wall walk. “Strange,” he murmured to himself. “I never noticed that before.”

“Noticed what?” Lord Lof Vonas asked.

Iliard looked first at Lord Berol and then at Alana and Laren. Understanding dawned on him. “Van,” he said quietly. “We have to talk.”

Lord Berol dragged his attention away from Alana and Laren to meet Iliard’s gaze. He stared at Iliard silently for a long moment, then replied, “Yes, Master Iliard. I think we do.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Lord Lof Vonas asked.

“Master Iliard!” Martea shouted. “A new wave is coming.”

The three men turned back toward the gate and saw a mass of more than a hundred T’Rundi running toward the stronghold. This group looked desperate and a bit crazed. The defenders heard shouting and cheering coming from the north side of the stronghold. Iliard took time to glance once more at the wall walk, but Alana was gone.

Lord Cartyet stared at Lord Chasimar and said, “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lord Chasimar nodded, her brow furrowed. She had seen the event that had triggered Alana’s rampage on the wall. She worried that Alana would break after the battle was over.

“Look!” Lord Cartyet shouted, pointing toward the North wall. “The outpost force is closing in.”

Lord Chasimar looked in the direction of the north wall. She could see the outpost Rangers engaging the outer edges of the T’Rundi army, which had dwindled in size significantly. She turned to the trainee standing at the ready at the top of the stairs and said, “Nata, tell Lord Herton to get more bows back on all the walls. And be careful. There are still live T’Rundi in the stronghold.”

“Yes, Lord Chasimar,” Nata replied and ran down the stairs.

“The hammer is falling,” Lord Chasimar murmured.

Alana knelt beside Ben’s lifeless body, next to the obliterated North Gate, tears streaming down her face. He couldn’t be dead. He had just taken a new post as an area commander. He had asked her to go with him. He couldn’t be dead. She leaned down and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Please don’t be dead,” she whispered brokenly. “I love you.”

The glint of gold that shone through her torn left sleeve caught her eye. Realization dawned on her. She was a Priestess. Not only was she a Priestess, she was a High Priestess of the healer god Diasamon. High Priestesses could resurrect the dead. Elation filled her. She could resurrect Ben.

Alana closed her eyes to focus her thoughts. The bodies of dozens of dead T’Rundi surrounded her. She could hear the moans of wounded Rangers. The battle was still raging outside the walls of the stronghold. Part of her knew she should be helping them. She concentrated on Ben. She had never seen anyone resurrected, but she knew all she had to do was ask Diasamon and he would help her.

Alana placed one hand on Ben’s forehead and the other on his chest. “Holy Diasamon,” she prayed softly, “Grant me the power to restore life to this man.”

She felt the warmth of the healer god’s touch on her shoulders and waited for the healing energy to flow through her. Instead, Diasamon spoke to her. “I am sorry child. This man’s soul belongs to my elder sister now. I cannot grant you his life. It is not mine to give.”

A cold wave of fear washed over her. “No!” she shouted. “No!” She struggled to her feet and, ignoring her own wounds, started to run toward the temple of Asaeria.

There were bodies everywhere. Bodies of T’Rundi and bodies of Rangers. Alana ran past them all. The temple of Asaeria stood out like a beacon of light in the darkness. No T’Rundi had dared try to desecrate the temple while there were Rangers yet living to defend it. She ran into the brightly lit sanctuary and saw Asaeria standing there in front of the altar. Alana ran up to her goddess and threw herself face down at her feet. “Blessed Asaeria, I implore you, grant me Ben’s life. I will pledge myself to your cause forever.”

“You are my High Priestess,” Asaeria replied, gently. “You are already pledged to my cause. Benarion Hadrigan runs in my forests now. It was his time.”

Alana looked up at Asaeria, her eyes filled with despair. “No! Please, I beg you. Please don’t take him away from me. I love him.”

Sorrow filled Asaeria’s eyes. “I know, child. I am sorry.”

The room started to sway and black spots swam in front of Alana’s eyes. “No, please,” she said weakly. She lowered her head to the cool marble floor and allowed the darkness to overtake her.

A seraph appeared beside Asaeria and moved toward Alana. Asaeria put up her hand. “Wait. The Protector is coming.”

Laren had not been able to get a Priest to come with her. “The dead will not get any more dead,” they had told her. She ran back to the place where she had left Alana, but she wasn’t there. She looked down at Ben’s body and saw a bloody hand print on his forehead. Somehow she knew what Alana had tried to do. “Damn it, runt, where are you?” Laren closed her eyes and saw an image of Alana lying on the floor of the temple. She started to run.

When she got to the temple, Laren saw Alana lying in an ever widening pool of blood. “Damn it!” she exclaimed. She ran over to Alana and knelt down beside her. Tears filled her eyes and she said, “Come on runt, don’t do this. You know I’m no good at this healing stuff.”

She would just have to get Alana to a Priest. As she bent down to pick up her friend, she heard a voice say, “Laren.”

Startled, Laren looked up and saw the goddess Asaeria standing there. “What the hell?” she said.

Asaeria smiled slightly. “Not exactly, child.”

Laren blinked. “Sorry. Well, I’ll be damned.”

Again Asaeria smiled and replied, “Probably not.”

“Sorry again,” Laren said. “I think I’ll just shut up now. Can you help her?”

“Yes, I can,” Asaeria replied. “But so can you.”

“Me?” Laren said in surprise. “I can’t do anything. I’m no good at healing.”

“You are able to do anything that is necessary to protect her,” Asaeria said firmly. “If healing is necessary, then you will heal.”

“But I don’t know how,” Laren protested. “I’ve never been able to do it.”

“But now you must do it,” Asaeria countered, “and so you will do it.”

Laren looked up at the implacable face of the goddess and then down at Alana. She could tell by Alana’s rattling breaths that her friend wouldn’t last long if something wasn’t done soon. She set her jaw resolutely. She put her hands on Alana and murmured, “Here goes nothing.” She tried to remember what she had heard Alana say the times she had healed people. “Blessed Asaeria,” she began awkwardly, figuring it was only right since she was in the temple of Asaeria, “I ask for your healing energy.”

Laren gasped when she felt the healing warmth flow through her into Alana. She heard Alana’s breathing grow stronger and steadier. Finally, the healing energy faded away and she felt Alana stir beneath her hands. She looked at Asaeria. The goddess smiled her approval “Well done child.”

“Thanks,” Laren uncertainly.

Alana started to move restlessly. A soft sob escaped her lips. “Ben,” she wept. Laren helped her sit up. She looked at Laren and said brokenly, “He’s dead. I couldn’t bring him back.”

“I know,” Laren replied. “I’m sorry.”

Alana put her face in her hands. “What am I going to do?”

“You are going to do what you were meant to do, Alana Candril.” Asaeria said sternly.

Alana turned to look at her goddess. “How can I?” Alana asked tearfully, “I have nothing left.”

“Laren of Erordinville has healed you and I will provide you with the strength you need to complete your task.”

Alana got a confused look on her face. She touched the place where she had been wounded. The wound was gone. She looked at her hands. The cuts and scrapes were gone too. “You healed me? How did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Laren replied. She gestured to Asaeria “She told me I could do it.”

Alana turned around and looked at Asaeria. Then she looked back at Laren. “You can see Asaeria?”

“I can now,” Laren replied. “I never could before.”

“I don’t understand,” Alana said.

“Laren is able to do what is necessary to protect you,” Asaeria said. “Now rise, Alana Candril. It is time for you to do what is necessary.”

Alana looked at Laren with tear-filled eyes. Laren felt an echoing sorrow within her own soul. She took Alana’s hand, squeezed it lightly, and then let go. “Come on Alana,” she said a bit hoarsely, “I’ll help you up.” She stood up and extended her hand to her friend.

Alana closed her eyes, allowing her tears to fall. She opened her eyes, took Laren’s hand and, with a great effort, pulled herself up to her feet and faced Asaeria. She stumbled, and almost fell as the dizziness from her loss of blood hit her. Laren grabbed Alana around the waist and held her steady. She frowned deeply and said through a clenched jaw, “She can barely walk. How is she supposed to do anything else?”

Asaeria looked at Laren. “I have said I will give her the strength she needs to complete her task, Laren of Erordinville.”

Alana straightened up and said, “It’s all right, Laren. I’ll be fine.”

Asaeria turned her gaze to Alana and said, “Everyone in this place has suffered loss this day. Your sorrow has not gone unnoticed, my child. Sadly, those who lead must often put aside their own grief in order to serve those who depend upon them. The people of this stronghold are your comrades. They need you now.” Alana nodded, then bowed her head. Tears still flowed freely down her pale, blood spattered cheeks. Look at me, Alana.” Asaeria said. When Alana raised her head, the goddess continued, “Do you accept this task willingly?”

Alana swallowed hard, bit her bottom lip, then finally answered, “Yes.”

As soon as Alana responded, a seraph appeared in front of her with the symbol of Asaeria glowing white on her outstretched palm. The warrior-angel stepped forward and placed her palm on the center of Alana’s chest. Alana gasped when she felt the flow of energy course through her. Her dizziness and weakness disappeared. Her grief remained.

The seraph moved to stand in front of Laren, who took a step back, put up her hand and said, “Hold on there. I’ll watch over her. There’s no need for all that.”

The seraph bowed her head in acknowledgement, then went to stand next to Alana. Asaeria nodded and said, “As you wish, Laren of Erordinville.” She turned her gaze to Alana and said, “My warrior will be with you until your task is complete. It is time now for you to be a Priestess.”

Alana bowed her head. “I will do as you command,” she said quietly. Then she turned and walked out of the temple with Laren on one side of her and the seraph on the other.

Lord Tumenick walked through the now clear south gate. He bowed his head to Iliard and his two lieutenants. “I was wondering how all those T’Rundi suddenly disappeared,” he said with a smile. He turned to Lord Berol and said, “The enemy’s routed. The outposts are chasing them down. The other lords will be here to report soon.”

“Good work, Finn,” Lord Berol said. “What about your wounded?” he asked. “Are they well hidden? The T’Rundi will kill any that they find along the way.”

“Well here’s the thing about that,” Lord Tumenick said. “Pellou’s been teleporting them here and then bringing them back if they’re fit to fight. What I want to know is, how the hell we got a Plane Traveler who trains Rangers?”

Lord Berol shrugged. “I have no idea. I never knew he was a Plane Traveler and he’s been a trainer at this stronghold for more than twenty years.”

“I’ll tell you something,” Lord Tumenick replied, “They’re damned convenient to have around. We’d have still been half a day out from the fight if he hadn’t come and brought us all to you.”

“There wouldn’t be much of the stronghold left if he hadn’t come,” Lord Berol said.

Iliard interrupted at this point. “Van, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go look for Alana.”

“Of course, Master Iliard,” Lord Berol replied.

Lord Tumenick watched Iliard leave and asked, “He knows somebody here?”

“Yes,” Lord Berol said. “His niece.”

“Huh, must have been hard fighting here while she was somewhere else,” Lord Tumenick said.

“I imagine it was,” Lord Berol replied.

When Alana left the temple, she headed for the north wall since it was where she knew a large number of the wounded would be. She started at the west corner and worked her way east, back toward the north gate. It was like walking through a nightmare. There were bodies everywhere. The stench of the dead T’Rundi filled her nostrils and made her want to vomit. There were times when she and Laren had to pick up and move a T’Rundi body to get at a wounded Ranger who was too weak to move the body themselves.

It was one of these times that Alana came across Lonan, the Ranger she had healed of a werewolf scratch more than a year before. His wounds now were far worse. His left arm was nearly severed at the elbow and his right leg was broken so badly that the bone had pierced his breeches. He was only barely conscious. When Alana put her hand on his forehead, his eyes fluttered open briefly. “I remember you,” he whispered. Then he closed his eyes and slipped into unconsciousness. Even after Alana had healed him, he didn’t regain consciousness right away. She didn’t want to leave him there unattended. She looked around and saw two Rangers she had recently healed and called them over. One of them she vaguely remembered from her first year as a trainee. “Selene, isn’t it?” she said to the female Ranger.

“Yes,” Selene answered. “You have a good memory.”

“Thanks,” Alana said absently. She indicated Lonan and added, “Would the two of you watch over him for a while? He was pretty badly hurt and I don’t want to leave him alone just yet.”

“Sure,” Selene replied. She turned to her companion and said, “I can stay here. Marc, why don’t you go with them and help move bodies.”

This happened more and more as Alana went along the north wall. Rangers she healed helped her and Laren move the bodies of T’Rundi to find wounded Rangers. Soon there were enough people that they began to go ahead of Alana. They started to throw the T’Rundi bodies into large piles. They lay the dead Rangers along the wall and brought the wounded forward so Alana could get to them quickly.

As they approached the stables Alana heard Laren say, “Uh oh.”

“What?” Alana asked.

“Look,” Laren said, pointing toward the stables.

Cadius sat on the ground with his back against the stable wall, cradling Falar’s head in his lap. His head was bowed down so low over Falar’s that Alana couldn’t see his face. She could see, however, that he had a deep gash on his left arm, left leg and another on his right shoulder, along with numerous cuts in various places on his body.

Falar wasn’t moving, nor could Alana see any evidence that she was breathing. Her stomach clenched and she whispered, “Oh no.” She went over and knelt down beside the pair. “Cadius?” she said softly.

Cadius raised his head to look at Alana. To her great surprise, there were tears running down his face. “She got pushed off the wall,” he said, his voice cracking. “I killed the son of a bitch and all his buddies.” A sob rose from his chest. He covered his face with his right hand. “The Priests wouldn’t help,” he said brokenly. “They said they had to heal the living first.” He took his hand away from his face. “I wouldn’t let the bastards touch me,” he said fiercely. “Not until…” he stopped, unable to continue as ragged sobs tore through him.

Alana struggled to maintain her composure. Seeing Cadius’ grief only magnified her own. She felt like she was sinking into a black pit from which she would never escape. Laren’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality. “Hey runt, come back,” Laren said.

Alana shook her head slightly to bring herself back to the present. She didn’t know what to do. Her reason told her to leave Falar until later, after all the wounded had been healed. Her heart told her something else. Cadius was her friend. Falar was her friend. Could she leave Cadius waiting in uncertainty for hours or even days, not knowing if Falar would live or remain dead? “No,” she said to herself.

“What?” Cadius asked.

Alana looked up at him and realized there were tears in her own eyes. She blinked them away and said, “I’m going to help.”

“I told you,” Cadius said harshly, “I’m waiting.”

“I know,” Alana replied. “I just need you to sit back a little so I can reach Falar’s head.”

“Why? What are you going to do?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to bring her back—I hope,” Alana said.

“What? How can you…?” He looked up at Laren. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Laren replied. “You should probably do what she says.”

Cadius gave Laren a look that told her he thought she was crazy too, but he leaned back anyway.

Alana’s stomach lurched. Falar’s head lay at an unnatural angle and the left side of her face was crushed. Alana took a deep breath to steady herself. She put one hand on Falar’s head and the other on her chest. She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts. She didn’t even know to whom she should pray. Finally she murmured, “Grant me the grace to restore her life.”

“Granted.”

To Alana it sounded like two or more voices had spoken. Instead of the gentle warmth of healing, Alana felt the life energy rush through her like water through a floodgate. Falar’s head moved back to it proper place with a crack. The broken bones of her face mended. She took a deep gasping breath and her eyes sprung open. She tried to sit up, but Alana put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Wait. Give yourself a little time.”

“What?” Falar said. “Why am I here?” She turned her head to look at Alana and asked, “What happened to me?”

Alana looked at Cadius, but he just stared back at her in speechless shock. She leaned down and put her arm behind Falar’s back. “Here, let me help you sit up.”

After Falar was upright, she looked over at Cadius, who had an expression of undisguised joy on his face. She turned back to Alana and said, “What’s with him? He acts like I was…” The truth abruptly hit her. Her eyes went wide with horror. “I was dead? Holy gods,” she whispered. “Alana, you…how did you…?”

She was interrupted by Cadius who put his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap. He held her tightly and said, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Falar touched his tear stained face and said, “I’ll try not to.” He pulled her in closer and she softly said, “Hey you big oaf, you’re crushing me.” When he loosened his grip, she saw the wound on his right shoulder. “You’re hurt,” she said. She looked at Alana and asked, “Why didn’t you heal him?”

“He wouldn’t let me,” Alana replied. “He was waiting.”

“Waiting?” Falar repeated. “What for?” Then she looked at his face and her eyes softened and filled with tears. “You idiot,” she said softly. She turned to Alana and said, “You can heal him now.”

“Sure,” Alana replied. She didn’t bother to ask Falar to move. She just put her hands on Cadius’ leg and prayed for his healing. After she was finished, she sat back on her heels and bowed her head wearily. She was happy for Cadius and Falar, but at the same time it only made her feel her own loss more keenly. She felt the warm hands of the seraph on her shoulders, replenishing her energy. She had to focus on her task. Everything else had to wait.

She stood up with Laren’s help and turned to continue down the wall. She found that the Rangers who had been helping her with the wounded had stopped to watch her resurrect Falar. The expressions on their faces ranged from disbelief to amazement. Alana froze. All these people were looking at her like she was something supernatural. A man stepped through the crowd, which parted for him. He was covered with blood. Alana said to him, “Do you need healing?”

“Alana,” the man said, “It’s me, Uncle Iliard.”

Alana blinked. “Uncle Illy?”

Now she saw him for who he was. Her heart leapt. Here was comfort and security, a place to rest and escape from the yawning emptiness that threatened to engulf her. Alana took a step toward him, but the seraph stepped in front of her and lightly touched the quest mark on her chest. “Your task is not yet complete,” she said quietly.

Alana’s eyes filled with tears. She touched her quest mark, looked up at her uncle and said, “I can’t…I have to keep going.”

Iliard stared at her in dismay. He couldn’t see the seraph, but he had seen the brief glow of the quest mark of Asaeria. He had also seen the Priest coil of Diasamon, which was now completely uncovered. And he had seen her resurrect a woman. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Alana, how is this happening?”

Alana shook her head. “I have to go,” she said as she pulled away from him. She looked at the group of Rangers in front of her, who silently opened a way for her to pass through.

Laren stopped for a moment and said to Iliard, “I’ll watch over her. She’ll be all right.”

Iliard stood watching the pair as they walked away, unsure if he should follow them or not. A young Ranger came up to him and said, “Master Iliard, Lord Lof Vonas asks if you could come to Lord Berol’s office.”

Iliard took one last look at Alana and then said, “Yes, of course.”

The messenger asked one of his fellow Rangers, “What’s going on?”

“Ranger Alana just resurrected somebody,” the other Ranger said.

Iliard walked away without waiting for the young Ranger to escort him to Lord Berol’s office. The news about Alana would spread through the stronghold like wildfire. He started to get very worried.