A Ranger From Adamnar

“How dare you?”

The harsh words startled Alana. She just finished healing a Ranger who had been near death and had given herself a moment to rest before she moved on. She looked up to find a green-robed Priest of Diasamon glaring down at her. “What?” she said in confusion.

“How dare you wear the sacred coil of Diasamon when your hands are stained with the blood of the T’Rundi you’ve slain?”

Before Alana could answer his accusation, Laren stepped between her and the Priest. “Who the hell are you?”

The Priest drew himself up regally and replied, “I am Bishop Amanfara from the temple of Diasamon in Relothere, Chief Priest of the High Temple in the Capital City.” He pointed at Alana, who was now standing next to Laren. “This girl has no right to wear the Priest coil of the blessed healer god. He is a god of peace. No warrior has ever been permitted to heal in his name.”

“Yeah well,” Laren retorted, “this woman has healed every Ranger along this wall—and even resurrected a few. If you’ve got a problem with that, go talk to the guy in charge.”

Bishop Amanfara said haughtily, “My superior is High Priest Pelden Etrayan of the High Temple of the Heart.”

“Yeah, I know,” Laren replied. “He was there when she was ordained a High Priestess of Diasamon.”

Bishop Amanfara’s face turned bright red with outrage. “Blasphemy! You lie. Diasamon would just as soon ordain a Tagonic Assassin.”

Laren’s hand dropped to her sword hilt. She stepped in closer to Bishop Amanfara and said, “You’d better leave now, or you’re gonna have a very bad day.”

Alana grabbed Laren’s right arm. “Laren, don’t,” she said urgently.

“How dare you?!” he said to Laren. “I will report your insolence to Lord Lof Vonas. You will be thrown out of this stronghold…” He stopped his diatribe when he saw a seraph of Diasamon appear at Alana’s right side. With a smile of triumph he said, “Now Diasamon’s retribution is at hand.”

Alana looked over at the seraph, who bowed his head and placed his hand on her shoulder. Then the seraph trained a level gaze at Bishop Amanfara. The Priest’s smile faded and his mouth dropped open slightly. Alana felt a little sorry for the man. She could sympathize with his confusion. “Bishop Amanfara,” she said, “Maybe you should go talk to High Priest Etrayan.” A half-smile flitted across her tired face. “And if you get any answers from him, maybe you could come back and tell me what they are.”

Bishop Amanfara’s face reddened. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, then turned and walked away. Cadius, who had come to help Alana after seeing that Falar was safely resting, asked, “Everything all right?”

“It is now,” Laren answered.

“Did I hear that Priest say something about Diasamon’s retribution?” he asked. “I thought Diasamon didn’t do retribution.”

“He doesn’t,” Alana answered. “I think the Bishop was just confused.”

“Yeah,” Laren said, “He almost was in pain too.”

Alana just looked at Laren and shook her head. “Come on,” she said wearily. “There’s more Rangers to heal.”

The sun had long since set and the night had turned cold. The other Priests and Priestesses had come out onto the stronghold grounds to heal the wounded and resurrect the dead. Alana barely noticed them. She just kept going from one Ranger to the next, healing the wounded. When there were no more wounded, she resurrected the dead. She worked without thought, without rest, without even any food. Most of the Rangers who had been following her had long since gone to bed. Only Laren and Cadius remained with her the whole time. They were later joined by Grace who had finally come in from chasing T’Rundi and Tulan who had come unexpectedly to Adamnar during its time of need. Sometime during the night someone—probably Laren—had put a cloak around her shoulders, but still the chill in the air crept into her bones.

Without realizing it, she had made her way back to the north gate. This was the greatest test of her resolve. Here was where she and the members of her patrol fought. Here was where her patrol group died. Here was where Ben died. Thirteen of the fourteen members of her patrol group had been killed in the T’Rundi onslaught. Only she had not died. She was able to bring back nine.

After the last resurrected member of her patrol group was taken to the dining hall to rest, Alana knelt down beside Ben’s body. Very carefully she brushed the dirt off his face. She touched the lids of the eyes that would never look into hers again. She ran her fingers over the lips that would never again smile at her or kiss her. A keening sob rose from within her. She put her arms around him and lay her head on his cold chest. Her body was so depleted that she had no tears—only the great gasping sounds of raw grief that pierced the souls of those who heard it.

Laren knelt down beside her. “Come on, Alana,” she said. “You can’t stay here.” But Alana would not be moved.

Laren stood up again, desperately trying to figure out what to do. Cadius said to her, “I don’t get it. Why doesn’t she just bring him back like everybody else?”

“She already tried,” Laren replied.

“Oh. Damn. Poor kid.” Cadius said quietly.

“I have to find her uncle,” Laren said. “Maybe he can get her to come away.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

Laren turned and saw a woman in a dark cloak standing behind them. “I don’t see how,” Laren said curtly. “You don’t even know her.”

“True,” the woman replied, “but I know her suffering.” She moved forward and knelt down beside Alana, placing her hand gently on the grieving young woman’s shoulder. She leaned in and spoke softly to Alana. To Laren it sounded like she was either praying or singing. After a little while, Alana’s sobs grew quieter and finally silenced. The woman spoke again to Alana, then stood up and held out her hand.

Alana raised her head to look up at the woman, then took her hand and stood up. When her knees buckled, Laren was right there to hold her up. The seraph stepped in front of Alana and bowed deeply. Alana bowed her head in return. The quest mark of Asaeria glowed brightly for a moment and then disappeared, as did the seraph.

The cloaked woman held out a goblet that had not been there a moment before. “Drink this,” she said as she pressed the goblet into Alana’s hands. “It will help revive you.”

Alana drank from the goblet slowly. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be revived. The drink tasted slightly sweet. Although it was cool, when she swallowed it, it filled her with warmth. When she finished, she handed the goblet back to the woman. “Thank you,” she said.

“You are most welcome, my dear. Now,” she continued, “if you would please come with me.”

“Hold on there,” Laren said, “Where are you taking her? She’s practically dead on her feet.”

“Yes, I know, Laren of Erordinville,” the woman replied. “She needs to bathe and rest and Lord Berol has very kindly offered his quarters for that purpose.”

Alana’s companions looked at each other in surprise. The woman stood waiting expectantly. Laren frowned slightly. “Think you can make it?” she asked Alana.

Alana nodded. “I’ll be all right.”

The group slowly made their way to Lord Berol’s quarters. Lord Berol and Iliard were waiting for them in the large, brightly lit foyer. Alana barely acknowledged Lord Berol before she headed straight into Iliard’s open arms. She didn’t weep. She had no more tears left. She merely allowed herself to find respite in the safety of her uncle’s embrace. After a while she started to shiver uncontrollably. Iliard pulled back from her and said, “Alana?”

The woman, who had by now taken off her cloak, said to Iliard, “She needs to bathe and then to sleep.”

“Yes, of course, your holiness,” Iliard replied.

Laren turned her startled gaze toward the woman. She was indeed wearing the white robes of a Priestess of Asaeria, but her robes had gold braid adorning the sleeves and hem. Her holy symbol was also made of gold. Her silver hair was pulled back into a braid that went well below her knees. The only thing Laren could think when she looked at the High Priestess’ face was ‘serenity.’ Her steel-gray eyes were full of kindness and compassion.

The Priestess smiled at Laren and said, “I should have introduced myself before. I am Islene Verderai, Priestess of the goddess Asaeria.”

“You mean High Priestess,” Laren said.

“Yes,” Islene answered with a slight nod of her head. “Now,” she said, briskly, “we must tend to Alana.” She turned to Lord Berol. “Van, would you please show us the way?”

Cadius looked at Tulan and said, “I think this is where we get to leave.”

Tulan smiled. “I think you’re right. I could use some sleep.”

“I’m going to go check on Falar, Cadius said.

“I think I’ll go too and find a place to bed down,” Grace said. “A bath sounds pretty good right about now.”

“You can use our room,” Laren said. “I’ll be here all night.”

“Thanks,” Grace replied. “Well, goodnight.”

After the trio left, Laren helped guide Alana to the bathing chamber. By this time, Alana was barely aware of what was going on around her. Laren practically had to carry her to get her to stand upright. She would have carried her except that High Priestess Islene insisted that Alana walk as much as possible.

The bathing chamber was the size of Laren and Alana’s whole quarters. The floor of the bathing chamber was made of smooth, light grey stone as was the large sunken bathtub. In the corner of the bathing chamber was a free flowing shower which was where they guided Alana first. Her blood soaked clothes had long since dried and now adhered to her like a second skin. Laren helped Alana stand under the warm water of the shower until her clothes were soaked through and then helped her undress and get in the bathtub.

The High Priestess of Asaeria then got down on her knees beside the tub and gently unbraided Alana’s hair and started to wash it. Laren stared at her wide-eyed. “Um, shouldn’t you have a servant do that?” she asked.

Islene smiled and said, “Tonight, I am the servant. Alana has served our goddess well today. It is only fitting that I return the favor.” When she pulled back Alana’s hair to rinse it, she paused for a moment and said quietly, “So it is true.”

“What?” Laren asked in concern.

Islene moved Alana’s hair to the right side. “This mark,” she said, indicating Alana’s left shoulder blade, “Is the Priest mark of Aniyatomei.”

Laren stepped closer and knelt down so she could see better. The mark was small—less than the size of a gold piece—and in the shape of a sunburst. It shimmered silver in the light of the bathing chamber. She looked at the high priestess and said, “I don’t get it, I’ve never seen that mark before. She hasn’t ever been to a temple of Aniyatomei since she’s been at the stronghold. How could she have gotten it?”

“My guess,” Islene replied, “is that she has had this mark for a very long time. Castle Candril has a sanctuary of the Noble gods. The Priest mark of Aniyatomei is only visible when its bearer is doing the work of their goddess. It seems that Alana has been doing the work of three gods today.”

“Are you trying to tell me she’s the High Priestess of three gods?” Laren asked incredulously.

“So it would seem,” Islene replied. “The amulet of Asaeria, the coil of Diasamon and the sun-star of Aniyatomei. All that is left is the ring of Taelerion.”

“Maybe she’s not his type,” Laren said.

A smile briefly touched Islene’s lips. “Not now she is not. His time for her will come.”

Laren looked at Alana, who was almost asleep in the swirling water of the tub. She was glad Alana wasn’t aware of what was going on around her. Laren didn’t think her friend could deal with another surprise at the moment. Laren could tell her later, when she felt better.

“Would you please help me get her out of the tub?” Islene asked, after she had finished rinsing Alana’s hair.

“Sure,” Laren said. She leaned down and coaxed Alana to move her legs enough to stand upright. Laren caught her underneath the armpits and eased her out of the tub. They dried her off and put her into a dressing gown that a servant had brought into the bathing chamber.

As they were about the leave the bathing chamber, Islene said to Laren, “I can bring Alana to her room. There is an extra dressing gown here for you. Alana is safe right now. You need to care for yourself.”

Laren started to protest, but the gentle eyes of the High Priestess turned steely with resolution. “Yes, your holiness,” she murmured,” and turned to go back into the bathing chamber.

Alana was dreaming. The Heart was speaking to her. “You have done well, dear one. You have pushed back the darkness for a time.” Alana smiled in her sleep.

Then another voice, distant and malevolent, spoke. “You will not escape me a second time.” It was gone as quickly as it had come, but Alana woke with a gasp and sat bolt upright in bed.

Laren was instantly awake and alert. “What is it?” she asked, putting her hand on her sword hilt.

“Nothing,” Alana replied. “Just a dream.” She looked around the well decorated room. The sun was streaming through the open window. “Where am I?” she asked

Lord Berol’s guest room,” Laren answered.

“Lord Berol’s…how did I get here?” she asked in confusion.

Laren sighed slightly. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” She hesitated then said, “They’ve started making the funeral pyres. Lord Berol asked them to hold off on Ben’s until you were up.”

Alana bit her bottom lip and nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. After a few moments she looked around and asked, “Do I have clothes here?”

“Yeah,” Laren replied. She pointed to a chair in the corner. Alana’s clothes were on the chair with her swords and daggers laying on top of them.

Alana nodded and got out of bed. She dressed in silence. When she was finished, she turned to Laren and said, “Ready.”

As they walked out of the bedroom Laren asked, “You hungry?”

“Not really,” Alana answered.

They walked in silence out of Lord Berol’s quarters. Alana could easily tell where the pyres were by the trail of smoke that floated over the stronghold and the groups of grieving Rangers walking into and out of the south gate. They followed one as it wound out the gate and turned west.

Ten hollow stone crypts had been built in a shallow vale just beyond the gentle slope of the western side of Adamnar stronghold. One of the nearly two hundred Rangers who had died in the battle for Adamnar was placed on a wooden frame atop each of the crypts. A purple robed Wizard lit a magical fire under each of the pyres, which consumed the body in minutes. Rangers, male and female, wept as they watched the men and women they had fought with become one with the ground upon which they had once run. It didn’t seem right that it was such a beautiful, sunny day.

The lords of the stronghold as well as Lord Lof Vonas, Lord Ejrin and Lord Arimy stood off to the side watching the proceedings in somber silence. Iliard was also there, along with Bruny, Treise and a Priestess whom Alana didn’t recognize. When Alana and Laren walked onto the grounds, people stopped what they were doing to stare at Alana. A few came over to her to thank her for healing or resurrecting them, most just stared from a distance. Alana endured it all in silence. She walked over to Lord Berol and bowed her head slightly. Lord Berol bowed his in return. He bent down and picked up a sheathed dagger. He handed it to Alana and said, “I thought you might want this. It was Ben’s.”

Alana knew it was Ben’s Adamnar dagger, exactly like the one she had gotten when she became a Ranger. The lump in her throat nearly choked her, but she managed to say, “Thank you.”

Lord Berol nodded and said hoarsely, “You’re welcome. I wish…” he trailed off and turned his head to stare off into the distance.

Iliard came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. She reached up to grasp his hand with hers. Cadius, Falar, Grace and Tulan soon joined their little group. Ten more bodies were placed on ten new frames on the crypts. One of those bodies was Ben’s. Alana squeezed Iliard’s hand hard as she watched the magical flames leap up and surround Ben’s body. She didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt a teardrop fall on the hand that was clutching Ben’s dagger.

It was over mercifully quickly. Once all of the bodies had been burned, the ten stone crypts would be sealed and would serve as permanent memorials to those who had died defending Adamnar.

Iliard walked with Alana and her friends back into the stronghold after the funerals were done and the fires were out. Once they were back inside the compound, Iliard said, “Alana, I’d like to speak with you alone.”

Cadius said to the others, “I’m hungry. I’m going to get something to eat. You want to come?”

“You’re always hungry,” Falar said with a laugh.

“Yes, I am,” Cadius replied, pulling her closer. “But we can talk about that later.”

Falar rolled her eyes in mock impatience and said, “Come on you, let’s go get something to eat.” To Alana she said, “We’ll be in the dining hall.”

Alana nodded. “All right.” After her friends left, Alana turned to Iliard and asked, “What is it?”

“Let’s walk a little,” Iliard said. He turned and headed back out south gate. He turned east once they were through the gate.

After they had walked for a while and Iliard still had not spoken, Alana stopped and asked, “Uncle Iliard, what is it?”

Iliard looked at his niece. So much had changed for her in such a short time. The pain in her eyes tore at his heart. He didn’t want to cause her any more grief, but he knew the time to speak had long since come and delaying any more would only make things worse. “There’s something I need to tell you that I should have told you two years ago when you first asked me. I wish you had told me about your ordinations by the gods. I would have told you this sooner.”

Alana’s eyes narrowed. “Told me what?” she asked in a low voice.

Iliard was troubled by the cold anger he heard in her voice. After a moment’s hesitation, he went on. “There is a prophecy.”

“A prophecy about me?” she asked curtly.

“We weren’t sure,” he answered, a bit startled at the tone of her voice. “We thought so, but the nature of prophecy is such that you can never be sure until the events begin to unfold before your eyes. If I had known about your ordinations, I would have told you sooner, because they are mentioned in the prophecy.”

“If you had known?!” Alana’s eyes blazed with a rage that Iliard had only ever seen in his brother’s eyes. “How many times have I told you about something that was happening to me? How many times did I ask you to tell me what I was, who I was? How can you stand there and say to me ‘I wish you had told me?’ I have told you and gotten no answers. I gave up telling you anything. You were intent on keeping this secret to yourself even though it was my life that you were keeping secret.”

“Alana, I’m sorry,” Iliard said.

“Sorry? No, I don’t think so,” she snarled back to him. “Someone was after me. This battle happened because someone was after me. People died because someone wanted me dead. Does your prophecy tell you about that? I lost people I loved yesterday. Nata, Taraz, Marker…Ben.” A sob escaped her lips and her eyes filled with tears. “Ben was…I loved him. I loved him and he died because of me, because I was here in this stronghold.”

Iliard tried to take her in his arms, “Alana, no one can ever know for certain what will happen.”

Alana wrenched herself out of his grasp. “But it was my right to decide what I should do, not yours!”

“Alana I know,” he answered. “I was wrong. I should have told you a long time ago.”

“Well guess what?” she snapped. “I don’t want to know. Keep your secrets. I don’t need your help anymore. If anyone wants to come after me, let them. I’ll do to them what I did to the T’Rundi leader.” She reached inside her shirt and took out the emerald amulet he had given her four years before. She pulled it over her head and held it out to Iliard. “I won’t need this.” She ignored the look of pain that came over his face when she dropped into his outstretched hand.

“Oh, and if anyone asks,” she said before she turned away, “I am Alana Candril.” Then she walked away, back toward the stronghold, leaving him standing there.