The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [46]
"Follow me," Borran Kiosk entreated.
The undead lurched after the mohrg, stepping toward the deepening sunset.
"Brother Tohl!"
Tohl knew the words came from some other place than the dream. For a brief moment he considered following the words out of the horror that surrounded him.
Wait, a soft voice bade.
Mistress? Tohl stood his ground. During all his years he had prayed to Eldath and felt certain that the Quiet One had worked in his life in small ways, but he'd never before heard her voice. Even so, the old priest was certain he heard it now.
Patience. Something can be learned here.
Tohl's heart beat faster and threatened to rouse him from the dream. He had a vague sensation of being shaken, of someone's hand on his shoulder. He ignored the intrusions and stayed within the dream.
Marshalling his courage, girded by the certainty that he was doing Eldath's work, he crept around the fringes of the battlefield. He stayed within the trees outside the clearing that Borran Kiosk and his undead army followed. Branches whipped at Tohl's face and tore at his skin
Despite the fact that he knew he was in a dream, he didn't doubt that Borran Kiosk had the power to hurt him. A stray thought that perhaps he wouldn't wake from the dream if the mohrg discovered him chilled his spine.
Courage, the quiet, calm voice said.
I've never been long on courage, Lady, Tohl admitted.
I will be with you, Tohl Farmarck, as I have stood with others against Borran Kiosk in the past.
Before he could stop himself, Tohl remembered all the priests, warriors, and helpless victims who had died warring against Borran Kiosk. He felt guilty, then he wondered how much of his thoughts Eldath was aware of. He continued up the steep rise, drawing within sight of Borran Kiosk again.
The mohrg topped the crest and started down the other side.
Scrambling, panting for breath and trying to ignore the burning in his lungs, Tohl forced himself to the top of the crest. He peered down as the mohrg continued down the other side.
The brush and trees grew denser at the bottom of the crest. During the decline, the dozen or more sluggish streams of water that drained the mountains farther south and east became white-water rapids no more than two or three feet across. Once they reached the flatlands below, the streams blended to become a small creek that snaked through the swamplands below.
We are near Morningstar Hollows, Tohl realized.
Yes, the quiet, still voice whispered in his head.
But everything is different.
The Morningstar Hollows that Tohl remembered was marshland, filled with knobby-kneed roots anchoring huge river pine, oak, elm, walnut, and pecan trees.
This is the way it was, the quiet voice said, before the Alaoreum River roared free of its banks the first time, consuming Borran Kiosk and his army. Pay attention, Brother Tohl. There is something to be learned here, and the tapestry of magic that has rent the night there and to which you are linked has opened this window of opportunity.
Yes, Lady.
Excitement thrilled through Tohl, but dread kept pace with it. Borran Kiosk had always been recognized as Malar's tool. The Stalker possessed particular hatred for Eldath's followers as well as the druids who followed the ways of Silvanus.
Borran Kiosk walked into the marshlands.
Heart beating at the back of his throat, Tohl followed. His courage came from his belief in Eldath and the powers of the Quiet One, for he had little confidence in his own abilities. He could think of no reason why he had been singled out for this experience, but he couldn't forego it.
Only moments later, Borran Kiosk stopped. The undead army gathered around him.
For the first time Tohl realized that the battle had been devastating for Borran Kiosk's minions as well. Several of them were missing limbs. At least two dozen zombies trailed the pack by dragging themselves through the muck with their arms, their lower bodies or legs missing.
Borran Kiosk spoke in an arcane tongue Tohl couldn't understand.
Listen, the quiet voice