The Sea Devil's Eye - Mel Odom [59]
"And if we should fail after we've been given this chance?" Reefglamor eyed the old bard directly. "Who would be left to take up arms in this pursuit?"
"I don't know," Pacys admitted.
Coronal Semphyr, who commanded Aluwand, and Coronal Cormal Ytham, who commanded Sylkiir, both stood against any involvement in Myth Nantar.
Reefglamor clasped Pacys's shoulder tightly in his grip and said, "To most of my people, Myth Nantar is a corpse, better off left entombed by the mythal that surrounds it."
"But the Taker is headed there," the bard reminded him.
"And if you're wrong?" the sea elf asked. "If I and the other mages have left our cities, our people, undefended against the Taker?"
"If you could but feel the power of the songs that fill my heart near to bursting, you would know that what we do is the right thing."
"My friend," Reefglamor said, "I do believe you. That's the only reason we are here now. But even as I believe in you, you must believe in me. We must not just begin this journey, we must finish it as well."
One of the lesser mages swam to a stop nearby and waited patiently. Reefglamor excused himself and swam over to the woman.
"Trouble, friend Pacys?"
The old bard glanced up and saw Khlinat floating in the water only a few feet away. For the first time he noticed how tired and haggard the dwarf looked, then realized the whole caravan probably felt the same way.
With the regular military forces stripped from their ranks, men and women who served and believed in the high mages had volunteered for the journey. Many of them kissed their wives, husbands, and children good-bye on the day they left Sylkiir. No few of them, Pacys felt certain, would never look on their families again. For the first time, he realized the sacrifices they'd made.
"No trouble." Pacys said. "Only my own impatience at how slowly we travel."
"Aye, I been thinking on that meself," the dwarf grumbled, "but there's no way to increase our speed. Them people what's out there making up this ragtag army, they're doing all they can."
"And maybe more than they should be asked."
Pacys looked down at the long line of the caravan. Nearly three hundred sea elves took their breaks while the sleds were secured and the animals were changed out. They sat in small groups and talked. Weariness from the hard travel showed in the stooped shoulders and the lethargy that gripped them.
Glancing around, Pacys spotted a depression in the hillside of the sheltering ridge. It gave a view over the whole caravan. He swam to it and settled on the ledge at the front of the depression. As he took the saceddar from his back, he drew his skills to him, and listened to the music that haunted him all morning. He'd found no words for the music-until now. The music was lively but bittersweet, a tune that would live on.
Torn from proud history,
Forged in blood and love,
Come from the hand and eye and love of Deep Sashelas,
No longer of the world above.
They gathered at the behest of the High Mages,
And descended into Serds's deepest blue.
They followed the course of dark prophecy,
To discover what was right and true.
They journeyed to far Myth Nantar,
Still bound in wild and uncertain magic.
The City of Destinies had a future unclear,
And a history that had proven tragic.
Pacys played on, finding the words with ease. He let the music fill him and give power to his song. He knew they listened, every conversation brought to a halt by the majesty in his voice. He continued, finding the chorus.
We are the Alu'Tel'Quessir,
Our hearts build our home.
Our blood is pure
And our arms are strong.
Together we stand,
And never die alone.
We are the Alu'Tel'Quessir.
We march to right a wrong.
Our bodies may get weary,
But our spirits are filled with song.
The old bard stopped singing. The rest of the song was yet to be written. Verses