FIRE ANGELS
by
Jane Routley
Prologue
(Moria. Just before Smazor's Run)
By mid morning they had crossed over the pass and to the west the great flat green plain of Southern Moria was spread out before them. Alain, Master Kintore's Morian servant sat patiently as the Klementari mage turned back and took one last longing look back east towards where his beloved country of Ernundra lay. Ernundra the beautiful, the country with in a country, surrounded as it was on all sides by Moria. It was two days ride away and they could see nothing of it through the mornings haze, but he understood something of what Master Kintore felt for his homeland.
"It's like a pulse," Master Kintore had said once. "Or a distant beacon glowing warmly inside your mind. Even when you are far away, even when you are on the other side of the Red Mountains, you can still sense that distant glowing. Even when we cannot see her, Ernundra lets us know that she loves us, that we belong to her, that we are not alone."
It was a beautiful place. Sometimes Alain could not imagine how Master Kintore found to the strength leave it especially for the dubious privilege of living in Northern Moria as Klementari Envoy to Duke Henri at the court of Mangalore. There were few Klementari living in the north, which was not surprising; at best Northerners regarded the Klementari with nervous respect, which could change quite readily to bitter hatred. Alain had had insults, and once or twice even blows from other servants for serving one of the "Moonies" or "Witchpeople". Master Kintore only laughed ruefully and said, "They shall be better when Duke Henri lets our mages come here and the people become used to us." There was something in what he said. To know the Klementari was to love them. Alain was devoted to Master Kintore and regarded him more as a beloved uncle than a master. Personally, though, if he'd been Master Kintore, he would have let those sour northern bastards rot and stayed at home in beautiful Ernundra.
Perhaps Master Kintore was thinking the same at that moment, for he sighed and moved his shoulders as one taking on a burden, before he turned and nodded at Alain to take the road down the Western side of the Red Mountains.
Yet for all their love of home there were many Klementari who lived outside Ernundra. They could be found all over Eastern and Southern Moria, sometimes even married to Morians. Here they were greatly famed for their mage-craft and loved for their strange unearthly beauty, their gentle kindness, and the generous way they dispensed healing and other small magics even to those who could not pay.
At midday the two men stopped for a meal at an inn at the foot of the Red Mountains. When Alain came in from seeing to the horses he found Master Kintore in intense conversation with one whose fair hair, high cheekbones and dark eyes proclaimed her one of the Klementari. From the affectionate glances and greeting of the other customer, Alain guessed she must be their local healer or dreamer.
"The ban on foretelling still stands," said Master Kintore to the woman whom he had introduced to Alain as Enna Thurre. "The madness of the Dreamers continues. While I was in Ernundra, three died while struck by Foretelling. Two more have been driven from their wits and can only babble of darkness." He sighed. "Such a terrible thing."
"What killed them?" asked Thurre. She was a big handsome woman with a face more suited to laughter than the deep troubled fear it showed now. Though who could blame her for being afraid? Visions of the future appeared to certain of the Klementari without their even seeking it. Lately such foretellers or Dreamers as they called them had been dying, seemingly without cause, a matter which had been troubling even the King of Moria.
"We cannot say. Shock and fear we think. The Istari are strangely silent on this matter." Master Kintore's face was bleak.
Usually a trip to Ernundra and a night spent in the Spirit Chamber communing with the Istari, the spirits who guided and protected the Klementari, revitalized Master Kintore but this time he had came away full of anxiety.
"The Istari are blind," he had said to Alain. "For once, they cannot see what comes." He had been absent-minded and worried since then.
Now Thurre caught his sleeve intently. "I have wondered ... Could it be that some terrible fate awaits the Klementari? Could these Dreamers have seen it?"
Master Kintore shrugged his shoulders.
"It has long been in my mind to do a foretelling," continued Thurre. "No, no, not by visions," she went on at Master Kintore's horrified glance. "With the cards. I have some gift with prophecy cards. This morning, it seemed to me they had something to say to me, but I was afraid to look. Can you not feel it too?"
She had taken a cloth wrapped bundle from her bag and placed it on the table between them and with these words she now unwrapped them. They were white cards with a pattern of leaves painted on their backs. Alain saw a look of deep temptation come onto Master Kintore's face.
"Do you have visions when you use them?" he asked.
"Never," said Thurre. "Only a clear sense of their meaning. I am not a strong foreteller. Come, I shall do it, yes? I feel it is time."
"Yes, yes. Why not?" Master Kintore leaned forward eagerly as she shuffled and reshuffled the cards.
The inn was full of the normal noise and bustle of midday. People ate and drank and laughed. The serving wench was arguing with some nearby customers over the quality of the stew. The landlord, a huge beefy fellow, held three tankards under the taps to fill them. Thurre reached for her first card. People nearby glanced at the two mages with mild curiosity. It was an ordinary moment in an ordinary day.
And yet in that moment the world ended for thousands of people.
Thurre gasped. The card slipped from her fingers and fell upon the table. It was the famished land, the death card. In that moment she must have seen Ernundra die.
Suddenly all hell broke loose. Both mages were standing were standing both of them choking, hands on faces, eyes staring with at some terrible sight
"Master!" cried Alain as Master Kintore screamed like a man in his death agonies, pitched over on his side and fell to the floor choking out screams - screaming and screaming, blood flecked froth coming from his mouth. Alain leapt at him, trying to help or hold him.
Then suddenly - Smash! A blast of hot red light burst open the doors and windows and a wave, a great whirlwind of mindless numbing terror swept over everyone. The beefy landlord's fingers dig into his horrified face. People flung themselves on the ground screaming, tears running down their cheeks like a frightened children, thrashing about on the ground. Alain was so unmanned by fear he wet himself as he collapsed clutching his master.
How long did he lie abjectly there trembling and crying at nothing? The next thing he knew people began shouting. He looked up and saw Thurre struggling in a group them, white-faced, rolling her eyes madly.
"Don't leave me. Don't leave me," she was bellowing. There was a knife in her hand and the blood at her throat.
"Help us, Help us," those struggling with her cried.
But Alain was too afraid to stay there. The room stank of abject terror - the stink of sweat, shit and piss. Folk still thrashed about on the floor, screaming and wailing. Yet there was nothing to see to be afraid of.
Master Kintore was silent. His eyes were open, but there was no life in them though his heart still beat. Alain lifted him up and carried him from the room. He ran a rabbit runs from a hawk, hunched over to be as small as possible.
Outside the Red Mountains loomed over the village as they always had but the sky above them was no longer blue. Huge billows of grey ash rose from behind them, turning the sun to a sick red ball. A faint wailing howl could be heard in the distance.
The air was hot and heavy and the distant howling pushed Alain to the edge of panic. He felt a horror that