by R. M Garino
The soldiers snapped their shields into position with a familiar cry of "Oohrah!". They formed two rows, shoulder to shoulder, and stepped off. They pressed their way back into the throng of shrulks. The Blades of the defensive row were incorporated back into the lines, and interlocked their shields to create a wall. Behind them, the second row of pikes, swords and bows cut the enemy down. Magics lashed out from the periphery, from several different sources, and shrulks blew apart or burst into flame.
The company hugged the cliff face, just beyond the reach of the thorns and progressed into a narrow gulley. The defenders adjusted their positions, as the enemy was now behind them. The corridor of stone was wide enough for three to run side by side. They held formation and increased their speed. The Mala’kar amongst them held to the rear guard and ensured the retreat.
“Don’t worry.” Logan ran with his hand on Cormac’s shoulder, to give him what encouragement he was able. “They’re friends. I’ll explain later. But we’re safe with them.”
Cormac nodded, though his sin’del showed that he did not understand.
At length, the sounds of battle faded, and the company slowed. Brigit fell into step beside them.
“That was impressive.” She saluted the pair of them and graced them with a smile. “You both carry the honor of House Fel’Mekrin.”
“Thank you for your aid.” Logan returned the salute, and added a truncated bow for good measure. “This is my fellow, Cormac, also of my House.”
“Well met, Cormac,” Brigit said. “You both make a superb team.”
Cormac nodded in acceptance of the compliment, but did not speak.
“They are the Lost Guard,” Logan said to him. “They are the Yearlings who were unable to return through the gate when they passed through the Sur.”
“We like to think that our walkabout was extended,” Garrett said behind them. “Less judgmental, don’t you think.”
"Cormac, this is Mala'kar Garrett," Logan said.
"I'm honored, sir," Cormac said.
"Hardly a Mala'kar," Garrett said, "but thank you. The honor is mine."
The gorge they were in deepened, and several soul lights sprang to life illuminating the way.
“Did you return the display,” Garrett asked. “You no longer wear the rings.”
“Yes we did,” Logan said. “I gave them to Sionid and sent her through the portal first.” Turning to Brigit, Logan said, “Weren’t you watching us?”
“We were not.” Brigit kept her gaze mobile and searched her surroundings. Logan fell silent, disappointed by the admission. He felt they had comported themselves rather well against the shrulks.
“My apologies for the breach in protocol,” she said. “Our company was otherwise engaged. We had an intruder to contend with, and it reduced our response time. Thankfully, you were able to hold until we arrived.”
“What kind of intruder?” Cormac said.
“A most unexpected kind,” Garrett said behind them.
“How so?” Logan noted the grim cast to the Guard’s visage.
“Someone entered the Sur that should not be here,” Brigit said.
“Is such a thing even possible?”
“We did not think so,” Garrett said. “But now, after what he said, we are not so sure.”
“Who is this intruder?”
“He calls himself Angus Tu’renthien.”
Logan stopped walking.
“There is now possible way he could be here. He’s a scrub. A graduate at the Gates.”
“The individual we have under guard is no graduate.” Brigit shook her head. “We do not know what to make of him.”
“Wait,” Cormac said and looked to Logan. “Do you mean Angus Kal’Parev? The one who’s been messing around with your Arielle?”
Logan glared at Cormac for using such an indelicate turn of phrase.
“The same,” he said.
“That was the other name he gave us.” Brigit resumed walking, and they fell into step behind her.
“It is a trick of the Sur then,” Logan said. “There is no conceivable way he could be here.”
“You forget,” Garrett said. “All timelines may enter here. The man you knew need not be the same incarnation we have here.”
The gulley widened further, and the glow of the sanctum appeared before them.
The company divided, some taking a defensive position while others passed through the opening in the rock face. Once they were clear, the rear guard joined them and the doors closed.
“Home sweet home,” Garrett said.
“I will be along shortly.” Brigit motioned to them. “Garrett, please take them to meet our guest.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Keeper of the Temple
"Fel'Mekrin?” A voice boomed out when Logan walked into the chamber. It was a voice he knew well, and it set his blood to boil.
Not here. His fist tightened against the leather wrap of his sword's hilt.
It was impossible that he was here. Not him!
With the tip of his sword held out before him he gazed upon Angus. He did not remember drawing his weapon.
Angus Kal'Parev sat on a stone bench toward the back of the room. His sin’del was a blaze of light. It drove back the darkness, and made Logan feel small and insignificant. A contingent of guards faced him, their bows half drawn and aimed at his heart. They were nervous, and did a poor job disguising the fact in their sin'dels.
“It must be a shade.” Logan snarled, but then paused, struck by the figure before him.
It looked like Angus, but he was different than Logan remembered. His face was heavily scarred, and his shoulders were broader, the muscles heavier. His grey eyes held a coldness in them, a sense of detachment that did not seem natural and warred with Logan's memory.
The Kal'Parev he remembered always wore that infuriating grin, like the world was there for his amusement. That smile was nowhere to be seen. A momentary sense of concern for the change of character flashed through Logan, but he tamped it down, annoyed with the sentiment.
Logan lifted his sword to a higher position.
“Rethink your intention, Fel'Mekrin,” Angus said, and Logan heard the casual confidence in his voice. He studied them, paying special attention to their arms and hands. “It will not end well for you. Though this place has corrupted you already.”
"The sanctum will tend to that," Garrett said, as though to alleviate Logan and Cormac's fears.
Logan did not respond. Of all the things he witnessed here in the Sur, this was the most preposterous.
“Is this a joke?” Cormac pointed at Angus. “This is not the scrub I remember. Who is this?”
"Who are you?" Angus appraised Cormac with a puzzled expression. "You seem familiar, but you're not marked like the others."
"I am Cormac of House Fel'Mekrin," he said.
Angus grimaced at the mention of the name. He returned his gaze to Logan.
"How do we know he's who he says he is?" Cormac waved in Angus' direction. "This could be a trap of some kind."
Logan stepped forward.
“Three nights before I entered the Sur,” he said to Angus, “we had a conversation in the mess hall. What did you say to me that no one else overheard?”
“We both said a great many things, most of them threats.” Angus shrugged. "Can you be more specific?”
“You… gave me something,” Logan prompted.
“A fealty gift.” Angus pointed at the belt buckle Logan wore. “Sworn from the heir of House Fel’Mekrin to the heir of House Tu'renthien. I also told you to leave Arielle alone.”
Logan nodded and acknowledged the accuracy of the memory. A smile curled the edges of his lips, and he was unable to resist the urge to take a poke at his tormentor.
“She came to me anyway,” Logan said. “The night before I left. She came to my rooms.”
Angus stood and moved closer, his eyes narrowed.
“I know,” he said. “I told her to go.”
Logan’s
smile deepened.
“I haven’t given up,” Logan said, his voice low, confidential. “You have Arielle for the time being, but I’m persistent.”
There was a sad cast to Angus’ eyes, the scars that decorated his face pulled at his frown.
“I know,” he said. “And that makes your presence here all the harder.”
Angus stepped away.
"This is your first time in the Sur," he said, as though the realization just struck him. “None of this makes any sense to you yet.”
Logan nodded.
"That cannot be.” Angus sat down, his arms across his knees. "My calculations were exact. I left no margin for error, especially of this magnitude."
“What structure did you use?” Garrett, like the rest of the Lost Guard, studied the newcomer. Each had their sin’dels pulled tight, like when Logan first met them. He did not know them well enough yet to determine what they thought. “I would have gone with Lansko, myself.”
Angus lifted his head and regarded Garrett in silence.
“Orotund,” he said after a moment. “And I cross checked with Tanard’s Conjecture.”
Garrett chuckled.
“It’s no wonder why you’re stuck here.” Angus looked away with a derisive roll of his eyes.
“As arrogant as ever.” Logan stepped forward. “You have no conception of what it is -”
“Peace.” Garrett held up his hand and halted Logan’s outburst. “He’s right. I was probing to determine the level of his knowledge. Lansko’s Omni-tide construction is the poorest choice of any predictive model; apprentice level at best. Orotund, now that is an exquisite choice. It’s very difficult to control, but it is precise. And to cross check it with Tanard? That’s feckin’ brilliant.”
“You’re not a Magi,” Angus said. “And not Mala’kar either.”
“It was my aspiration.” Garrett spread his arms. “But fate had different plans. I’m an Adherent at best.”
"Nice glyph on your arm," Angus said.
"Thank you." Garrett bowed.
“Adherent?” Logan was unfamiliar with the term, and had to ask.
“Magi levels,” Garrett said. “You start as an Applicant, then Apprentice, Individual, Adherent, Journeyman, Adept, and finally Magi.”
Logan considered the information and tested it against what he already knew. His sister told him Arielle reached the level of Apprentice just prior to his arrival at the Gates.
"You present me with a unique opportunity, Fel'Mekrin." Angus interrupted their conversation. He sat in the same position, but watched Logan with a sharp intensity. “I can undo years of suffering with but a blow."
“Then strike. Try your hand.” Logan moved away from Garrett and presented himself before Angus. "But understand this. I am leaving here, and I will take my place amongst the Elc’atar. Not you, nor any of the other phantasms this place devises will prevent my return.”
Angus stood. With a flourish an axe appeared in his hand, and his sin’del snapped into the satyagraha. One of the guards lost control and let their arrow fly. It bounced off his sin’del with a tiny plinking sound. Cormac stepped in front of Logan.
“Hold!” Garrett commanded.
Stepping around Cormac, Logan regarded his foe. The image made him doubt the veracity of his own words. There was something about this version of Kal'Parev that made him distrust his ability to stand against him.
The satyagraha vanished, and Angus' sin'del returned to its normal appearance. A look of resignation spread over his features.
Angus lowered his axe, and let it fall away. It disappeared before ever hitting the floor.
Logan felt the familiar tingle of magic wash over him.
A stir of compassion welled within him at the expression of distress.
“I can’t.” Angus looked at the ceiling. "Forgive me, Darlin', but I can't do it.”
Angus spread his hands.
"So here we are. If nothing else," Angus continued, "this will give me some of the understanding I crave. You never talked about your time in the Sur, and why you did… what you did after you returned.”
Logan was silent. He resisted the bait. This was the last person he wanted to hold a conversation with. Angus waited, and when Logan made no reply, he shrugged.
“They missed their extraction,” Garrett said. “You must be confusing him with someone else. They cannot return now.”
Angus regarded him before looking back at Logan.
“Oh, he returns,” he said. “Of that I have no doubt.”
“That is impossible.” Garrett placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Logan nodded, but he did not need comforting. There was nothing to be done for it. He made his choice and sent Sionid ahead with the display. Now, he only had to live with the consequences. Cormac, however, was crestfallen with the news.
“The Magi, Sillel, postulated that the Sur is a place beyond the constraints of time,” Angus said. Sadness entered his sin’del and shone through his eyes while he spoke, his gaze locked on Logan’s face. “She claimed that time did not exist here. Your existence, right here and now proves that theorem. I left the Quain more than three hundred years after you stepped through the Gate in the Vale of Sorrows. My calculations were precise, and my arrival is congruent with my own time.”
“She’s wrong," Garrett said. "The Sur is not beyond time. But, all times do lead here. What time we started out from is irrelevant. All paths through the Sur are the same. Our longevity comes from the sanctum itself. It rejuvenates us when we return to it. It cleanses out taint and heals our wounds. How else could we have Blades from the birth of the Gates still here with us today?”
“That's a product of the wardings etched all about us,” Angus said. "They're similar to the one marking the edges of the Patresilen. And on your arm."
“Of course.” Garrett shrugged. “We’re Lethen’al. There’s no way we could stay in the Sur for any length of time without being overrun. By entering the sanctum, we are safe.”
“Then he can return,” Angus said. “They both can. You all can.”
“No.” Garrett shook his head and waved his hands to dispel the error. “The way back is shut. There’s no way any of us can return.”
“That is where you’re wrong.”
“We’ve tried!” Garrett threw up his arms and walked off several steps.
Logan did not join the conversation, though he did yearn for a deeper explanation, if only for Cormac’s sake. There was much here in the Sur that he did not understand.
“I would like to try,” Cormac said. His bluster from earlier was gone. He seemed smaller now, subdued. “If there is any way back, no matter how unlikely, I want to try for it.”
“We have to." He looked at Logan, his eyes and sin’del held a plaintive cast. Logan clasped his shoulder to reassure him.
“You’ve changed,” Angus said. “The Logan who entered the Sur didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.”
Angus rubbed his chin with his left hand. On his thumb and index finger was a set of golden rings. Logan stared in surprise.
“You have the display!” Cormac raged. “How did you get that? We sent it back with Sionid.”
“And she returned it to the Commandant,” Angus said, “as per her orders. It was an impressive achievement. Your entire cohort are legends now.”
“But how did it come to your possession?” Logan narrowed his eyes, waiting for the lie.
“I stole it,” Angus said. There was no trace of mockery in his sin’del.
Cormac sputtered, trying to get several phrases out at the same time. Logan lifted a finger, and he fell silent.
“I expected you to say it was a gift, or something equally preposterous,” Logan said. “I never knew you to own up to your misdeeds.”
“Like I just pointed out, people change.” Angus activated the display and showed them all their current location.
“Not that much, it would appear.” Logan motioned toward th
e rings.
“I left them a copy,” Angus said.
“Why did you steal it?” Cormac said. “It wasn’t yours to take.”
“I needed it.” Angus deactivated the display. “It’s the most complete map of the Sur in existence.”
"Why are you here?" Logan said. “Where is your cohort?"
Angus shook his head. He gave them a considering look, though it lasted only a moment before he resumed his scan.
“I’ve come to seal the Bore,” he said at last.
“By yourself?” Cormac said, his voice incredulous. “He’s even more incorrigible than when he was a Scrub.”
“He's a Temple Keeper,” Garrett said. "His sin'del bears all the markings. Such a thing may well be within the abilities of one such as him."
Angus gave him a truncated bow.
"A Keeper." Logan was stunned by the revelation and was at a loss for words. It explained his sin'del, and the sheer sense of power he emanated. What events led to such an outcome, and why him? While Logan had to admit that Angus bore the mantle well, he doubted he was the obvious choice.
"My grandmother, Thenaria Tu'renthien, passed the post to me," Angus said.
"You're the Patriarch, too?" Cormac said, his tone aghast.
Angus shook his head. "One title is enough for me. I have no need for more."
"Proof.” Cormac spread his arms wide. He stepped between the two of them once more, blocking Logan’s line of attack. “What else, other than the display can you offer for who you are?”
"How can I prove what I say? By telling you what I know of your future?" Angus shook his head. "I'll not be doing that. It wouldn't do any good. You would take my truths for lies, and lies for truth."
"So you spout riddles instead," Logan said. "That makes me believe you are who you claim."
"Well, it’s a start," Angus said.
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Logan glowered. Cormac fidgeted. Angus waited.
“You took the display to find and destroy the Bore,” Logan said. “Why?”
“To stop the breaches into the Patresilen, and into the Quain.” Angus spoke to them, but his attention was spread around the room.
“How so?” Logan said.
“I thought that if I could seal the Bore, I could close the breaches,” Angus said. “It appears that I was wrong. It's too bad. The shrulks cause great suffering on both sides of the Gates. They're massing in greater numbers than ever before”