by Dan Neil
She crossed her arms, lips curling into a wry grin. “Still figuring out who goes where?”
Scipion frowned. “It’s quite difficult. Zel Yano and Zel Daved are both prime candidates to lead the front, for example. The rank and file respect them both. I trust them both.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Zel Ilear stood. “If you’re half as smart as they say, you’re twice as smart as most. May I go? Soul doesn’t like when I’m away for this long.”
He chuckled. “Of course. Go and see to your steed.”
Scipion looked over the map once more. Then he pored over the schematics of his makeshift fortress to search for anything the enemy might take advantage of.
I have to consider everything.
Scipion slept at his desk that night. He passed out after speaking with all of his commanders and rereading pertinent passages from his books on strategy. The battle was taking shape in his head.
Chapter 39
End of House
Day 12 of the Season of Life, 1020 YAR
Keia woke to ear-piercing screams from Mar, who was doubled over and clutching at his head. She blinked a few times and looked around.
We’re in—did I…
Upon trying to stand, pain jolted through her limbs. She crawled over to Mar, who was in horrific shape. Blood was seeping from his eyes; he appeared as if he hadn’t slept all night. He’d regained some of his senses amid what seemed to be unbearable pain.
“I’m—all right,” he wheezed. “I tried to be—quiet. As long as I could. I only need to—rest. You go on now. I’ll be right behind you. Just a little rest…”
Heaving in the frigid forest air, Keia grabbed his arm. “No. You’re coming with me!”
He pulled away, cringing in agony as he did. “No. No, I’m—fine. Right here.”
Moisture stung her eyes. “I can’t just leave you. Not like this.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand. “It’s—all right. Keia. I knew. I knew—if I came with, I’d—never come back.”
Keia’s stomach twisted, her mouth falling open. Is he serious?
Mar’s voice was reduced to a breathy whisper. “It—was worth it—because I got to meet—you. Go on, now. He—he can’t sense you. Not if you can’t feel him—he’s near.”
Shaking her head and blinking to fight back tears, Keia shouted, “I’m not leaving you! Get up!”
“No!” Mar shouted. “I can’t—go on. And if you fall once more, he’ll—he’ll overtake us. You can’t risk it. You have to. Please…”
“It’s not too late. Please come with me,” she begged.
Their eyes met; his were resolute. Mar’s mind was made up. Keia’s breath stuttered as she fought back tears. There was no way to convince him.
Words spilled from Keia’s mouth. “I don’t understand—I brought you along because—I didn’t—I didn’t know—I’m so sorry, I’m—”
He shook his head, grimacing in pain. Then he said, “No—need. I’ve waited—for you—my entire life. I got—to serve you. That’s all I ever wanted. Go on, now. Leave me be. Don’t—don’t look back, Keia.”
Tears formed in her eyes as she stood, whimpering as pain wracked her body. There was an air of finality to his words. Keia took deep breaths, trying to stop herself from panicking.
I told myself I wouldn’t get anyone else involved. Now, look what’s happened. I should have gone this alone.
Keia wiped the snow from her goggles, but tears still obscured her vision as she turned away.
His voice cut through the freezing winds. “It was—an honor. Go, now! He’s upon—us…”
His screams worsened as Keia squeezed her eyes shut and fell through a portal.
—
Mar writhed in pain for what felt like an eternity. In one merciful moment, a wave of peace and clarity washed over him. The spell had ceased. Even the storm of Greerwood had slowed. The air was warm and still.
Mar tried to stand, but aftershocks of pain still echoed through his body. He managed to turn his head. The Dark Disciple stood over him, his blade of twisting, fiery shadows cackling in his hand. His eyes told of madness.
Mar chuckled. “I thought that might be you.”
The figure raised an eyebrow. “The Lord of Northstead—Last of House Mercer. You’ve come a long way from your home. Were you with someone?”
Mar managed to sit up. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
The Dark Disciple’s eyes moved to the horizon. “I was giving you a chance to be honest—one, it seems, you weren’t inclined to take. Dishonesty must be common amongst you southerners. It’s all right—I already know about Keia.”
“Then there’s nothing left to do here.”
“One thing,” the Dark Disciple menaced.
Mar laughed, much to his foe’s annoyance.
“What’s so amusing?”
“You’re not going to beat her,” the Lord of Northstead said.
The Dark Disciple’s eye twitched. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. She’s stronger than you.”
The disciple’s frown deepened. For a moment, neither moved. Mar met his opponent’s eyes. In them was abyssal flame and soot—ever-burning anger.
Mar remembered what he’d told Myrddin: the north is nothing but death and hatred.
Here, before him then, was the very spirit of the north.
So ends House Mercer, Lords of Northstead, and Guardians of Gaddeaux. Gods help you all.
He drew his wand in an instant. A flash of light erupted as a lightning bolt streaked from the tip with a loud crack, filling the air with a metallic scent.
The Dark Disciple dodged at inhuman speed and leveled his gauntlet. A gray orb rocketed from one of the engraved spell circles and struck Mar in the chest. Just before the killing spell struck, a peaceful smile broke out across the Lord of Northstead’s face.
The Dark Disciple sneered and walked away, leaving another corpse to be buried by the winds of Greerwood.
Chapter 40
Stains
Day 12 of the Season of Life, 1020 YAR
Atop the Koaion Mountain range’s highest peak, Myrddin emerged from a portal. A thick layer of fog obscured his view in every direction.
Over nine centuries, and I’ve never seen much of the north. I’d have liked to see more.
Below was an impregnable fortress—Paz Beoras, carved into the side of the mountain. An enchanted metal wall that extended hundreds of feet into the air and a massive steel gate were visible. Battlements and parapets were built into the fortress’s layered walls, and spikes jutted from every surface. The tallest of the citadel’s spires pierced the clouds.
According to the common legend, Nialarix himself designed it. The fortress was an impressive feat of architecture and a horrendous feat of human cruelty. Thousands of laborers died during construction. When the proper dimensions were dug out of the mountain, magical architects constructed the superstructure. Those same architects, apparently, were buried beneath the fortress, along with each and every one of the laborers.
Only rumors were known of what waited inside Paz Beoras—some said it housed an army of one million slaves, while others asserted it was a laboratory in which dangerous abominations were created with dark magic. Myrddin was about to be the first man from the kingdom to find out.
He knew of the Gladios Horror. If he were within Genievon, such a thing wouldn’t have occurred. He felt responsible—even if he didn’t carry out the attack, there was blood on his hands.
Just one more stain. So little time.
He’d left Axl on Paragast, one of the northernmost inhabitable islands of the Nothron Isles. The man seemed to have changed, spending most of his time appreciating his freedom. Myrddin wondered if he’d made a mistake.
He shook his head. There were more importa
nt things at stake—mass mind control within the kingdom, for one. Gaheris had to have manipulated the laws, and based on Symon being all too willing to blame the wizard for Gladios, the king probably knew, too.
Despite this, Myrddin doubted Symon or Gaheris had anything to do with Gladios. Such a heinous act could only have been perpetrated by Ashuram. He shuddered at the thought of the creature—a fanatical madman who battered his disciples into endless subservience with mental torture, promising immortality and power. Years ago, Myrddin grievously wounded Ashuram—but the creature was resilient.
Just another stain. He grimaced.
Myrddin didn’t know what to expect from Nialarix. His thoughts turned to Keia, traveling in search of Carter and Aliya.
Hopefully, Mar is still with her. If they’ve encountered him—he’s not.
The wizard felt uneasy. Ashuram had plans for the girl. He’d had a hand in nearly everything she’d lost over the years. If anything happened to Myrddin, Keia was left with one less ally.
Too few already. Dark times have fallen on Gaddeaux. Myrddin opened a portal and stepped through. I’ll have to delay my meeting. And poor Axl might be there longer than he anticipated.
Myrddin doubted Keia would need help but erred on the side of caution. Destiny was converging; it would all begin very soon.
—
Most of the Ithera Plains stood behind Jisaazu and Ervane. Though they were becoming acquainted, she was unsure of him. His questions after their scuffle with bandits were insufferable.
“You cleaved three necks at once!” Ervane gushed. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“In Prabo. The monks taught me how to wield the Jaaza Greatsword,” Jisaazu grumbled.
“How did they know about the sword?”
Jisaazu grimaced at being a verbal hostage. Why won’t he shut up? What’s he hoping to find out?
“The Monks of Prabo studied Brartura, the warrior who originally wielded the sword. He actually founded the monastery there.”
“That sounds fascinating,” Ervane replied, wide-eyed. “So Brartura was a warrior, but his sword was lost?”
“No,” Jisaazu said curtly. Before Ervane asked the next inevitable question, she elaborated, “They knew where it was. It was stuck there until the sword’s chosen wielder found it.”
“The sword chose you?”
“Just like Hellfire chose Symon. At least that’s what people say,” she explained with a shrug.
“King Symon,” Ervane corrected. “I wonder what happened to the third weapon?”
“The Spear of Szora? No one’s seen it in centuries.”
“What’s the story behind these swords? Lady Rhiannon, right?” he asked.
Though frustrated, Jisaazu stayed levelheaded—there was no harm in recalling old legends and wives’ tales.
“The monks told me a story,” Jisaazu said. “One thousand years ago, the world was controlled by evil people known as the Masters. Their army was a million strong, if not more. Lady Rhiannon raised an army to fight for humanity’s freedom. Three great chieftains stood by her side but lost their ancestral weapons in battle. Lady Rhiannon constructed new weapons for each of them.
“For Brartura of the Jaaza Plateaus and Prabo, she crafted a Greatsword that could ward off magical attacks. For the chieftain of the Gozdus Desert, the Spear of Szora was crafted, a weapon said to heal friends and store their wounds to deal them to enemies. And for the chieftain of the Plains of Ithera, Rhiannon crafted Hellfire, which consumed all it touched with undying flames. When these chieftains died, their souls bonded with their weapons—at least, that’s what the legends say. That’s why they’re able to choose who inherits them.”
“You don’t believe it?”
Jisaazu glanced at the Jaaza Greatsword. “I don’t know why the sword chose me, or whether there’s some soul trapped within. It’s sharp enough—that’s all I know.”
“So the Jaaza Greatsword chose you, and Hellfire chose the king. If we find the spear, it would make the kingdom that much more powerful,” Ervane mused. “Imagine all three weapons, united again.”
Jisaazu met his words with silence. How much of the story was true? Was there really some ancient spirit in her trusted Greatsword? When she found the blade, it was small and weak like her. The sword grew with her limits, pushing her ever further. There was something—if not magical, then alive, about it.
Is it because the spirit wants me to grow stronger? Why even me? A weight fell on her chest, and she remembered why she preferred not to think of such things.
In a matter of days, they’d be in Greerwood. Silence hung over them until the sun descended. Ervane brought the floating rock to rest.
“I’ll set up camp here,” he said.
Jisaazu nodded and jumped about, happy to stand on solid ground. While Ervane used magic to set up a makeshift dwelling in the ground, she performed her stances to stay sharp. Once Ervane made a fire, the two ate. He kept asking questions, though Jisaazu was notably more guarded.
Ervane asked teasingly, “So what do you think is in Greerwood Forest?”
Between bites of cooked meat, she said, “Enemies.”
“Hopefully they’re as weak as those bandits,” Ervane mused. “If so, you’ll make short work of them.”
Jisaazu ignored him. She was tired of being on the edge of a flying rock careening toward a haunted forest. This was weird, even for what she’d been through. For one night, she wanted silence.
After eating, she drifted off to sleep; Ervane pretended to do the same. He lay motionless until he heard a loud snore. Then he silently crept to her bedside and rummaged through her satchel. Darkness made his task difficult, but he had orders. His fingers caressed a sheet of folded paper between one of her shirts—he slowly pulled it out, not wanting to be cleaved in two if she woke up.
He quietly ducked behind a tree near their bunker and cast an illumination spell.
A letter from the traitor herself. Let’s see what she had to say.
—
Gaheris waited in the Middle Magic Chamber long into the night. He always hated waiting, but now, it made him sick. With every passing day, he grew more afraid—the Gladios Horrors would not be the last attack upon the kingdom, and he felt powerless to stop the next one.
A reach came in; Gaheris recognized it immediately.
‘What have you to report?’ Gaheris demanded.
After a brief silence, Ervane replied, ‘I’ve read the letter.’
‘Well? What did it say?’
‘Keia claimed to be searching for her brother and sister. She went on about their time as partners—it sounds awkward. Even Jisaazu tells me they didn’t get on at first. But then she said she was grateful for their time together—and glad to have had Jisaazu as a friend. She also promised to return to the kingdom if she survived.’
Gaheris stroked his chin. ‘Keia may have lied to her. What else was there?’
‘Well—’ Ervane reached. ‘It’s strange, really. I don’t know how to explain it; so, I’ll just use the word Keia used.’
‘Which would be?’
‘She said there’s something in Greerwood—something connected to Gladios. She called it an entity. Claimed it was powerful, powerful enough to reach the kingdom all the way from Greerwood. Said it even had a hand in the Liberation Day Massacre.’
Gaheris sat back in his seat. Perhaps that wretched girl knew more than she let on.
It wouldn’t do to tell Ervane this, however—they had to press on, no matter what dangers lurked in the forest. The threat posed to those two was far outweighed by the king’s need for answers. Gaheris’s own life was also at stake.
‘This entity means nothing,’ Gaheris urged Ervane. ‘She’s mentioned such things before—merely a noble excuse for her to betray the king. It is not to be taken seriously. I fear
she may have, at best, lost her sanity—which might explain why she left in the first place.’
Ervane asked, ‘She told you about the entity? When?’
Realizing that he’d given away too much, Gaheris quickly replied, ‘Some time ago. It matters not. There is no entity—think about it. Even if there is, how could she hope to face it herself, weak as she is? It makes no sense. A child’s nightmare should not sway you from your mission.’
There was another pause. Then, in a resigned tone, Ervane reached, ‘Of course not, Lord Gaheris.’
‘Thank you. Make sure you keep Jisaazu’s trust. There may still be more she knows. You are my eyes out there.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Gaheris ended the reach. Everything coincided too perfectly for chance. The Atlos family left, only to be used as an excuse for defection after Gladios—which only Keia knew of beforehand? She betrayed her true intentions in claiming some futile search. Her family was surely dead.
This thought gave him some relief. If she’s telling the truth about her intentions, she’ll be joining them soon.
—
“Ervane.”
“Mmmm.”
“Ervane, it’s time to get up,” Jisaazu shook him. “You have to make breakfast. I don’t know how to do it.”
“Mmmmmmm.”
“No, I don’t want to hear it. I already gave you five minutes. The sun is up; let’s go.”
“Five more mmmmm.”
“No, now!”
With a drastic shake of his head, Ervane finally stirred. “Fine!”
After a hearty breakfast, they set out. Jisaazu noticed something was off about Ervane; he was silent, apprehensive even.
“Is something wrong?” Jisaazu asked.
“No, nothing,” Ervane lied. “Just feeling a bit under the weather. Didn’t get much sleep last night. Weird dreams.”
“Huh,” Jisaazu replied. Her dreams had been perfectly normal.
As they hovered on a floating rock, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The grassy sea went on ‘til the horizon. After hovering above it for days on end, it all began to look the same.