by James Duvall
Sitting at the base of the giant songshard, Sapphire looked up at Arya in quiet reverence. From the songshard a misty aura of magic flowed down over the stonework like silent water, slow and steady until it became lost in the surrounding grass and flowers.
A battle played out in Sapphire's mind, one part urging her to take a piece of the gem. It was one of the few things in the world stronger than the Arlorian focus she now possessed. The other was horrified at the notion and she felt vile for thinking it. Was this an ancient source of magic, tempered by the ages, or was it something more? Sapphire reached out as though to touch it, but could not bring herself to place her unwashed hand upon the surface of what might very well be the Heart of the Song.
It's too big to be her heart...
And yet her image bore the wound where her heart had been cleaved from her chest. Staring at it, Sapphire wanted to feel hatred for the man that had killed her and all those that had come after him but she could not. Arya's gentle smile seemed to warm those thoughts away.
“It is not too big,” Torch's voice came, warm and strong. He took his place beside his sister, looking up at Arya's image with that divine sparkle in his bright golden eyes. He looked older today, older than she had seen him last. He had grown into a strong drake, as she always knew he would.
“Of course its too big,” Sapphire answered. “It's bigger than she is.”
“It has had a long time to grow,” Torch replied, his voice instructive. “All good things grow. Seeds grow into trees and bear fruit. Sons grow into fathers. Daughters grow into mothers. Towns into thriving cities that shelter us. Stories into the legends that inspire us. Every morning the sun rises anew.”
“Every night the sun sets,” Sapphire observed.
Torch smiled warmly back. “But it rises again the next day, carrying us forward to the great destiny that awaits us, if only we have the courage and conviction to follow it.”
Sapphire gave him a hard look. She didn't know what to say. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, wanted him to know, but this was not him.
When Torch's image had gone, Sapphire left Arya's presence and followed the path into the gardens. The grounds were clean, free of fallen fruits and dead foliage. White paving stones lined walkways between colorful beds of flowers with brightstone lamps so they could be seen at night. Far from Arya's shrine the path diverged, one route following the contour of the tower and looping back around the shrine, the other moving toward the farthest edge, where the trees became thicker and nearly blocked out the sun.
Curiosity drove Sapphire down the darkened path, her eyes adjusting quickly to the fading light. The trees came together quickly, transforming the once open garden path into a veritable tunnel through the dense foliage. The tunnel let out onto the edge of the tower, where a small gazebo made of stone stood resolute in a little clearing in the trees. Sapphire squinted against the brightness as she emerged.
Three stone steps ascended into the gazebo's interior. A battered wooden shield hung overhead, sheltered from the rain. To Sapphire's surprise she found soft earth and grass beneath her feet at the top of the steps. She did not have long to linger on this thought, as the object at the gazebo's center arrested her attention. A gravestone jutted out of the soil with a martyr's ribbon fluttering in the breeze. The deep blue had faded almost to white, but she recognized it all the same. Immediately she took a step back, lifting her paw off of the hallowed ground. Sitting on the stone circle she read the inscription carved carefully into the marker.
Here Lies Aegis of the Nightborne, A Treasured Friend Whose Deeds Are Unsung
For a long while Sapphire sat and looked at the warp singer's grave and the shield he had once carried. Longer, even, than she had sat before Arya's image, even though it was a place of legend. Every dragon she had ever known had spoken of it at one time or another. Naturally when most of them thought of it the image was accompanied by a snowy field, Brazen covered in his beloved's blood, and his doomed volunteers marching out together, the first and final charge of a luminarian army. Everyone knew what had happened that day, the fall of the warp singers, the destruction of the Heart of the Song, the dawn of an ancient quest carried on for all these centuries to recover the pieces of Arya's shattered heart and at long last lay her to rest.
And yet, there, on the edge of Alsimor's White Tower, the quest of a thousand lifetimes had ended in tragedy for one. Why, she wondered, had he been secluded from the object of his life's work? At her back, Sapphire could see only the thick trees crowding around, isolating the little gravesite from the rest of the world. The only light filtered down through the canopy of leaves overhead. Of all of the stories told of the warp singers, Sapphire could think of few that contained any names. Aegis was not numbered among them. It seemed an odd paradox, knowing what this ancient creature had lived for, but not what he had died for.
It had to have been something important...
Though there were no legends, the world of the living had not forgotten Aegis of the Nightborne. The clearing, though isolated from the rest of the gardens, had been well-kept, and the deep purple feathers placed atop the mounded earth spoke of a friendship that would not be forgotten.
Even legends have reason to grieve...
Feeling sullen, Sapphire turned away and let her head hang low as she slunk away. This was a sorrowful place, for the mourning and remembrance of a brotherhood to which she did not belong.
That night, when the sun set, Sapphire stood by the prison doors waiting for the nightborne to reappear.
Chapter 33
An Honourable Man
Road to Nothnor, Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard
They have come into the possession of the last of my medicinal concoctions I thought lost to the fire. They make no effort to hide this from me. I am ashamed for the behavior of my colleagues and so many of our students. This is murder. There is no other way to describe it. Murder. We are gathering our resources to attempt to leave the island. They do not know that I have found what they have been searching for most of all. I shall see it at the bottom of the ocean before they should have it. Tomorrow I shall take Evelyn, Amber, and what other students the others have abandoned, and use the artifact's power to leave this place.
From the Journal of Isaac Faralon
Timothy could not tell if the good detective had escaped or simply thought to go out in an inferno the likes of which would be remembered by all those that survived its fury. When the blinding wall of fire sprang up from a cloud of mist it reached high into the night sky, lapping at the clouds like a mountain dragon's tongue. For an instant the world became brightly lit as the day, embers falling all around, flickering like fireflies alighting on the lush green grass and wildflowers that grew around the lighthouse. It ended just as quickly, a blanket of darkness rolling in with naught but floating embers to cast a faint light in the aftermath of Kanes' attack. Everywhere was smoke, thick and choking to the throat and burning to the eyes. Timothy closed his against the miasma and fell back on the instincts he had worked so hard to suppress in his bridger's disguise. He did not need to see in a world bereft of light.
Two men had thought to stay with Timothy when the fighting broke out. The first, standing at his left, was coughing loudly, choking on smoke. Timothy broke his arm with a quick strike, then turned and slammed his elbow into the man's temple before he could draw his pistol with the other hand. The other Timothy could make out only in silhouette. Flame and sparks belched from the shadow's pistol, kicking up soil into Timothy's face. He liberated the unconscious man's own firearm and snapped it level, firing into the dark frame looming near him. The second man grunted in surprise and sank to the ground.
Aebyn's presence surged up next to him, blowing the smoke back with a pump of his wings. The lighthound's eyes shone blue in the near-perfect darkness. Then the lighthouse exploded. Timothy shielded his eyes, squinting against the new inferno as a column of fire carried heavy chunks of broken stone high into the air, embe
rs falling all around like fireworks. Here and there the underbrush began to catch. Those of Skalde's men uninjured enough to do so, drew back, lest they be caught by the deadly debris as it plummeted to the earth like wrathful meteors. In the chaos, Timothy slipped away with Aebyn close upon his heels.
For hours the two pressed into the interior of the Mistwood, letting the eerie blues and greens swarming around them obscure their tracks. In silence they walked, ears and eyes on the sky above, expecting at any moment for Aelengy to drop down between a gap in the trees and so would begin what might very well prove to be the last fight of their lives. Every shadow that passed over them brought a twinge of panic to Timothy's heart. He had made it away with a sword and pistol. There had been a powder horn also, but there was not enough left in it to reload the pistol. Not that it mattered, as Timothy could not imagine a situation in which Aelengy would give him time to reload. He tested his grip on the sword, knowing it would be the only tool at his disposal until the right moment presented itself. He had one shot.
I have to make it count.
“Are you alright, Timothy?” Aebyn asked quietly. “You have a very grim look about you... You are holding that sword very tightly.”
“We need to figure out where Skalde has gone,” Timothy said, sheathing the blade.
“Willoughby was not with him,” Aebyn remarked. “I should think you would not want to go back there where that dusk tracer might be...”
“No, but it is our best chance to get Willoughby back. Either he is in Nothnor or wherever Skalde was taking us.”
“To the Mistwood Vault,” Aebyn said. “I heard him tell Kanes about it the day before we reached the lighthouse. He thinks the Arlorian Focuses can be used to open it. He found a drawing of them in Faralon's journal. I saw it myself in his tent. They left the flap open for an hour. I don't think they realized I could see. I was rather far off.”
“How far can you see?” Timothy asked, realizing he hadn't the slightest idea.
“When Willoughby is reading the cargo manifest on the deck, I can make out the numbers from the crow's nest,” Aebyn offered.
Timothy whistled quietly. “We'll have to remember to use that to our advantage if we make it out of this alive.”
“Of course we will,” Aebyn scolded. “We have right on our side.”
The mists rolled in thickly all around them. In the distance, echoes howled their low and mournful cries. Somewhere nearby the Night River babbled quietly, taking on its unnatural shine. It reminded him of those that had died on the first ill-fated expedition into this forsaken place.
“We will go to the vault,” Timothy announced. “We find Willoughby in the day and at dusk, liberate him and evade pursuit by becoming lost in the Mistwood.”
Chapter 34
The Dusk
The Mistwood, Isla Merindi, Pendric Shard
And I saw the Reaper and the Ash Strider, walking side-by-side in the darkness, the day before the great battle should commence...
The River of Light
Sapphire felt the cold night air rustling through her mane as she flew. Beneath her the Night River wound its way through the Mistwood, a bright, coursing ribbon of light shining through the haze of colorful mist. Somewhere down there, lost in the otherworldly radiance, was her lost amulet. It was near those bright waters, somewhere, perhaps faintly glowing as Dawn waited dutifully for her to place it across her chest and share her eyes with him once again. For a moment she dared to hope, dropping below the canopy and scanned the dimness for a speck of vibrant orange. Finding nothing, she made a nimble landing, one last pump of her wings blowing back the encroaching cloud of mist just long enough for her to find footing with her hind legs and drop to all fours.
Quietly she paced along the river's edge, trying to recall exactly when she had lost the amulet. Had she taken it off her neck while the dusk tracer pursued her? No, she remembered feeling it bouncing against her chest, the chain swinging wildly as she was brought down. Yes, that was when. They had come for her, and she had yanked it free to spare Dawn the sight of it. Of her death.
He probably thinks I died that day... how long has it been... days? Weeks?
In the haze of her illness and the lightless prison she had lost track of the days. It had been far too long. She hoped he was well.
I'm coming home soon, she wanted to say to him. I found the warp singers. They're going to help me fix you.
Skalde's men likely walked off with the amulet, she concluded, staring at her reflection in the Night River's glowing surface. Tired eyes looked back at her, a brow furrowed with worry.
“I'm so close...” she whispered, closing her eyes against the image. Aelengy's hateful gaze haunted her memory. In the darkness of her mind she saw him standing in her way, a looming figure of earthy browns and charcoal black. His keen eyes focused on her, brimming with a pure, oppressive malice. Destructive as flame, it was a miracle she had survived their first encounter. She opened her eyes and found herself still alone, deep blue mist swirling around her like an otherworldly fog.
Sapphire unfurled the scrap of parchment Jasper had given her. Pushing the mist back with a flap of her wings she spread it on a flat stone to study the coins Jasper had drawn there. The wizened old warp singer had a steady hand for one so aged. It struck her as odd that a warp singer could be so old. The legends contended that they lived outside of the flow of time. Dawn had once described them to her as 'timeless'. If that were so, how could Jasper have reached such advanced years?
Focus!
On the front of each coin was a set of symbols, two that Sapphire did not recognize. The one in the center was the sign of the Phoenix, one of the Seven Wardens. At her heart was a tiny crystal shard, which Jasper had drawn a line to and written that it would be violet in color. The words were written from top to bottom in the fashion of luminarian writing, but the language was Pendrian, not Falfarren or Holharren, a strange combination.
The obverse side of each coin bore human names: Isaac, Evelyn, Garret, and a selection of others. There were a dozen in all. Sapphire was to recover as many of them as she could. She read them each aloud until she had them memorized. There would likely not be time to consult Jasper's notes again once the vault was opened.
Sapphire felt a hint of reluctance as she left the Night River behind, pressing deeper into the Mistwood and the vault waiting at its center. It made little sense to her that she should feel that way. The place held little significance to her.
It was the last place I saw Dawn...
In the darkest corner of her mind she wondered if, much like her approach to Alsimor's White Tower, she was marching to her death. But no, it did not serve her to think this way and she forced the thought aside.
Her spirits rose with the morning sun, the mists gradually receding below her. She stopped intermittently to rest her wings and plan, reviewing the list of names each time. She did not intend to pick through the pile Jasper had described. The plan, once she was inside, was to shovel the entire heap of coins into her satchel and leave the humans wondering where they had all gone. Entering and exiting undetected was her primary goal; it was the key to avoiding a deadly confrontation with the dusk tracer.
Human voices came to Sapphire's ears. Immediately she tucked her wings tight against her side and dove beneath the canopy and found a shadowy place to land. Wide-eyed she searched the little pools of blue sky that filtered down through the densely packed trees. No sign of the dark-furred gryphon. Fear urged her to slink away but necessity drew her forward, one fearful step after another, ears upright, eyes focused on the distance in front of her.
Where is that dusk tracer...
The voices grew louder. Sapphire crawled on her belly up beneath the shelter of an evergreen tree, the shade muting her snow white pelt and cobalt markings. From here she could see a large group of ragged-looking men. There were thirty or forty of them having breakfast around their campfires, stoked back to life from the embers of the previous night. The vault
loomed behind them, overgrown with vines and shrouded in the thick undergrowth of the forest. There was Skalde standing at the door, conversing with one of his lieutenants. Not the slow-witted one, he was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the dusk tracer, for better or for worse. It felt too much to hope for, that the dark-feathered gryphon might be away on some other errand.
No, he's here somewhere. Sapphire was certain of that. This close to his prize, Donovan Skalde would have his most powerful lieutenants close at hand.
Skalde dismissed the man, whom then called to the others, gathering them around the vault entrance.
But I have the rest of the key...
The pale blue luminarian dropped down from the roof, taking her place at Skalde's side. Three crystals of power materialized at Skalde's shoulder. They orbited him in slow, lazy circles, misty hazes of magic trailing off of them like smokey vapors crawling off of ice on a hot day. Even from this distance Sapphire could recognize an Arlorian Focus, and Skalde had three. Siphoning power through them, the vault door shuddered and fell, the enchantment broken.
So much for the key... Sapphire hoisted the white stone disk from her pack and buried it beneath a blanket of pine needles. One less thing to weigh me down.
It did not surprise Sapphire that a mage as skilled as Donovan Skalde had found a way to open the door with a partial key. It was a viable strategy for seals that had aged considerably. Most spells were subject to the degradation of time. This variety of enchantment was really more Dawn's area of expertise.
The men all cheered as the door fell open, revealing the interior of the vault to mortal eyes for the first time since the breaking of the world. In the excitement, they nearly missed the form of a gryphon crossing the clearing in the blink of an eye. A rush of wind followed in his wake, tugging at hats and loose tangles of unwashed hair. For a moment Sapphire questioned if she had actually seen it, but then some of the men at the back of the crowd looked northward in confusion, as though they too doubted their senses.