Among the Fallen

by NS Dolkart

  It was hot and dry that night, but Bandu didn’t remove a single garment as they lay down on the ground across from each other. Criton kept apologizing for what he’d done, but she wouldn’t listen. He begged her to forgive him, and she ignored him. She didn’t care that he hadn’t taken any other wives after she left him. She was unmoved by his tears. Finally, he made the mistake of asking what he could do to change her mind.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I love Vella. She is a better mate than you.”

  He sat up and gaped at her. “What? You took another man’s wife as your, as your… as your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  He lay back down with an angry thump. It was more than he could even process. Here he’d been, begging this woman to forgive him for suggesting that he might marry again, when she’d gone and taken another man’s wife for herself! She didn’t deserve his love; she didn’t deserve his pain.

  “How could you?” he said at last. “How could you be angry at me, and then go and do something like that?”

  Now Bandu sat up. “I don’t care what you think, Criton. I am not angry because you want other women. I don’t care if you take others or don’t take others. You are never good for me. Never. You can be angry about Vella if you want to be angry. I don’t care. But if you try to hurt her, Criton, then I kill you.”

  “And Goodweather? What about her?”

  “What about her?” Bandu repeated. “I take care of Goodweather before. I take care of her now. You have Delika now, and you can have other young with other women. If you make peace with Ardis and you tell your kind to be good to me and to Vella, then maybe you can help with Goodweather sometimes. I don’t want her to be like you: she can know who her father is. She can love you. But I don’t.”

  Criton had no response, no answer for her. He wondered what had become of poor Delika during his absence. Had Iona taken her in? Had anybody?

  By the time he spoke again, Bandu had lain down and fallen asleep, her soft regular breaths unmistakable.

  “I don’t want Goodweather to be like me either,” he said.

  Criton did not count the days of their journey. Traveling with Bandu now, on the same route northward where they had once learned to make love together, was a painful affair. It was uncomfortable too: where once they had traveled this road with friends and a tent, now Criton had neither.

  The villages that had once shut their doors against the cursed wanderers of Tarphae now opened those doors when Criton knocked, but he and Bandu always moved on as soon as they were fed. They couldn’t trust the inhabitants not to try to kill him in his sleep. He was the Black Dragon now, after all, and what’s more, they knew that he was supposed to be dead.

  When Bandu had left him, it had broken his heart and shattered his confidence, but their relations now were so tense that it was a relief when Bandu finally left him again, striking out on her own sometime after they passed Anardis. It was so much easier to miss the Bandu who had loved him when the one who didn’t was gone.

  Criton only realized the next day that he hadn’t asked her where she and Vella were living. He cursed himself then, because not knowing where she lived meant that he couldn’t come to visit Goodweather either. Could he trust Bandu to bring their daughter to visit him instead? He had been a poor husband and an inattentive father, but he still loved the baby more than he could say.

  He still loved them both, really. But Bandu would not have him, and her rejection freed him to make his political marriages. The notion no longer appealed to him, but it would have to do. Maybe he could find love again with one of the new wives the elders would choose for him.

  He would have to be better to her than he’d been to Bandu.

  Criton followed the road straight to Ardis, afraid that he would find a burning ruin there, or else a battlefield littered with the corpses of his kin. He breathed a sigh of relief when the city came into sight and he spotted the Dragon Touched camp outside it. He wasn’t too late, then.

  He arrived just before sunset, when the Dragon Touched were conducting their rituals to welcome the evening. If he had worried at all about what reception his people would give him, he needn’t have. They greeted him with reverence, and brought him directly to Hessina’s tent.

  The high priestess regarded him with awe. “I prayed to our God for guidance,” she said. “I did not expect this.”

  He soon learned of the losses his people had suffered in his absence, first at the Dragon Knight’s Tomb and then during the disastrous assault on the walls of Ardis. Hundreds had died in that assault, not just plainsmen but true Dragon Touched as well. Criton winced at this description. His failure to marry any plainswomen had reinforced the feeling that the Dragon Touched were somehow above their allies, and that was a dangerous thing. He would have to speak to the elders, and marry the women they suggested as soon as possible.

  He could not help but ask if Pilos, Vella’s husband, was among the fallen. Was Bandu carrying on with another man’s wife, or with a widow? It turned out that Vella was a widow – Pilos had died during the assault on Ardis. But upon learning so, Criton discovered that it didn’t make him feel any better about Bandu and Vella. It might have made the whole thing worse.

  He asked after Delika, and Hessina told him that her son Kilion had taken it upon himself to raise the girl in Criton’s absence. Criton was surprised at first that it hadn’t been Iona, but then on second thought, of course it hadn’t. He resolved to visit Kilion’s tent soon and reclaim her as his adopted child… but not yet. He had too many other problems to deal with.

  The Dragon Touched did not have enough men to stage another assault on the walls, so they had decided to fortify their position outside and starve the Ardismen out. Hessina had scorned an offer of peace from Magerion, but now she was having second thoughts. The Dragon Touched had never lost a battle in the open field, but their failure to storm the walls of Ardis raised the worrisome possibility that God Most High might have turned against them after Criton’s death. Now even Hessina admitted that complete victory was unlikely, that she ought to have taken the bargain. And yet, Magerion was unlikely to renew his offer.

  Criton’s resurrection brought the hope of peace back to life. He had become a symbol of that peace in the weeks after his death, and whereas Hessina could no longer offer terms without signaling her army’s weakness, Criton was uniquely suited to the task of rekindling the negotiations while still projecting strength. And yet, even this came with a price: where Criton had become a symbol of peace, Belkos’ family had grown to represent war and hate, and had become increasingly ostracized within the community.

  Criton put an end to that. He visited Iona with the elders in tow, and apologized for her husband’s execution. It was ridiculous, on the face of it, to act as if he had killed Belkos and not the other way around, but the fact remained that Criton was alive now and Belkos was dead, and that it was Dessa and not Goodweather who would have to live without a father.

  Iona accepted his apology with the grace of a martyr. Her mother and daughter did not – they took it as a vindication of their hatred for him. But there was nothing Criton could do except apologize again and move on.

  He was horrified when Hessina asked him what he meant to do with Narky. He hadn’t realized his friend was being held captive, and it seemed that even that much was a courtesy Hessina had extended to him as an islander and friend of Criton’s, when the more popular option had been to give him a public execution before the walls of Ardis.

  Narky shouted for joy when he saw Criton. “I knew it!” he cried. “I kept telling them that you’d be back, that Phaedra and Bandu would come through, but they wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Bandu did bring me back,” Criton said.

  “So we can make the peace treaty happen now, right? You’ll go with me and tell Magerion that you’ll accept his tribute?”

  Criton nodded. “And you’ll tell your people that Ravennis is a servant of God Most High?”

  “Gladly,�
� Narky said. “Your coming back sort of proves that, doesn’t it?”

  Criton turned to Hessina. “You were right not to execute my friend. That decision is probably what saved you while I was away, and it’ll make our peace possible now.”

  “Thank my son,” Hessina said. “I was leaning toward execution, but he was very passionate about keeping your friend alive.”

  Criton’s estimation of Kilion grew yet again. He had thought the man timid, but even in that he’d been wrong. Saving Narky, caring for Delika – these were not timid acts. His voice might be quiet, but it was a powerful voice for decency.

  “Let’s go,” Narky said. “Let’s go now and end this war.”

  “At dawn tomorrow,” Criton said. “I need sleep.”

  He didn’t get much. He was too anxious about the day ahead. He awoke well before dawn, and finding Narky in the same situation spent an hour in nervous chatter, going over what little they knew about Bandu’s journey to rescue him. Narky was surprised that Bandu hadn’t told Criton more, but Criton assured him that she hadn’t, and when Narky asked him what had gone wrong between the two of them, he spilled his heart and told his friend about Vella.

  After that, everything came out: his poor treatment of Bandu, her disappearance, and her final rejection of him, even after rescuing him from the underworld. Narky listened sympathetically, but he asked painful questions. Criton hated having to relive the way he had left Goodweather almost exclusively to Bandu’s care, and how he had taken Bandu for granted – not only on the night she had left him, but really all along.

  “I was a terrible husband,” he admitted. “Just like I thought I’d be.”

  To his credit, Narky said nothing. Criton knew he agreed, but there had been a time when he would have had no qualms about agreeing much more vocally.

  “It’s no wonder Bandu hates me.”

  “She shouldn’t,” Narky said. “You’re a good man. You saved us when we were trapped in Anardis, you saved us when we were trapped in Castle Illweather – you’re braver and more loyal than anyone I know. It sounds like Bandu had good reasons to leave you, but that doesn’t mean she has to hate you.”

  “That might be true,” Criton admitted. “But it’s still hard knowing that she left me because I deserved it. You can’t imagine how much I regret it now.”

  Narky snorted. “I can’t imagine how much you regret something? I killed a man, Criton. I shot him with my father’s crossbow just a few days before you met me. After that, I stole this symbol of Ravennis from someone who was staying at our inn in Atuna. I hid it in my shoe, and I walked all the way to the Crossroads on it. Trust me, I know all about regret.”

  So Narky was the murderer from the prophecy. Criton wasn’t exactly surprised that that was the case, but he was amazed that Narky felt he could admit it to him. “Who was he?” he asked. “Why did you kill him?”

  Narky sighed. “I thought I was in love. He humiliated me for it, and… I was an idiot. When Ravennis spared me, I decided it was my chance to become a better person.”

  “I’m glad you took it.”

  “You helped,” Narky said earnestly. “You and Phaedra and Hunter, and Bandu too. You all taught me how to be better, and I’m never going to forget that.”

  Criton smiled. It was good, so good, to talk to Narky again, not as leaders of men but as young men themselves; as people who didn’t know. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d enjoyed Narky’s company more. They moved onto happier topics, and by the time they finished their conversation and left for the city, the sun had risen and was shining brightly in the east.

  They took no guard, approaching the city together like brothers. As they walked, Criton rehearsed what he would say in his head, hoping that the guards at the Ardisian gates would listen to him rather than try to shoot him down. But the gates opened well before they arrived and an army came pouring forth, marching toward them ready for battle. It was an army like none Criton had ever seen before, more massive than even the one that had besieged Silent Hall. His first thoughts were panicked – with an army like that, would the Ardismen even care that he was offering them peace?

  The closer they came, the more obvious it became that this was no ordinary army. At least two thirds of its soldiers were women, and half of them didn’t even have weapons. They were marching on the Dragon Touched in a last act of desperation. But knowing what losses his people had taken, he couldn’t have said who would win that final battle.

  The army halted as Criton and Narky neared, and a man and a woman stepped forward to meet them. The man must have been Magerion. His armor was polished and majestic, and the crown on his head dispelled any doubts that might have remained about his identity. The woman, Criton soon learned, was Ptera. The looks that Narky and his wife exchanged filled Criton with sudden jealousy, so he willed himself to ignore them and concentrate on the Ardisian king.

  “Black Dragon!” King Magerion called to him. “My son told me you were dead.”

  “I was,” Criton answered. “But God Most High, who rules above all, commanded His servant Ravennis to release me so that we could bring an end to this war, which has wearied my people and prompted yours to march against them hopeless, desperate, and unarmed. So will you accept the terms I gave you before my death, and send all these people home in safety?”

  All eyes fell on Magerion, the general and the king.

  “Yes,” he said. “I will.”

  51

  Narky

  Narky made his proclamation that very evening, as the sun set behind the mountains. The square before the temple was so crowded that Narky thought a strong shove on one side might have knocked the whole multitude over, from the armory to the temple walls. With the king on his right side and Ptera on his left, Narky stood on the altar where once an angel had died and told his people that Ravennis, God of Laarna and of Ardis, Keeper of Fates and Lord Among the Fallen, was a servant.

  “Ravennis Below interceded with His master above on our behalf,” he told the crowd, “and through Him we were all saved. If not for the leadership of the Graceful Servant and the foresight of King Magerion, you worshippers of Magor would have been slaughtered like sheep, and your souls tormented for all eternity. Ardis still stands today because you turned to Ravennis, and He chose to favor you.

  “The last time I was here with you, the man you call the Black Dragon had made an offer to our king and was willing to lead his people to peace. But when I went to accept his terms, his cousin killed him before my eyes.

  “It was Ravennis who sent him back, Ravennis who took pity on our city and made this peace possible again. I’ll say it again: only through Him was Ardis saved. Only through Him can we all be saved.”

  Narky surveyed the crowd, proud of the speech that he and Ptera had composed, and that he’d spent the last three hours memorizing. Nobody could say that Narky hadn’t honored the terms of his agreement with Criton. He had been quite explicit about God Most High’s supremacy – and yet, the Ardismen would not be turning from Ravennis to His master over this speech. Ardis still belonged to the God Below.

  “And now,” Narky said, “Priestess Ptera will lead us all in prayer.”

  He hopped nimbly off the altar while the men nearby – the king included – helped Ptera climb up it. While she led the crowd in prayer, Narky turned to the old man Criton had left behind to verify that he would be true to his word.

  “You’ll tell Criton that I kept my promise?”

  “I will,” the man said. He was an elder among the plainsmen, but Narky couldn’t remember his name. Kenda, maybe?

  “It’s not the speech I’d have given,” Kenda-or-whatever-his-name-was said, “but I’m not a priest of Ravennis. You kept your word. So long as your king delivers on his own promises, the peace between our peoples will hold for a generation.”

  Narky had hopes that it would. The first payment of gold was made the next day, and over the following weeks, shipments of stone were sent north to round out the first
year’s tribute. The Dragon Touched, in the meantime, withdrew from the gates of Ardis and moved northward as far as the Dragon Knight’s Tomb. Per the agreement Criton had struck, the tomb would mark the southernmost point of his people’s territory.

  The treaty called for yearly tribute to be paid for only fifteen years, after which Ardis could consider its side of the bargain fulfilled. Narky had suggested the provision to Criton and Magerion, pointing out that it was the threat of a cessation of payments that had caused Ardis to make war on Anardis last year. If the treaty called for an end to the tribute payments within a reasonable span of time, there would be less temptation for either side to go to war again over the issue. The idea had appealed to Magerion for obvious reasons, and Criton too had accepted Narky’s logic. Between that and his proclamation regarding their Gods, Narky felt personal responsibility for the treaty’s success.

  Perhaps the best part was how proud Ptera was of him for what he’d done. There was truth to her assertion that he had saved the city, for all that his part had been more minor than Bandu’s or Criton’s. And it was good, so good to finally settle into this life with her. Without war, capture, threat of execution, or fear of another religious betrayal by Magerion, he could finally exhale and begin enjoying his position as high priest. And in a year’s time, Mother Dinendra would be forced to admit that Ravennis and Elkinar were one and the same, and the whole priesthood of Elkinar would be his to command.

  To make things even better, Magerion seemed far less sure of his power over Narky than he had once been. Ptera had said something to him, something that had shaken him to his core. Though he clearly didn’t like Narky or his wife any better than before, the king no longer viewed the priests of Ravennis as his tools to be used or discarded. What word would Phaedra have used? “Reverent,” that was it. The king was reverent now.

  There was another word at the back of Narky’s mind, a word that would have applied to his situation now but that he was nonetheless afraid to use, afraid to even think about. Its power had haunted him all his life, but these last two years especially. To use it would have been an affront to his father’s memory, and, he feared, an affront to the Gods as well.