“I’m sorry,” I replied more calmly. “And thank you for your consideration.”
I hadn’t thought about that issue before, and I was glad that she’d let me know that I had at least those times to myself.
“Yes, yes,” she dismissed the matter. “Now, what’s bothering you about Líann?”
“She can’t explain it, but she told me that there’s something different about her, that something’s changed,” I told the Goddess. “She feels the need to experience the emotions that I give to my other lovers. The one’s they were sent to me for, and not only her own.”
“This should not be possible,” Nentai whispered oddly.
“You know something—what is it?” I replied as I caught her tone.
“The need you describe is highly unusual,” Nentai replied. “There were only a handful who ever made this transition.”
“Goddess,” I pled with her. “Please tell me what you know. I’m afraid doing what she asks will harm her, but she seems to need it.”
“Sit with me,” Nentai sighed. “There is a great deal I will need to explain to you. I didn’t think this would be necessary, but Líann’s transition changes things.”
I sat nervously across from her in one of the soft chairs beside the fireplace. The plush seating did little to comfort me, however, as my anxiety began to get the better of me. Líann was profoundly special to me, and Nentai’s seeming reluctance to tell me what was happening to her was fraying my nerves.
“She will be fine,” Nentai began, obviously noticing how I was feeling.
It helped, but not much, and then she went on.
“I will start at the beginning, to make sure you know everything you need to,” Nentai explained. “The Sintári are deeply attuned to the world around them, in every way. This lends them great power and affords each Sintári their own particular strengths, but these strengths also come with corresponding vulnerabilities; weaknesses that need to be tended to before they become overwhelming.”
“When the Sintári were common,” she continued. “They took partners who helped them with theses weaknesses, much as you have. Those who were able to help a Sintári in this way were known as the Tári, and were honored for their ability. However, a Tári could only help with a single one of these weaknesses, and it was understood that every Sintári had multiple needs, or V’Ríel as they were sometimes called, so the fact that they each required more than one Tári to help them was of no concern.”
“The Tári’s connection with their Sintári, was both intimate and unique. One Sintári could not simply use another’s Tári to vent his V’Ríel, even if the two Sintári suffered with the same need. Forcing a Tári to take another Sintári’s V’Ríel is a vile and despicable act; a deeply personal violation beyond any notion you might have regarding such things. Only the dark Sintári ever committed these acts, and that was one of the reasons they were hunted down so ruthlessly.”
“Do you understand everything so far?” Nentai stopped to ask.
“Yes,” I replied. “You’ve given me some specifics I wasn’t aware of, particularly regarding the dark Sintári, but I knew most of this already.”
“Good,” she responded. “Knowing that, I can see why Líann’s situation might cause you some alarm.”
Before I could react to her statement, Nentai continued.
“As I’ve said, and as you already know, the Tári were attuned to not only a single Sintári, but also to only one of that Sintári’s needs. As varied as the Sintári were, one might need as few as two Tári, while others required as many as ten. But that is a different matter entirely.”
“If what Líann is telling you is correct, she is becoming something more than your Tári. She is becoming the rarest thing of all, and absolutely the most important person you will ever have in your life. She is becoming Táriel—one of the many-feeling.”
“She will always be most attuned to her natural V’Ríel, but Líann will also be able to mold herself to your other needs as well. She cannot replace the Tári you need, at least not for extended periods, but Líann will be able to keep you from suffering, should one be absent for a time. As she attunes herself to each of your V’Ríel, Líann’s attachment to you will only grow stronger, as will yours to her.”
“I cannot tell you how impressive this is,” Nentai oddly seemed to beam with pride. “Táriel do not simply occur—it takes a very powerful Sintári to create one. And even then, only after decades of work. Yet you have turned Líann into one of the many-feeling without even trying, just as you did when you made Bane into the first real dragon this world has seen in over a millennium.”
“Can I make them all Táriel?” was my first thought.
My mind was mostly on Tási when I asked her this. I’d made a lot of promises to her, but with how powerful my feelings already were for Líann, when she adapted to my other needs and that attraction grew even stronger, I was afraid I might not be able to hold myself to those oaths.
“My, aren’t you a greedy thing!” Nentai laughed.
“No, dear,” she answered my question after a moment. “I don’t think that’s possible for even you. Líann is bound to you, you cannot make another like her, even if you tried.”
In other words, there was no easy way out for me, as usual.
“Dreya,” Nentai spoke in a comforting voice. “This is a very good thing for you. There is one more aspect to the Táriel that I haven’t told you yet. Because of what you’ve done, Líann will live for as long as you do. You will not lose her, at least not to old age or infirmity. Your Tári will come and go, but you will always have your Táriel.”
That pretty much changed… everything. Líann, forever? Not having to lose at least one of my partners over and over? That kind of stability, having someone always by my side, was exactly what I needed to balance the inevitable losses I would have to suffer through over the many centuries ahead of me.
That thought reminded me of something, actually someone, and I seized on the opportunity to ask Nentai about her.
“What about Saibra?”
“I have no special insight into her.”
“Raithe did something to her,” I replied. “She’s compelled to protect me and she’s waiting for me. Waiting for one of my Tári to die.”
“She may be a latent Tári herself then,” Nentai commented almost offhandedly. “If so, her link to you will not fully manifest until you have need of her. In the meantime, keep her close. Insleí was one of the deadliest assassins in Arrika, you are very lucky that she is now Saibra and on your side.”
“Can I heal her?” I asked. “I know I did a great deal of damage to her when she was Insleí. Would it be safe for me to try and fix what’s left of that?”
“Most likely, yes,” Nentai replied. “She’s complicated though, and I wouldn’t suggest you attempt anything until you’re ready to make her yours, Tári or otherwise. You’ve made that mistake often enough to know better.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
“Thank you, Nentai,” I offered her sincerely. “I appreciate the fact that you came when I really needed you and everything you’ve told me.”
“I will always come to you when you need me,” she replied with a smile. “If I don’t, it’s only because something prevented me from doing so.”
“When will you tell me why?” I asked her the one question she’d always refused to answer for me.
“As soon as it’s safe for you to know,” Nentai replied, clearly wanting to tell me what she knew, yet still holding back.
“Alright,” I sighed. “But I’ll probably keep asking anyway.”
She shimmered and vanished without another word, but that was just fine with me. I’d gotten the answers I needed, and even more that time—an uncommon thing when it came to my interactions with Nentai.
When Bane and Tási both returned later that evening, we spent that last night together, curled up on Bane’s enormous mattress before heading off to war the next morning. All thin
gs considered, I felt remarkably calm about the prospect. I knew that war had been inevitable, and in this case, there was no doubt that it was necessary. It was no mere blunder or misstep that led to this conflict, but an act of utter barbarity that had claimed the lives of two of my people. I would happily spill the blood of those responsible for that atrocity, and any who chose to stand by them. To me, they were no different than the Bloody Hearts; the only distinction was the weapons they used to oppress those weaker than themselves: the power and privilege of their stations. And in my mind, wielding those advantages in that way made them even worse.
25
We left the Palace the next morning to a great deal of fanfare. Nearly everyone had come out to see us off, save for Líann, who’d kept her promise and left me with that one last tantalizing image of her lingering in my mind.
But that image, enticing as it was, wasn’t the reason why Líann had been on my mind for most of that morning. It was the thought of having her as my Táriel—how I’d made her into something special, my lifetime companion, and why it hadn’t been Tási who’d received that unique boon.
It hadn’t taken me very long to figure out the mystery. It was actually quite obvious. Líann was my darkness, and my shadows were my strength. I hadn’t made Líann into a Táriel, my darkness had.
Despite the love I had for Tási, and the power of the passion we shared, darkness was my true strength. It called to me, and I knew it was my deepest reservoir of power. It sometimes beckoned me towards unspeakable acts, but that was just it’s nature. I knew right from wrong, and I also knew that the shadows weren’t necessarily evil. It was how I chose to wield them that mattered; I gave in to my darkness only when I could unleash its power on those who truly deserved to feel my wrath.
If I actually had any choice in the matter, if I could have decided between Tási and my passion or Líann and the darkness, I might very well have abandoned my strength in favor of Tási’s comfort. Unfortunately, it seemed that such choices were never mine to make. Things are not always about what you want, but what needs to happen—Venna’s words echoed inside my head once more.
Perhaps, with Líann as my Táriel, I might be able to have both. Once she learned to adapt to my other needs, I might even be able to find some balance with her—maybe even find a place in between the darkness and my softer emotions. A place where we could get what we needed from each other without having to dive so deeply into the deep, black pool of shadows inside me… Only time would tell.
But those thoughts, like so many others, would simply have to wait. It was time for me to go to war.
Our contingent swelled as we reached the Garrison, and more and more troops joined the procession. Once we marched outside the gates, our group was enveloped by the massive numbers of the Imperial Army, led by the First Marshal himself, and we made a rather grand spectacle as we marched off towards the outpost and the main trade road that would eventually lead us to our enemies in the horse lands.
Hygan was the southernmost of those two Realms, and would be our first target. Zonnia lay to its north, and we’d have to wait to conquer it until after its neighbor to the south was defeated. While we had worked up several different strategies for attacking both Realms, ultimately the tactics we employed would depend on the circumstances we found when we finally arrived there.
As an army, we had little to fear traveling the roads. The bandits and orc marauders would steer well-clear of us, and we didn’t need to rely on the fortified campsites for protection overnight. As a result, we marched at a much faster pace than the leisurely caravans, but even so, it would take nearly a month for us to cross the distance between the Imperial District and Hygan.
Long-distance warfare like this had never been conducted before, at least not in the history records that were still available. Even if they had the desire, none of the Realms had the ability to project their forces over such vast distances. But my alliances gave me the means to extend my power far across the land, and I intended to use this opportunity to make that point clear to any who might think to provoke me.
The trip began as an almost festive affair, and it wasn’t difficult to see why—the green banners and pennants Nentai had provided, as well as the ones that Wenda and her seamstresses had supplemented, flew throughout our lines. Beneath those fluttering banners, the bulk of my forces wore the gold-trimmed red capes of the Imperial Army, and marched in precise, orderly lines down the center of the trade road. Blue-caped ministry guards dominated a small section, protecting my Ministers, while green capes, trimmed in black again, decorated the personal guard around me. The procession had the look of a summer fair, and with the prospect of victory ahead of them, the Army marched forward with a sense of confident anticipation.
While Bane typically flew overhead, Tási often walked beside me or rode with me in the carriage that had been provided for my comfort. She also spent a great deal of her time amongst the artillery corps that was comprised of the troops from Ashton. Although she’d been born on Isouri, Tási spent much of her life in Ashton, and several of the soldiers from that Realm were old acquaintances of hers. She enjoyed reminiscing about old times with them, and her presence among them proved to be a great morale boost for the soldiers as well.
We traveled fast, at least compared to the trade caravans, but the Field Marshal brought us to a halt after the first week to let the Army rest for a full day. Evans thought it best to not over-tax his soldiers, considering it unwise to have them march halfway across the continent only to face our enemy in a state of near exhaustion. So, starting with that first stop, we marched for no more than a week at a time before he’d call for a break.
I’d been holding out a bit on everyone, and when we made that first stop, I decided it was time for a little demonstration. For the most part, Evans knew what I could do, but I wanted him to see for himself the latest little wrinkle I’d been working on, hoping that he might even figure it into his plans.
I gathered a small group together, consisting of my companions, Bane, Evans, and both Ella and Saibra, ostensibly as our guards, and led them away from the massive camp we’d made and into the surrounding forest. I’d forbidden them from bringing any other escorts, but with the combined power of those I had allowed to come along, there were no objections.
When we’d gotten far enough away from any prying eyes, I stopped and had them simply watch as I summoned a black orb and brought it forth into the palm of my hand. Evans had heard about my ability to call forth my rage, and Saibra had felt the power of it when she’d been Insleí, but neither of them had seen me project the essence of my darkness before.
“This,” I told them as I held the orb out towards them, “is pure destruction. I have been practicing with it—learning how I can make it into a more effective weapon. And I have succeeded.”
I turned away from them and extended the palm of my hand forward. When I chose my target, the dark orb shot from my hand and rocketed through the air and then into the distant tree I’d designated for destruction. The orb struck my target silently, and simply melted into the trunk of the massive tree. Black tendrils of utter devastation instantly began winding their way up and around the trunk, shattering bark and splintering branches as they rotted away everything they touched.
In seconds, the bulk of the tree was reduced to ash, and the hollow remains of what was left came crashing down to the forest floor, only to be devoured by the blackness as well.
What I had learned was not how to increase the power of my orbs—that was always within my means, at least up to my own ability to control their shadows. The discovery I’d made was how to project them over a great distance and with almost complete accuracy. The orb hadn’t truly been in the palm of my hand when I sent it out; a portion of it was still within me at the time. I found that if I retained any part of an orb inside me, that by focusing on it, I could push it, and it would go wherever my mind wanted it to. That was the power I’d brought them there to witness.
�
��If that will that work against stone, I’m not sure we’ll need the catapults,” Evans was the first to speak, immediately perceiving a military application for my ability.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t,” I replied. “Its power only affects living matter, and things that were once alive. Wood, leather, and cloth are all susceptible to my orb’s influence, but not metal or stone.”
“Pity,” he responded with obvious disappointment. “But I can already imagine some other ways to put this to use. Let me consider it for a while and I’ll see what else I can come up with.”
“That’s why I brought you here,” I announced. “This wasn’t just a display of my power. Each of you has your own unique perspective and insights, and I want all of you to think about that same thing: how can we use this?”
Bane’s fire might have been an even greater revelation, but I wanted to keep that secret for as long as possible. Even as powerful as he was, I was still hesitant to expose him to the dangers of the battlefield. In addition, when we did finally unleash him, I wanted it to take our foes completely by surprise. His flames would be my ultimate secret weapon and would only be unveiled when I knew that the time was right.
The walk back was mostly in silence as they contemplated what I’d shown them. Even having seen it before in some small way hadn’t prepared any of them for the magnitude of the destruction I’d wrought.
“You didn’t need me to protect you today,” Saibra spoke to me as we walked back. “Was that meant as a reminder, or did you have some other purpose when you made me witness that?”
“No, Saibra. My intention was not to stir up any unpleasant memories,” I replied. “Actually, I thought you’d have figured out why I chose to include you. You’ve been very perceptive about these things in the past.”
“You have intentions for me?” Saibra immediately surmised, quite correctly.
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