Gloomwalker

by Alex Lang

  If the man didn’t have the good sense to move out of the way, Kyris thought as he readied to thrust the jagged spearhead.

  “Kyris! Stop!” Caldir called. “We need them alive… at least until the others are freed.”

  It was hard to think straight, but it made sense. He lowered the relic-spear and gestured with it towards Caldir. “Gilvys, free him, and I won’t gut you or your boss.”

  The scribe dithered, but Velledon urged him forward. “Go on,” the lord governor said.

  Gilvys walked to Caldir with eyes fixed on Kyris the whole time. When he reached the chair, he unfastened the leather straps.

  “More guardsmen will arrive soon,” Velledon said.

  Kyris forced his grimace in to something of a smile. “No, my lord. I don’t believe they will.” If Ellse had anything to say about it.

  Caldir rubbed his wrists and stood with visible effort, and groaned. He then gestured for Gilvys to take his place. The scribe was reluctant, and Kyris was readying another threat when he quietly complied. Caldir tightened the leathers until Gilvys winced. He picked up a guardsman’s sword, then joined Kyris and the lord governor. “Now, you’ll lead us to my comrades.”

  Velledon swallowed. “They are not here.”

  Caldir pushed the man against the wall and leveled the sword at him. “It would not be wise to play games now, lord governor.”

  “It’s true,” Gilvys interjected. “We have other facilities for… testing.”

  Kyris and Caldir exchanged concerned looks. It was then that Caldir seemed to take notice of Kyris’s condition.

  “Are you… all right?”

  “I’ve been better.” Kyris swayed a bit. “Do you have the situation under control?”

  Caldir glanced at the restrained Gilvys, then the injured lord governor, and gave a short laugh, shrugging. “I suppose so.”

  “Good. Good. Ellse is here. I’m sure she’ll be along.” The floor flew to meet his face, then Kyris closed his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “No more were the winged swarms, their hives destroyed, and driven to the dark forest of the far west were the horned beasts, and beaten back were the betrayers, to take refuge on their scant rocks, isolated in the Sea of Shorn. The many brood of Night Mother were scattered.

  Year upon year the war had raged, and the cost for the Righteous was high. The enemies had been culled and cowed, tho not defeated.

  Through further Divine visions did Velloras learn the war would be one of many generations, that it was no simple conflict, that it had greater significance not just for the Children of the Makers upon this realm but for Aithel.

  Tho not all Ar’Razi were able to see the Light, those that did embrace the Makers, those that proved themselves loyal and worthy, in battle and in worship, were brought into the fold, so that the Maker’s blessings spread and grew.

  And thus the two people came together.

  By Overlord Velloras were all Godling Men ordered to take Ar’Razi mates, that they would beget a new union and a new home. He himself took three mates, daughters of Ar’Razi kings, and fathered six children.

  They would take this lull in the great struggle, this time of respite, to rebuild, to replenish their numbers, so that the fight could continue ever on until all the foul get of Mezu Vos had been eradicated.

  A great city would be built at the base of Spire Aelyn, and Vigil would be its name, an honor to those lost, and a warning to their enemies of the ever watchful presence of the Godlings.

  Tesra would be reborn as a Realm, and Vigil would be the seat of power.

  And thus, Velloras, Speaker of the Makers’ Will, Foremost amongst the Lightborn, Leader of the Godlings, Uniter of the Ar’Razi people, was anointed the First Archon.

  Their work was not done, for the children of the Night Mother did ever lurk just at the edge of Allithor’s Light, searching for weakness, waiting for the vigilant to drop their guard, tho they would not succeed so long as the Light did shine from the great Spire. The endless night would be kept at bay, and the Children of the Gods would be allowed to flourish, and the Ar’Razi would be allowed to serve and to earn their place in Aithel.”

  Tasi flipped the book closed.

  “Bah, that’s a nice tale they spun, but it’s all a load of dung,” Marlek said.

  Jahna smiled under her veil. Kyris had left the man to watch over them, along with a child, Andorr. There was something odd about the child beside the fact that he didn't speak. There was a sound to the way he breathed, almost a wheezing.

  “You question the deeds of the forefather of the Imperium?” Jahna said feigning disbelief.

  Marlek snorted. “I may not know my letters well, but you learn a thing or two working with Caldir. That man has a collection of books that isn’t written by the Imperium.”

  Somehow, Kyris and Ellse had found out where Caldir and his people were being held. And now Kyris was set on yet another dangerous endeavor.

  She should be used to it by now, but still, a part of her expected him not to return. She felt the same every time he left. If something were to go wrong, she and Tasi wouldn’t even know what had happened. Kyris would just be late, and they would wait. And wait. And wait.

  Kyris insisted on saying that this would be the last job. The last was supposed to have been Kathmor. Jahna knew she wasn’t being fair, that this wasn’t for coin or pointless vengeance. It was to save the lives of people he thought of as comrades. And she’d been the one to prompt him, reminding him of what he could lose. But she didn’t care anymore. Not for the lives of strangers. They meant nothing to her compared to the life of her brother.

  Kathmor was dead. She wasn’t sorry, of course. That bastard deserved a thousand deaths for what he’d done, to them and others. But that was what Kyris never understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t want Kathmor dead. It was that she wasn’t willing to risk her brother’s life to have it so.

  Now that he was dead, did it even matter? Yes, because it meant that her brother was free. It meant that they could work towards a real future, not just a goal.

  Unless she’d been the one fooling herself all this time. It was possible that Kyris had grown to enjoy the life he’d been living and that he would not, could not give it up.

  Things needed to change. For one, Tasi needed to stop being her caretaker. Her sister deserved a life of her own. Kyris’ misguided quest had stolen too much from them all.

  The door to the room opened, and someone entered. They moved next to Marlek and whispered.

  Something was wrong.

  “Did they get them?” Tasi asked, at the same time Jahna said, “Kyris?”

  “He’s injured but being tended to,” Marlek said. “Come, I will take you to him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Caldir jolted from sleep, half rising from the cot. He startled at the unfamiliar surroundings, at the thought he was still in the cell at the artificer compound, then his memory filled in the gaps. The dim light of a single-candled lamp illuminated the cramped bunks of the crew’s quarter aboard the Blue Osprey, a river ship he’d taken refuge on. They were moored on the southern outskirts of Vigil, ready to ride the Ryles to escape should there be any signs of pursuit.

  He’d been dreaming. A disquieted dream of impotence and fear, the specifics of which were already fading, leaving behind only a vague notion and a sense of apprehension. One thing, however, did not fade. Sylmae. She’d been within his dream. She’d spoken to him. ‘Caldir, we need to speak in person. I know what has transpired. Come to me.’

  The last words echoed in his mind. They pulled at him, and there was an unnatural urge to comply.

  She’d never exercised her power on him before, but then he’d always been reachable by their network of runners and messengers. Until now.

  “Troubled dreams?”

  Caldir turned to find Jahna sitting in a chair next to the cot Kyris slept in. He shook his head in answer, then remembered the gesture meaningless to her. “No,”
he lied. “I forgot where I was for a moment.” Had Jahna’s presence caused him to dream of Sylmae, one veiled woman transposed by another? No, those last words, a command, still pulled at him. Sylmae had summoned him, and she knew.

  Caldir’s gaze fell on Kyris. The young man lay like the dead. He’d been given a heavy sleep draught, for otherwise the pain would have prevented any rest. There was not a limb or section of his body that wasn’t covered in bandages. It had stretched Sandamar to his limit and taken many long hours, but the Ormossan had mended bones and abated the bleeding of the insides. However, the other wounds… The wounds that lashed across his body and yet left no mark upon his clothing, those had been the most troublesome.

  Those wounds were not the Boneclad’s doing, and though the fight had started rather quickly, Caldir was certain Kyris hadn’t borne those wounds when he’d first arrived. Was this somehow related to his ability?

  “Jahna. Kyris’s wounds, some of them were…” He hesitated, unsure of what he was asking or suggesting. She hadn’t seen the wounds, and it was best he kept the severity of her brother’s condition from her.

  “Not caused by steel or man?” she said.

  He blinked in surprise. “You know what caused them?”

  She titled her head, the gesture reminiscent of Sylmae. “The touch of the dead, perhaps.”

  Caldir frowned, unsure how to respond.

  She gave an unconvincing laugh. “Don’t mind me.” Her hand found Kyris’s arm. “We were supposed to leave Vigil. He’d promised that we would after Kathmor, and I’ll admit I was surprised when it seemed we would do just that. You see, my brother has a problem with guilt. He blames himself for what happened to our family, and what happened to me. He blames himself whenever his actions upset me, and the fact that upsetting me isn’t enough incentive for him to alter his course… well, that’s just more fuel for self-condemnation. I knew he felt guilty for leaving you and Ellse, felt responsible for whatever occurred afterward, though I must say, I don’t share that view. It seemed a natural and eventual outcome given your chosen profession.”

  Caldir opened his mouth to interject, but Jahna continued on without pause.

  “Regardless, if he didn’t do anything to learn your fate, to help if possible, then the guilt would have gnawed at him. So, I told him he could delay his promise to me and Tasi. That he could do this one last thing. And this…” Her hand moved across the bandages. “This is what came of it.

  “What my brother does on these jobs… I imagine it’s quite dangerous. I have only my imagination to go on, oh, and his accounts, but I suspect there’s a good bit of revision that goes on there. It’s hard for me to accept, in some ways. I still think of Kyris as I last saw him with my eyes. My little big brother, if only just, always trailing along. I didn’t see him train every day in the courtyard with Baaz, or see his victories in the fighting pits. Perhaps, because of this, I’ve never fully believed or trusted in his prowess. And yet, he’s killed… many, scions among them, which can’t be an easy thing. He killed the monster Kathmor.

  “I thought perhaps my imaginings of the danger were far worse than the reality, and greatly lacking when it came to his capabilities. He’d managed all that came before, surely this last task would be the same. I ignored the voice of caution, thinking at least this would be a worthwhile effort, saving lives and alleviating some much-too-heavy guilt.” She heaved a sigh. “I was a fool. Guilt will fade with time, but dead is dead, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I…” Caldir wanted to say that guilt could haunt someone for an entire lifetime, but that wasn’t what Jahna wanted to hear. The truth was, he wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. To unburden her mind? “Sometimes death is not the worst fate a man can suffer.”

  “Oh, how right you are.” She didn’t elaborate further, and her pause lingered. “I apologize for rambling. There is one matter I would like to address, however.”

  “Please.”

  “I’ve overheard talk, at the party and here on this ship. You are no ordinary criminal, Caldir. That is to say, profit is not your primary goal. I know what, or rather who, is being held below. I’m not sure what you intend, but I ask that you not drag my brother down your path. When he is well enough to travel, will you allow us to go?”

  Caldir didn’t often find himself lacking in words, but this girl seemed to make a habit of it for him. Gathering himself, he said, “None of you are prisoners. Kyris and I… our arrangement is complete. He has no more obligation to me. If anything, I am indebted to him. But what we seek to do—”

  “If that is how you feel, when he wakes, thank him and bid us farewell.”

  “I—”

  Approaching footfalls announced the arrival of Trake, the captain of the boat, an old man with a weathered face who’d lived his life traversing the Ryles.

  “Ah, good, you are awake, Caldir. Could I have a word?”

  “Umm, yes. Of course. Pardon me, Jahna.” Caldir felt shame to admit it, but he was glad for the captain’s rescue.

  The two walked from the crew’s quarter.

  “What is it, captain?”

  “Dawn will be upon us soon. The dock master has been paid well, but no amount of scribbling within a manifest will hide us from the light of day.”

  Caldir nodded in understanding. The captain was nervous and wanted to be on the move. Trake was a seasoned smuggler, but their current cargo was perhaps too hazardous even for him.

  An abrupt fear gripped Caldir then. Jahna had distracted him from his dream, but it was clear Sylmae had known about what he held. He left the captain gaping and rushed towards the center of the ship, descended a deck, and came upon Kalib, one of Marlek’s man, standing guard over an open hatch.

  In a hurried, breathless tone, he asked, “Our guest?”

  Captain Trake had followed, and Kalib’s brows shot up in concern at their presence. He nodded towards the hatch. “Swaddled like a babe.”

  All three peered down into the hold and saw Lord Governor Velledon glaring up at them. Their prisoner was chained and wrapped in a sack like so much cargo, leaving only his head exposed.

  Caldir sagged in relief at the sight. He didn’t know what he had expected… That Sylmae had swept in and snatched the lord governor from under him?

  He gave Kalib a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring nod. He apologized to the captain for his behavior and informed the man he would have instructions for him soon.

  Caldir went to stand upon the main deck. The chill air chased the last daze of sleep from him. He leaned his body against the ship’s railing and stared off into the city. It was dark, but the hint of morning was on the horizon.

  ‘I know what has transpired,’ Sylmae had said. She knew of Velledon, he was certain, but did she also know about Kyris? She would want the lord governor for her own purposes, no doubt. But he could not, would not surrender him. He needed the man to trade.

  Was Sylmae right about him? Was he missing sight of the greater goal?

  Caldir had told Gilvys to expect instructions on where they were to meet for the exchange in two days. He had thought it would be enough time for Sandamar to treat Kyris, but he hadn’t known the extent to which Kyris was hurt.

  He would have to call on old debts, favors he’d accumulated over the years.

  Gilvys would most likely have told someone the governor was taken by now. Would it be the artificers or the city watch?

  The city slept, appearing no different from any other dawn. The bell towers were silent still, but they would not stay so for long. He needed to decide what to do about Sylmae’s summons.

  Caldir walked into the Garden of Bliss by himself. The question of whether or not Sylmae would resort to violence when he refused to surrender the lord governor plagued him, and he could not decide definitively one way or the other. Ellse had insisted on coming along as she always had in the past, but he needed her elsewhere in case things turned out badly. He had considered borrowing some toughs from Marlek or perhaps hiring so
me new bodyguards but decided not to escalate the situation unduly.

  Caldir had left instructions with Marlek and Ellse on how to proceed with the prisoner exchange, should he not emerge from the brothel in a reasonable amount of time.

  Perhaps he was overreacting. Perhaps Sylmae would be more agreeable to him trading away the valuable hostage for a few ‘underlings’ than he thought, but Madam Krota’s strained greeting told him things were different this time. Even Lahli seemed nervous. She didn’t question the lack of treats or Ellse’s absence, and Caldir wondered if he had to run, would he find out that Lahli was more than she appeared?

  He stepped through the panel and proceeded down the stairs.

  Though a specific time had not been stated in her dream summons, Sylmae nevertheless waited upon her mound of pillows, enshrined in her robe and hidden behind her veil.

  Kelv was there, standing in the back. The chamber was as it always was. Caldir took a deep breath and knelt on the pillows across from the seer.

  “Greeting, Sylmae.”

  “Greeting, Caldir.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at an inopportune time, though I suppose you know this already. What can I do for you?”

  “Caldir, you are my most resourceful disciple. You have built yourself an impressive organization beneath the very nose of the enemy. Your efforts have swelled the ranks of the Za’Tani and armed them with weapons with which to challenge our oppressors.”

  Caldir’s apprehension grew as Sylmae spoke. This sounded like a summary before the dismissal of one’s services. He expected a knife in the back to follow the praise, and he resisted the urge to look behind him.

  “But your efforts, as successful as they’ve been, are only a part of the greater whole. As I’m sure you’ve suspected, there are others serving different roles, struggling and sacrificing in their own right. I want you to keep that in mind, to know that we all strive for the same thing. We are all on—”

  “Why meet in person at all? Couldn’t we have done this whilst I slept?”