The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  Unfortunately, there was only one way to hurdle that particular barrier.

  “Look,” he began. “We’re deep enough in enemy territory now that we won’t have to keep our presence hidden for much longer. In fact, it’s about time to make it felt.”

  Tassariel shuddered, but nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good. Because there will be no going back once we reveal ourselves. We’ll have to stay alert, day and night, as I’ve no doubt they’ll bend any and every resource to hunt us down.” He paused, allowing a wry grin to form on his face. “But if there’s hunting to be done, it will be done by us.”

  She smiled as well; faintly, but it revealed a crack in her shell all the same.

  He knew it wouldn’t last after what he had to tell her next.

  “I need to know that you’re ready, Tassariel. I think it’s time for your final test.”

  Her lips parted, expelling harsh, hot breath. If her mouth were going dry, the moisture gathering in her eyes more than balanced it out.

  Draevenus furrowed his brow. “Are you all r—”

  “I’m fine,” she barked. “It’s just . . .”

  Tentatively, he reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder, peering intently into her lavender irises. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I hope I’ve earned enough of your trust for that.”

  “You have. I just don’t know if this is what Elos had in mind for me.”

  “How so?”

  “I mean, he called me his chosen. Shouldn’t that mean something? Maybe it’s just a child’s wish, but I’d like to think he had a plan beyond the simple task he accomplished through me. Even if he’s dead.” She lowered her face. “Even if he wasn’t really a god.”

  He squeezed her shoulder once then reached for his waterskin, taking a drink to try to hide his smile.

  “Something funny?” she asked.

  He cringed. More observant than I give her credit for. “My sister had a similar theory about Ruul, calling into question his divinity.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Everyone’s heard the stories. They say you came to the battle in Fasheshe straight from Ruul’s cradle. That you talked with him for days. Surely you have some insight into his nature?”

  Draevenus closed his eyes, conjuring memories of his time there. He almost expected another bout of hidden visions to come floating to the surface. He almost wished for it.

  But nothing came.

  He sighed, glancing up at her again. “His nature? Ruul was powerful, possessing of more knowledge than any hundred lives could contain, and enough wisdom to know how to use it. He made mistakes—some that led to heartbreak beyond compare—but he always tried to do what he thought was best. And in the end, he sacrificed himself for a cause he considered greater than himself.

  “I don’t think it matters what label you place on Ruul or Elos. You just have to judge if their actions were worthy enough to call yourself their faithful.”

  “And were his?”

  Draevenus shook his head. “Ask me later. Maybe then I’ll know.”

  The look she gave him carried all the confusion he’d thought to expect.

  “Come, Tassariel. Let’s find some shelter for the night. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting kind of tired of this rain.”

  Jasside couldn’t believe her eyes. Despite seeing the sight every night for a week, she still had no way to reconcile it to what experience and probability allowed. From her vantage a thousand paces from the ground, on an upper balcony of the Vandulisar family greatship, she could see the world curve away in all directions. And everywhere she looked shone the refugees’ campfires.

  White stars hung countless in the void above, but it was the orange ones below that seemed to claim the greater number.

  Dark shapes in the air ringed the sprawling camp: skyships, which she knew were friendly by the fact that they weren’t swooping in to unleash devastation. The ruvak had ceased their attacks at sunset, as if to herald the promise of a peaceful, bloodless night.

  Jasside knew such a promise would be broken.

  A throat cleared behind her. She turned, glimpsing Gilshamed under the arch that led into the chamber adjoining the balcony. Beyond him, she saw that the others had finally arrived. She readied herself, attempting to reverse her slumped shoulders and eyelids hanging more than halfway closed, before marching past the waiting valynkar.

  He grabbed her arm, gently yet forcefully, bringing her to a stop. She glanced down at the offending arm, then up as he bent his towering, golden-haired head towards her.

  “A word, if you please?” he said.

  “Your hand—”

  “I apologize,” he said, his tone indicating nothing of the sort. She didn’t blame him, either—she’d have done the same if she thought the action necessary. Still, he did release her arm.

  “Yes, fine. What is it?”

  “First, I want to you to know that I bear no ill will towards you in regards to our reversal of roles.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Let me finish, please.”

  Jasside dipped her head, gesturing for him to continue.

  “Back during the revolution, I did not see your potential. No one did. However, all that has happened since the descent of the ruvak has made it clear to me that no valynkar can lead this alliance. We have kept ourselves separate from the rest of humanity for too long. And while we deal with the familiar with perhaps the best combination of wisdom and patience, this . . . conflict . . . is beyond unprecedented. As you know, my people do not have the best history with such situations.”

  “I see.”

  “I want you to understand that so long as it within my power, I will provide whatever aid you need. But you, Jasside, are the center of all this. Every eye is on you. You are human. You feel. These are not bad things, but you must learn to guard yourself when among others, to keep separate the private self from she who would lead us all.

  “It is a difficult task to manage, a trial of will and endurance beyond any other . . . but out of everyone available, I believe you can do it best.”

  Jasside nodded slowly. Though grateful for the praise and the advice, she didn’t want to hear it right now. He wanted her to be strong, when all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed, to grieve for the lost and punish herself for the weakness that had allowed it.

  Children are dying. And I may as well be the one thrusting the blade. What hope is there for the light in our souls when someone so broken is declared worthy to follow?

  But she knew there was a glimmer—and with hope, sometimes that’s all you got.

  “Thank you, Gilshamed,” she said at last. “I’ll try to appear the leader everyone expects—everyone needs me to be.” She straightened her posture, forcing regal composure into her face. “Better?”

  Gilshamed nodded. “It will do.”

  Head held high, she finished marching past him, joining the others around a rectangular wooden table. Gilshamed stepped into his own position on her left. Jasside met Chase’s then Arivana’s eyes, projecting what she hoped was confidence. Little, if any, was reflected back. Though both looked like they were trying to hide it, she could tell they felt as hopeless as she did.

  “I appreciate your coming,” Jasside said, trying to mean it. “And my apologies for keeping you waiting.”

  Chase dipped his head. “I think we’re far past the point of useless posturing. Let’s just say what has to be said.”

  “Agreed,” Arivana added.

  She looked as if she wanted to say more, but didn’t have the heart to voice it. Instead, she cast a crooked smile at Chase, who stared back with something close to compassion. Whatever coldness had once existed between the two rulers was gone. They’d realized, as had every person below, that all of humanity was in this together.

  Small things. Small victories. Small bright points in an otherwise endless sea of shadow. That’s all we can hope for anymore. I supp
ose it’s better than nothing.

  Jasside nearly laughed, struck by the contradiction of herself, a master manipulator of dark energy, clinging so desperately to every scrap of light.

  She exhaled heavily, leaning forward and pressing her palms onto the table. “If we’re going to speak freely, then I’ll say what I know we’re all thinking—humankind, valynkar and mierothi included, are now faced with the very real threat of genocide at the hands of the ruvak. Our defeat at Panisahldron made that perfectly clear. As hard is it might be to carry on, it seems the burden of responsibility has fallen to us. I, for one, don’t plan to just roll over and die.”

  “Neither do I,” Chase said. “But if we expect to survive, we need to come up with a plan.”

  “Exactly. Which is why we now need to take stock of the resources at our disposal.”

  “If you’re talking about our fighting strength, I can give you only a rough estimate.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We lose soldiers every day, which I’m sure is no surprise. But we gain some, too. The young and the old, mothers who’ve lost children, anyone who finally gets fed up watching people around them die without so much as a sword in their hand.”

  “I’d be surprised, then,” Arivana said, “if our numbers weren’t actually increasing.”

  “They have been,” Chase said. “And significantly. But our forces are too vast and too dispersed to get a count that might be considered accurate. They’re also not organized—or necessarily true soldiers. To be honest, I’m having a difficult time keeping track of everything that’s going on.”

  “Perhaps,” Gilshamed said, “I can be of some assistance in that regard.”

  “How so?” Jasside asked.

  “I often find that visual representations help solidify things in the mind.”

  The valynkar lifted a hand and light poured from it, gathering across the top of the table. After a moment, it shaped itself into a glowing map of the continent, complete with raised sections, indicating mountains, and different colors for the varied natural environments.

  “Arivana,” Jasside said. “You’re the most familiar with these territories. Could you please orient us to the land?”

  The queen leaned forward to extend a hand. “You know about Panisahldron, and Phelupar beyond that, in the south, so I’ll start here in the northeast.” She pointed to a large island, vaguely horseshoe-shaped, with a smaller speck of land dotting the interior of its curve. “This is Yusan. Directly west of it you have the Suwanea Mountains, which separate Sceptre to the north from the rest of the middle nations.” Her hand ran down the eastern coast. “Here is Mataroa, and below it Corbrithe. This ring of hills in the heart of the continent surround Kaunax, which is bordered to the north by Tristelkia, to the south by Kavenmoor, and to the west by Tarliskan. In the northwest we have Dorgon and Ameb, and running along the length of the Nether Mountains, Fasheshe, whose southern border our group just recently crossed.”

  “What about our allies?” Chase said. “Where are they?”

  Gilshamed lifted his other hand, and a multitude of new points danced across the map, clustered around five distinct locations. “This, as far as I can tell, is where all casters of light can be found. Their positions correspond with that of our main war groups.”

  The five spots lay in a crooked line, curving up from southern Fasheshe. One each was in the western end of Kavenmoor and Kaunax, with another in northern Tarliskan, and the last at the center of Dorgon. A week ago, they’d been moving south, towards Panisahldron. Towards what they thought would be a stronghold. They’d since changed direction.

  Jasside glanced towards their new destination on the map. Where the Nether smashed against the Suwanea, and the borders of Weskara, Sceptre, and Fasheshe all came together.

  The place the mierothi now claimed as home.

  “This is . . . helpful,” Chase said. “Very helpful.”

  “Agreed,” Jasside said. “Now, about those rough estimates . . . ?”

  Chase sighed. “Near as I can tell, we’ve somewhere between three to four million soldiers. Of those, as I said, maybe a third are actually trained fighters.”

  “Between the valynkar and the Panisians,” Gilshamed said, “we have nearly six thousand major casters of light, and somewhere around thirty thousand of the minor.”

  “Of the dark,” Jasside added, “there are five hundred eighty-six mierothi, and just over nine thousand daeloth. Our allies from the Veiled Empire will add twenty thousand more casters. Though the best among them are typically half as powerful as daeloth, they should still help balance out our sorcerous strength.”

  “A welcome addition,” Chase said bitterly, “but they won’t be in position in time to do any good.”

  He pointed toward the part of the map representing Sceptre, a place noted by its distinct lack of alliance forces.

  “I don’t like it any more than you do,” Jasside said. “But the eastern half of your nation is the most sparsely populated region. Your people had only begun to move back in after . . .”

  “My war,” Arivana said, before the moment even had time to grow awkward. “It’s all right, you can say it. No matter how unjust, we shouldn’t pretend it never happened.”

  “Very well,” Chase said. “But there are still tens if not hundreds of thousands of my people there. If you expect my cooperation, I can’t stomach leaving them unguarded for long.”

  “Arivana,” Jasside said. “You’ve taken to overseeing the day-to-day needs of the refugees. Can you guess how many there are?”

  “At best estimate, our current group holds nearly six million refugees alone. If all five groups are the same size, that leaves us with somewhere around thirty million.” The queen closed her eyes. “But before this all began, according to the most recent census, the middle and southern nations were counted at over ten times that.”

  Jasside hadn’t known the exact numbers before, but hearing them now drove ice up her spine. She turned back to Chase. “Do you see now? Ninety percent of the population, dead or worse at ruvaki hands. That is what we are facing. The very survival of our species depends upon the choices we here in this room make. As coldhearted as it sounds, we have to protect as many people as we can, even if it means leaving some few unguarded.”

  She sighed, glancing down at the map. “Besides, the enemy incursion into Sceptre has been minimal so far. And I did allocate a small guard force. They should make first contact with the ruvak in days.”

  “Small?” Chase scoffed. “Five ships isn’t small—it’s an insult. These friends from your old empire fight may be good fighters, but they won’t be enough to make a difference.”

  Jasside smiled. “You don’t know them like I do. Trust me, your land will be as protected as they come. The very best men are on the job.”

  Chapter 8

  “Are you sure about this?” Ilyem asked.

  Arms crossed as he peered out from the skyship’s edge, Mevon nodded. “There’s only one way to find out, and I will not ask anyone else to do it.”

  “Others have volunteered. Many others, in fact.”

  “I won’t submit someone to danger I myself am not willing to face.”

  She said nothing, but the slight pinch of her lips spoke tomes enough to him.

  “You think I’m too important. That the son of the emperor shouldn’t take any risk.”

  “Not unless it’s necessary.”

  “You think this isn’t?”

  “I may command the Hardohl in title, but it’s your example that we all seek to follow. Losing you would be . . . costly.”

  He grunted. “Then I’ll be sure not to fail.”

  Her eyes tightened by a fraction. On anyone else, it may as well have been a full-faced scowl.

  “Enough,” Mevon said graciously. “We’ve waited too long to meet these ruvak. I won’t delay for a point that needs no more debate. Lives are at stake. That is, after all, why we are here.”

  She must have real
ized the futility of further argument, for she merely inclined her head in acknowledgment—then leapt off the side of the skyship. Mevon glanced down, watching as she landed in a crouch on the deck of the other vessel hovering thirty paces below.

  Leaving him with just the pilot of his skyship for company.

  Mevon gestured forward. The man sitting at the controls knew what was expected. The skyship lurched into motion, gliding around the stone-spiked hill they’d been hiding behind.

  They emerged into a broad valley freckled by boulders amidst stubbly grass, whose sides sloped up into sharp, snowcapped mountains. Fog hung below grey clouds, making the bowl of land seem closed off from the world, its own private pocket resting in serenity.

  In the days they’d spent crossing Sceptre, Mevon had found it to be beautiful and rugged, both qualities he could admire. He’d always have fond memories of home, but the Veiled Empire was a broken land, still recovering from the Cataclysm all those centuries ago, with signs of its struggle to adapt apparent wherever you looked. This place had no such hindrance, reveling in untempered wildness. Even the cities, what few he’d seen in passing, paid tribute to their surroundings, being built of the same wood and stone that thrived just outside their walls. It was, all things considered, a land worth fighting for.

  But it’s not the land I came here to save. It’s the people.

  People now visible through the fog at the far end of the valley. Ten thousand of them, in wagons and on foot, fleeing the invaders.

  Eyes narrowed, Mevon took in his first sight of the foe he’d been sent to contain.

  A frothing mass, a thousand strong at least, bearing armor and weapons neither burnished nor dull, snapped at the heels of the refugees. Only a thin line of outnumbered defenders stood in their way. In garb that suggested they were farmers, or miners, or shepherds, the humans fended off the ruvak with staves and slings, picks and axes; a desperate, reeling defense that could only succeed in buying time, and not even that much of it. A brief examination of the enemy’s movements revealed that they were only toying with the Sceptrines, like a cat that claws off a bird’s wings, watching it flop around helplessly for its own amusement before moving in for the kill.