The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  Mevon blinked, shedding orange blood from his eyelashes. He spun his focus outward and could see the truth of her words clear enough. Decimated Sceptrine troops and Imperial Guard staggered backwards in ragged retreat. The other Hardohl bought them precious beats in which to drag free their wounded before themselves dashing back to avoid the surging enemy onslaught. The remaining allied skyships traded spats of sorcerous energy with the far more numerous enemy vessels above them.

  Defeat seemed but a breath away.

  Unacceptable.

  “What do we need to do?” he asked. “How can we turn this battle around in our favor?”

  “Ask the gods,” Ilyem said. “They’re the only ones that can help us now.”

  She jogged off, and Mevon followed, nearly replying that the gods were dead.

  Which, he soon realized, was likely her point.

  They joined the retreat, marching within a moving bubble of serenity beset on all sides by savagery. None challenged them directly. Confused, Mevon peered behind him and quickly saw why. The trail of destruction he’d left behind split the enemy formation like a scar, each ragged seam a ruvaki body ravaged beyond recognition. For all that the images of his attack seemed ripe within his foes’ minds, Mevon recalled only flashes.

  He didn’t know who held the most fear of him: the ruvak . . .

  . . . or himself.

  He surveyed the situation, reading the outcome as if it were already carved into stone, and knew that nothing short of a miracle would see them through the next dawn.

  “When we fall,” Mevon said, “it will not be from a blow to the back.”

  Ilyem pondered his statement for three beats in silence. Then, without a word, she lifted her weapon, spun, and pointed a blade back towards the enemy.

  The Hardohl responded immediately, with the Imperial Guard following soon after. The Sceptrines were slower to catch on, but he saw Prince Daye waving his greatsword and heard him shout, “We hold here, my brothers! We hold here!”

  The rout reversed in moments, and Mevon swelled with pride that at the side of such souls he had the privilege of waging righteous battle.

  Even if it would be his last.

  “I never did ask,” Mevon said, “but what did you name your Andun?”

  “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?” Ilyem said.

  “Yes.”

  She smiled. Fully. The first time he’d ever seen her do so.

  “I call it Balance. And you?”

  Mevon returned the smile. “Justice.”

  “A good name.”

  “As is yours.”

  He faced the ruvak, the once-empty sphere around him collapsing as their own momentum drove them inexorably closer. A change he welcomed.

  Ilyem hoisted Balance. “It will be a pleasure, Mevon, to die at your side.”

  “Likewise,” Mevon replied. “What do you say to taking as many of these rabid bastards down with us as we can?”

  “For the sake of our blades?”

  “For the sake of our blades.”

  Summoning the storm, Mevon led the charge.

  The night wore on, every beat drowned in untold oceans of bloodshed. The human defenders engaged their enemy in a manner that left no room for retreat, matching them in savagery even as they managed to hold off their inevitable defeat for just one more mark. Then another. And another.

  But no amount of valor could account for the disparity in numbers. Though the greatest warriors any world would ever see fought on, even they knew that their limbs would grow weak long before they’d run out of foes at which to swing. But fight on they did. And even if they knew they couldn’t win, they were giving the ruvak a fight to remember. A fight that would open their eyes.

  With their numbers dwindling, and energy all but spent, the human defenders soon saw something that none of them had ever expected to see again. The eastern sky had lightened, and the first sliver of sunlight rose over distant mountains, nearly blinding them with sudden, burning brilliance.

  They’d made through to the dawn.

  Though it had no real reason to, this fact filled each of them with unmitigated hope.

  A hope that only grew as they saw what else the new day had brought.

  A line of dark spots darkened the face of dawn. The spots became spheres, then hazy figures, then individuals hundreds and thousands strong.

  Valynkar and mierothi, approaching in battle formation.

  And at their center, outpacing them all, came a single woman; the only one among them who did not fly on wings.

  Darkness and light in equal measure crackled outwards from them all, batting down the ruvaki skyships like flies and crashing through their infantry in waves of ice and fire. Half their remaining troops were engulfed in less than a mark. The rest, sensing their doom, gave up the fight and fled.

  But not very far.

  Killing magic rained down everywhere they went. The same plain that made protecting the refugees a suicidal task provided no cover for the fleeing ruvak. Some, through sheer numbers alone, managed to escape the initial barrage, but the floating figures broke ranks and scattered, diving in every direction to begin their hunt.

  All of them . . . but one.

  A small metal platform descended into the space recently vacated by those that would have been Mevon’s end. Glorious though it may have been, he would trade it for this gladly.

  Jasside leapt from her ride, lips parted ever-so-slightly, brown eyes wide and fixed on him. Blond hair fell past her waist in a braid, shimmering in the same sunlight that framed her face from behind like a portrait.

  Exhaustion forgotten, Mevon dropped Justice and took a tenuous step forward, wiping away the blood half-moist, half-crusting upon his face. He was still unable to think of anything to say, so instead . . . he smiled.

  Blessedly, Jasside smiled back.

  “Hello,” she said.

  Mevon’s heart skipped at the sound. “Hello.”

  Without another word—for indeed, no words seemed worthy enough to express what he felt—they rushed into each other’s arms, both gasping as they pressed their lips together for the very first time.

  “There’s . . . one more thing, sister.”

  “Done with your pointless bickering so soon?”

  “You must promise me—promise me!—that you’ll pass this information along to our allies. Can I trust you to do that?”

  “How could you not?”

  “No more games. This is too important.”

  “Oh, very well. I promise. What’s the big news, then?”

  “It’s about the ruvak themselves. I found out—” he swallowed “—I found out where they came from. Why they’re here.”

  “Did you now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, don’t keep a girl in suspense. Out with it!”

  “They came from here, Vash. This was their world once, until Ruul and Elos took it from them. And now . . . they want it back.”

  Part III

  Chapter 13

  The combination of rain and wind was enough to make any stretch of exposed skin turn blue in marks. Yandumar, however, felt none of it. Orbrahn maintained a shield of some kind around the welcoming party, keeping them all dry and warm despite the deep hold of autumn in these foreign, forsaken mountains. A place that would soon be sanctuary to the tens of millions who had survived the exodus.

  Never thought I’d see the day the mierothi, of all people, would be who humanity turned to in its most desperate toll.

  It had been a skeleton crew that greeted him when the armies of the Veiled Empire first arrived a month ago: a few pregnant mierothi and their husbands, a hundred or so daeloth who were too old or too young to participate in the fighting, and the scant number of humans from the surrounding nations enterprising enough—and brave enough—to set up trade posts among their new neighbors.

  His troops and engineers had kept busy in the meantime, but the nebulous shapes pushing closer through the clouds promise
d to make it a whole lot more hectic very, very soon.

  “Light the beacon, Orbrahn,” he said. “Wouldn’t want ’em getting lost.”

  “I don’t know about light, old man,” Orbrahn said, “but I can certainly ignite it.”

  The boy lifted an arm. A pillar of blue flame five paces wide jetted towards the sky, visible even through the thickest thunderhead. Within moments, bright spots appeared on the horizon, separating from the lumbering hulks now dipping low through the murk. Foremost among them, a figure whom Yandumar recognized by his wrapping of golden light.

  Three marks later, Gilshamed touched down gently before him. At his side, a woman whose wings were wreathed in violet.

  “Yandumar,” Gilshamed said, as both valynkar dismissed their wings. “Old friend.”

  The last two words almost sounded like a question.

  Gilshamed turned to the woman. “Let me introduce—”

  “No need,” Yandumar said. “I’ve heard enough of your stories to know exactly who this lovely lady is.”

  She whispered in Gilshamed’s ear, to which he nodded in response, then she stuck out a hand as if to shake.

  “Abyss take me,” Yandumar said. “I’ll have none of that.”

  He lunged forward, closing the gap in an eyeblink, and wrapped an arm around both of their waists, lifting them off the ground in his embrace. Though neither lacked in height, and his arms weren’t as strong as they used to be, he wasn’t going to let such trivial facts stop him from showing them his enthusiasm.

  Yandumar set them down after a twirl or two. Lashriel tittered melodically. Gilshamed, though looking chagrined at so public a display, still couldn’t help but show the ghost of a smile.

  “Ah, Lashriel,” Yandumar said with a sigh. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

  “Likewise, Yandumar,” she said. “Gil has told me so much about you.”

  “Not too much I hope.”

  “Oh, he has been very thorough. Telling his side, anyway. If you have some time, I would love to hear yours.”

  “Ha! He’d never forgive me if I told you the half of it!”

  “Nonsense,” Gilshamed said, very quietly, very seriously. “There is nothing you could ever do that I would not absolve.”

  Yandumar shrugged. “I could probably think of a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Trying to steal Lashriel away from you, for one. And if I weren’t so old . . . and so smelly . . . and so married . . . I might even have a chance!”

  Seemingly against his will, Gilshamed chortled loudly. All sense of decorum he might have held on to instead slipped away upon that mirthful outburst.

  Yandumar smiled. “It’s good to see you again, old friend, despite the circumstances. You look like a new man.”

  Gilshamed nodded. “I certainly feel as such.”

  Leaning in close next to Lashriel, Yandumar whispered, though loudly enough for Gilshamed to hear, “Don’t tell him I said this, but I’m pretty sure he has you to thank for the change.”

  Smiling, she “whispered” back, “My lips are sealed.”

  Gilshamed turned away, a conflicted look on his face. Utter joy warring with . . . something. Yandumar couldn’t tell.

  At least the madness is gone. And for good, this time, it seems. A new man indeed. I just need a mark to figure out how much has changed. To find out what’s taken the place of the you you’ve left behind.

  “Come along, then,” Yandumar said. “I’m sure you’ll be wanting to survey the place. It ain’t much, but for the foreseeable future, it’s home.”

  He led them down from the raised area, a kind of platform overlooking the cleared and leveled fields sloping down in terraces to the valley below. Before departing, he looked toward the horizon one last time. His breath caught as he saw the first of the airborne vessels descend fully out of the clouds. It was soon joined by many others, including the countless figures marching into view through the passes on the valley’s opposite side.

  Exodus approached its end. He prayed exile would prove less deadly.

  “What is that?” Lashriel asked.

  Yandumar turned back to the paired valynkar, finding the prettier one pointing toward the center of the bowl where the mierothi had erected their dwellings.

  “That,” Yandumar said, nodding at the obelisk in question, “is a voltensus.”

  “A what?”

  “A mierothi construct, my love,” Gilshamed said. “In the empire, they used them to detect all uses of sorcery.”

  “Why would they need one here?”

  “You haven’t heard?” Yandumar said.

  Both of his guests shook their heads.

  “Well, according to our mierothi allies, the things have another purpose. One that Ruul hid within their function from the very beginning, even though it was utterly useless until now.”

  Gilshamed flared his eyes. “You cannot mean—”

  “It’s designed to keep out the ruvak? Aye, it is. Their skyships, anyway, and anything else of theirs powered by magic. Though gods alone know how.”

  “Gods . . . and Vashodia.”

  Yandumar grunted. “As if she sees any difference between ’em.”

  “I do not know if I would say that. After all, Vashodia is still alive.”

  “Ha!”

  Yandumar continued the tour, circumventing the outskirts of the mierothi town. It was on a hill, relatively the highest point around, and from there they could see a good bit of the land protected under the new voltensus. Though he’d heard it said that the thing’s range extended far past the horizon, covering most of Weskara as well as large chunks of Sceptre to the north and Fasheshe to the east, they’d set up their initial defenses well within sight.

  Layers and layers of barricades, fortified fighting positions, and staked trenches encompassed a perimeter a dozen leagues long. The outer perimeter—none of it visible from here—was similarly constructed, only many, many times longer. Idrus was even now inspecting the work of the imperial engineers, inserting a soldier’s perspective in order to improve them. Though the defenses had been the most crucial, time-consuming project, occupying the land closer to the summit they now walked was everything else that would be needed for what Yandumar had no doubt would be a long, bitter siege.

  Cleared areas for tents, hasty dwellings, and land set aside for planting filled the rest of the available space. Even if they’d had another year to prepare, it still would have been cramped. Though the area they hoped to protect was quite large, much of it was occupied by sharp mountains and dense forests. There was simply no way, in such limited terrain, to protect an entire continent’s worth of people—what remained of them, anyway—without them all bumping noses now and then.

  Even so, their meagre preparations would be better than leaving them to the ruvak. Yandumar almost couldn’t wait for the enemy to test them.

  I and my swords would like a word with you bastards.

  His companions took in the view in silence. Lashriel he didn’t know well enough to properly judge her reaction, but she seemed encouraged by all he told them. Yandumar had a hard time imagining what it must have been like on that long road. A place to rest must seem like quite the gift.

  But it was Gilshamed he had the hardest time trying to read. So much of his old friend had changed since their last meeting. The madness was gone, much of it replaced, he now saw, with joy, centered around the woman at his side. A woman he clung to with desperation.

  It was subtle at first, but the more Yandumar explained of their preparations, the more obvious it became. Gilshamed, he knew, did not see the mighty defenses, nor imagine how effective they would be in keeping those within them safe.

  The man saw only a trap.

  The frequent glances flickering between his mate and the horizon, which Yandumar had dismissed, took on a different, more sinister meaning then.

  Gilshamed was searching for a way to escape.

  Despite the fact that it chilled him to
see—or maybe even because of it—Yandumar understood. He knew what it was like to lose the only thing you desired; knew it sharper, and deeper than he cared to admit out loud. After struggling for so long, and finally attaining it, the thought of putting it at even the slimmest bit of risk was nearly unfathomable.

  But men like us can’t always afford the luxury of peace. Not when the peace of so many others rides on our shoulders.

  “Bah!” Yandumar said. “Enough with this boring business. I could show you the other half, but it’s just more of the same in a different direction.” He smiled deviously. “You heard about what happened with my son?”

  Gilshamed arched an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, he and his troops were nearly overrun, until timely reinforced by Jasside.”

  “Timely reinforced? Ha! She pulled his ass right out of the fire!”

  Lashriel laughed, and even Gilshamed managed to quirk a smile.

  “Weren’t you worried about your son, though?” she said.

  “Aye. A father always worries. Doesn’t matter if they’re five or thirty-five, pretending with sticks . . . or not pretending, and using swords. At some point, you gotta let ’em go and live their own life. Eventually you learn that the only way to keep the things you love out of danger is to put them in a cage.”

  “Wise words,” Lashriel said. She glanced up at her mate, rubbing a hand along his back. “Isn’t that right, Gil?”

  Gilshamed frowned, then shrugged, as if caught off guard. “I . . . suppose so.”

  Yandumar chuckled. “I blame age and my new title for that. Being emperor means I’ve got too much time to think.”

  “Gil told me some of what transpired while I was . . . asleep. Was there much trouble ascending to a position so long held by one so foul?”

  “Aye. But it was mostly of my own doing.”

  “Please, you simply must elaborate.”

  “Well, for one, I didn’t want to take the abyss-taken throne to begin with. Thank God wiser minds showed me how devastating that would have been. Rekaj’s death left a void of power, and if someone hadn’t filled it in, well, there was no lack of greedy souls who would have snatched up whatever control they could get their hands on. The revolution would have looked like a skirmish next to the bloodbath that would have followed. I was just the unlucky bastard the task happened to fall to.”