The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  “You’re wrong about that, too,” Jasside said.

  Vashodia sneered at her. “Don’t tell me you still claim to know me. That assertion has been proven false, time and time again.”

  “I don’t need to know you, or anyone else for that matter, to know that no one is capable of darkness alone. Because I see, now, the light in every soul. The light that binds. That strips away differences. That has the capacity for things like compassion and forgiveness and love.”

  Shaking her head, Vashodia turned her back on everyone. “You’re all fools. I will take no part in what will surely be a suicidal venture.”

  “Suicide, eh? Sounds more appealing than what’s in store for the rest of us.”

  Jasside turned to see Yandumar standing in the doorway. “Is there news?” she asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Yandumar said. “I just got word that a ruvaki fleet is dropping troops on the Frozen Fangs, just outside the influence zone of the southern territory’s voltensus.”

  “Have they reached the mainland?” Mevon asked.

  “Not yet. But they will by the time we get there. The few troops we have stationed there won’t hold them for long.”

  “Well then,” Jasside said. “If we’re going to try something, it will have to be now. The only question left to answer is, who should go?”

  “I will, of course,” said Mevon, smiling. “Don’t think you can spit in the abyss’s eye without me.”

  She smiled back at him. “I hadn’t planned on leaving you behind.”

  “I’ll go too,” Tassariel said.

  “And me,” Draevenus added.

  Jasside nodded to them. She had expected no less but was still grateful for their lack of hesitation. The four of them should be able to protect each other while staying unnoticed until . . . well . . . until they did what needed to be done. However that might end up looking.

  “I think I should go, as well,” Arivana said.

  Jasside felt her eyes go wide at the words, but it was Tassariel who spoke up first.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the valynkar woman said, putting an arm on the queen’s shoulder. “You’re no fighter, and wherever we end up will be dangerous.”

  “Maybe. But if we’re to make a gesture of peace, surely we’ll try to avoid fighting if at all possible?”

  “What about the refugees?” Jasside added. “You’ve taken to overseeing their care. Who will do that if you’re gone?”

  “Claris can fill in in my stead. She’s been doing most of the work anyway. Besides, there’s someone I need to bring. Someone whose presence may mean the difference between being killed outright . . . or being heard.”

  Nodding, Jasside swallowed the lump in her throat, understanding the queen’s point, even if she didn’t like putting someone so young in harm’s way.

  But Arivana is a child no longer, and if we fail, no place in the world will be safe.

  Jasside looked to see if Vashodia had any parting words but couldn’t find the short figure anywhere. She’d likely already departed to save the world on her own terms. “Very well,” Jasside said. “Try to get some sleep tonight, everyone. We leave at dawn.”

  Chapter 22

  Though it was officially summer, this close to the empire’s southern tip meant that on a warm day you only needed one heavy coat instead of two. But as he was high enough to see both of the Frozen Fangs, despite the hundred leagues between them, up where the wind slashed the skyship’s front edge like icy knives, even the two he had on weren’t enough to keep Yandumar from shivering ceaselessly.

  And I’ll be too far from any fighting for the heat of battle to warm me up. Probably a good thing, though. These old bones creak just from strapping on my weapons. They’d probably break if I actually tried to swing one.

  He glanced down at the troop formations marching across the tundra far below. Hundreds of rough squares, each ten thousand strong, stretched from horizon to horizon, hazy stains crawling like snails towards the two barren, frosty peninsulas. Already, it was the greatest force he’d ever seen assembled in one place, while millions more waited in reserve, only held back by the distance and time it took for the limited transports to make the round trip. Two days until the next wave arrived, then three more for the one after that. If things took a bad turn, he’d have to choose between holding out for reinforcements or sending those skyships into battle, knowing the latter would mean no more help was coming.

  A choice he was almost certain he’d have to make.

  This far from the action, he could only really affect things on the strategic scale, and so had appointed the two best tactical minds he knew of to command each front. General Idrus Torn had the western Fang, and King Chase Harkun of Sceptre had the east. Casters were placed with every unit whose sole task was to report in constantly, allowing those commanders to maintain a clear picture of the battlefield and maximize effectiveness of their troop placement. No one was under any delusions in that regard. There would be no heroic stands or brave charges, just a steady, slow retreat while conserving the lives of as many troops as possible.

  They didn’t need to defeat their foe, after all, only delay them long enough for his son and those with him to complete their task.

  If success was even possible.

  No, don’t think about that. You’ve been through too much to give in to despair now. Besides, if they fail, the only thing we’d have to figure out at that point is the best way to die. And death hasn’t scared me in a long, long time.

  “There are few reasons for smiling these days,” Gilshamed said, striding up next to him. “If you are willing to share, I would like to hear yours.”

  Yandumar grunted, just now aware of the state of his own face. “Abyss if I know,” he said. “Maybe I’m just relieved that—one way or another—this will all be over soon.”

  “Yes,” Gilshamed said, smiling himself, if with little joy. “An end to conflict does sound appealing, I must admit. As long as I have lived, I have far too few memories of peace.”

  “You’re not alone in that, old friend. But we’ve no one to blame but ourselves, really. No one forced us to live as we have, thinking if we fought long and hard enough we’d eventually run out of enemies. If anything, we only created more.”

  “Has a bit of wisdom finally come to you in your old age?”

  “Bah! I just no longer see the point in lying to myself. If that’s all it takes to qualify as wise, then—” he shrugged “—it’s not hard to see how we got into this mess in the first place.”

  “Indeed.”

  As it so often had in the past, that single word birthed a long moment of companionable silence. Memories rushed forth of the first time it had happened between them, back before they’d even returned to the Veiled Empire from their separate exiles. Even then he’d realized the value of such instances, and had begun to realize just how good a friend Gilshamed would become.

  Yandumar clapped a hand on the valynkar’s shoulder. “We’ve been through some dark days together, old friend. I pray we’ll only have to do it this one last time.”

  “As do I.” Gilshamed paused, his eyes glazing over momentarily. “It is strange to think about the path that led me here. I once defended this land against those who would take it by force, and when that failed, it was I who became the invader. Now, I defend it once again, completing the circle begun these two millennia past against an enemy far older still, all while fighting alongside those who were once the bitterest of foes.”

  “About as strange as some nobody soldier becoming emperor of this abyss-taken land.”

  Gilshamed smiled. This time, it even showed hints of real amusement. “In that, old friend, you are most certainly correct.”

  Yandumar dropped his hand from Gilshamed’s shoulder, only to wave it across the vista before them. “I suppose it doesn’t matter how we got here. I’m just glad that two used-up old men are still around when it matters. That maybe we can even make a difference and leave some
thing behind for the generations to come. Something other than regret.”

  “A better wish I have yet to hear.” Gilshamed’s gaze darted past him, and the valynkar cringed. “Let us hope we have strength enough to make it come to pass.”

  Yandumar turned, then sighed immediately when he saw Orbrahn marching towards them. “What is it now?” he demanded. “The transports delayed by another abyss-taken storm?”

  “What?” Orbrahn said. “No, nothing like that. I just received word from our forward scouts attached to the local garrisons.”

  “Have they begun contesting the crossings yet?”

  Orbrahn shook his head. “They never got the chance. They’re retreating as we speak . . . what’s left of them, anyway.”

  Too soon. The ruvak had to cross a gorge fifty paces wide from the last ice pillar to reach the mainland, and would have been vulnerable to even a handful of defenders. They should have held for longer than this. “What happened?”

  “They were in position, ready to throw back the first bridges, when the attack came. From the sky.”

  “Impossible,” Yandumar snapped. “We’re well within range of the southernmost voltensus. No ruvaki skyskips can fly here.”

  “I didn’t say they were ruvaki ships, did I?”

  Yandumar felt his blood go cold. “How many?”

  “A few dozen that we know of. But that was more than enough to smash our outposts along the Shelf. They could be hiding more.”

  “They shot down hundreds of our skyships in battles past. We’ll have to assume every one of them. But how they abyss did they get them working again? Not to mention figuring out how to fly them?”

  “That, at least, is explainable,” Gilshamed said. “When the need for casters became too great, we began modifying the controls so that anyone skilled enough could become a pilot. It was expedient at the time. None of us foresaw this . . . drawback.”

  Yandumar sighed. “The next wave is still two days out. Looks like we’ll need our winged assets involved in matters sooner than we had planned.”

  Gilshamed nodded. “I will move them forward and instruct them to keep their eyes on the sky. You do realize that once we commit our own skyships—”

  “I know!” Yandumar paused and took a deep breath, unable to believe that the dreaded decision had come so soon. He turned his gaze toward Orbrahn. “Tell Chase and Idrus that we can forget about trying to slow the ruvak. From this moment forward, we’re in a fight for our lives.”

  “No, no, no,” Tassariel said, leaning over Draevenus and pointing. “That one is for pitch, that one is for roll, and this one is for yaw.”

  Draevenus scratched his forehead. “Then what does the lever do?”

  “Thrust. You’d know that if you were listening the first time.”

  “Hey, I’m trying. And how did you become such an expert at piloting anyway?”

  “Jasside taught me.”

  “Ah. Well since she designed the ship, I suppose I’ll have to trust you, then.”

  “You didn’t before?”

  “Umm . . . yes? I mean, of course I did. Absolutely.”

  “You’re a horrible liar.”

  “Not true at all. Why, I once persuaded an entire village into thinking I was the mayor’s long-lost son. Without wearing a disguise.”

  “Really?”

  “No. But I had you convinced, didn’t I?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Admit it!”

  Tassariel straightened, crossing her arms. “Fine. Now, are you ready to start piloting or not?”

  Draevenus shrugged. “The ship is flying perfectly on its own. Why ruin a good thing?”

  “Because it’s your shift. And if we do have to change course, that moment is not the best time to learn how.”

  “Point taken.” Draevenus exhaled heavily, reaching for the controls. “I suppose you just—”

  The skyship lurched. Tassariel heard glass breaking in one of the cabins below, and from the deck came a nauseated cry.

  Ebony hands shot upward as if they’d touched something hot. A moment later, the vessel’s flight smoothed out, the balancing mechanisms within returning it to equilibrium automatically.

  “Easy,” she said, leaning in again—much closer this time. She slipped her fingers through his and guided his hand back to the controls. “You just need to be a little more gentle.”

  He turned towards her, opening his mouth as if to speak, but the motion only brought his face in line with her chest. And with her blouse hanging just loose enough, he couldn’t help but get an eyeful. His gaze lingered a beat longer than an unexpected glance could account for—not that there was much to see—but somehow, she found herself smiling.

  And why should that surprise you, exactly? It’s not as if he were some lewd, gawking stranger. He’s been far more than that to you for far longer than you want to admit. Just be glad he’s finally seeing you as a woman.

  With his eyes now fixed firmly forward, peering out the glass windows of the pilot’s cabin into the setting sun, Draevenus cleared his throat. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this.”

  Tassariel lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? I’ve seen you put a dagger through an eye at twenty paces. Hands that nimble—” she paused to give one a squeeze “—can handle this.”

  “Yes, but I had hundreds and hundreds of years to perfect that one skill. Learning new things—quickly, anyway—hasn’t always worked out for me before.”

  “Well, there’s your problem. Stop living in the past so much, and instead start living for the now.”

  Because, she didn’t need to add out loud, that might be all we have left.

  His gaze shot to her, penetrating in its intensity. Tassariel matched it. Neither looked away.

  After a long moment, he smiled. “You’ve convinced me. I think I’ll give it another try.”

  “Good,” she said, returning the smile. “Just remember, no one expects you to be perfect. Just keep trying to improve and learn from your mistakes. That’s all anyone can ask.”

  “Right.”

  He placed his hands on the controls once more, but this time his motions were slow and steady, and the ship responded in kind.

  “Tassariel?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you. I . . . really like the color of your hair.”

  “Thank you, Draevenus. That’s a very kind thing to say.”

  “Feeling any better?” Mevon asked, holding Jasside’s hair as she dabbed at her lips with a cloth.

  “A little,” she replied. “Sorry about that. I’m not used to being on skyships where I’m not the one controlling it. I didn’t realize how much it would affect my stomach.”

  “No need to apologize. Besides, most of it went into the waves.”

  “Small consolation, that. Do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Next chance you get, give your friend a hard time about his flying skills.”

  Mevon grunted, looking over his shoulder at the pilot’s cabin. “I think he has other things on his mind.”

  He helped her to her feet, then watched as—one hand to her stomach—she followed his gaze. A beat later, her eyes widened.

  The gestures and smiles, the lingering gazes, the tense yet comfortable way they moved around each other; even to someone as new to it as Mevon, it was impossible to miss.

  “They’re . . . in love,” Jasside said, eyes glistening in wonder.

  “Aye,” Mevon said, feeling as much in awe as she looked. “I wonder if he even knows.”

  “Come, now. He can’t be that oblivious.”

  “If you’d asked me a week ago, I probably would have told you it would take a miracle to open that man’s eyes to the possibility, buried as he is under that much regret.”

  “Sometimes, all it takes is the right person to come along.”

  “The right woman, you mean.”

  Jasside shrugged, grinning wryly. “It’s not my fault men are mostly idiot
s when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  “True,” Mevon said, laughing. “Still, it never ceases to amaze just how much it can change you, how little a man who knows love resembles who he is without it.”

  Jasside sighed, spinning away then leaning against his chest. “That,” she said, “is the only thing that gives me hope that this might work.”

  Mevon wrapped his arms around her, bending his nose to the top of her head and breathing deeply of her familiar, comforting scent. “Have you worked it out, then?”

  “Tass and I developed a method that should at least get their attention. But how effective it will be? How long that effect will last?” She shook her head. “There’s no way to tell until we try it. We’ve run out of guarantees, I’m afraid. All we have left is faith.”

  Mevon grunted. “No wonder Vashodia wanted nothing to do with this.”

  His wife’s laughter seemed the sweetest thing in his ears. Not only because his attempt at humor succeeded—a rare enough occurrence—but because he’d been able to impart upon her some small measure of joy. He didn’t always feel like he knew what he was doing, being a husband, but moments like this let him know he was at least walking in the right direction.

  And the fact that joy is even possible, when all seems so bleak, well . . . that gives me all the faith I need.

  Arivana collected fresh goblets—pewter, this time—as Daye finished cleaning up shards of shattered glass and spilt wine. Strange as it was to see a king on his hands and knees wiping the floor with an ever-reddening cloth, Sem Aira’s reaction seemed stranger still. She’d begun moving from her seat as soon as the skyship had finished its unexpected motions, as if to be first to the mess, only to stop herself willfully, shaking her head as she sat back, eyes going cold and watchful again. Yet as Daye discarded his spent rag and retrieved another, the waxy, grey fingers carefully folded in the woman’s lap still twitched from time to time, obviously uncomfortable to be idle while royal hands labored.

  All in all, Arivana didn’t know what to make of her former handmaiden’s behavior. Despite her efforts to reach through to her, it seemed that after all this time, still nothing had changed. Not for the first time, she wondered if it was a mistake to have come.