The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  Vashodia hated it.

  Her path eventually led her near the royal chambers, where she exited from the servants’ passage to another, even more hidden one, risking a brief use of energy to rearrange the molecules in the wall to allow her transversal of a seemingly solid mass. In complete darkness now, she smiled. This was the escape tunnel. To her left was the entrance to the royal bedchamber, while the path right would lead her out of the palace entirely to a narrow trail that led down the back side of the mountain upon which the city lay.

  Vashodia turned left, marched half a dozen paces down the stone passageway, and without hesitation pressed the button hidden in the mortar between two bricks.

  No one had bothered to change its location during the rebuild. Vashodia giggled as a section of the wall swung open in a blaze of firelight.

  She marched into the private quarters shared by her once-servant Yandumar and no-one’s-servant Slick Ren, feeling confident that it would be empty. It was the middle of the day, after all. With the emperor away, the empress surely had too many things on her plate to be caught sleeping in.

  Her assertion was confirmed after a cursory inspection of the bedchamber. Though she had a sudden urge to pry, she ignored the closets and dressers, reluctantly making her way to a spot on the wall near cupboards full of wineglasses. She found another hidden button near the floor, and marched through the swinging wall before it had even finished opening.

  A square platform awaited her. A pedestal held a single lever, pointed up, while dark, drafty emptiness surrounded her. She flipped the lever down and held on while the sorcerous construct began its long, quiet descent.

  Vashodia checked her pockets twice in the mark and a half it took to complete her downward journey. She was far below the palace now, below the city even, at an equal elevation to the base of the mountain. She stepped off the platform and began down the only path available, her footsteps echoing off the distant borders of the cavern. Two hundred paces.

  Then she stopped and looked up towards the pinnacle of the voltensus.

  “Hello, old friend. It has been a while.”

  A memory gripped her then, exposing her to a vulnerability she hadn’t thought to guard against. She remembered the face of the soul trapped within the obelisk. A face not that dissimilar from her own: young, girlish . . .

  Mierothi.

  This was the master voltensus, after all, capable of controlling the others. It needed to be stronger, more loyal. Who better to inhabit it than a childhood friend of the one who oversaw their construction?

  The conquest of this empire had seen all of her people change. But that moment had been the one where she realized they’d gone too far. That she could no longer support a regime bent on cannibalizing its weakest members to strengthen those already in power. She’d hidden away what little was left of her soul, and began laying plans to undo the very evil she’d helped to ascend into dominance. Though her exact goals had changed along the way, somehow that purpose had always remained steadfast.

  Confronted by more than she had been prepared for, Vashodia fell to her knees. She’d come here to harness the voltensi. With the proper instructions, the boundaries of their effect could be temporarily altered.

  In a single stroke, she could disable every ruvaki skyship on the planet.

  None of her supposed allies had known of this capability, and she hadn’t felt like telling them. Their gamble for peace had preoccupied them to the point of blindness. Even as frustrating as their stance was, Vashodia couldn’t help but wish them well. She’d done her best to keep Draevenus alive through the centuries, and Jasside had managed to remind her that she still had a soul. And that, broken as it was, it could still be mended.

  Sighing, Vashodia reached into her pockets. She withdrew the two soulstones she’d crafted and set them before her. One each for the only two people in this world who meant anything to her. They both still glowed, indicating that her brother and former apprentice yet lived.

  “I’ll give you a chance. I can do that, at least.”

  She waited, kneeling, watching the two rocks for tolls, unblinking eyes expecting any moment for the stones to lose their glow and crumble into dust as the connected lives met their end.

  But they never did.

  What she witnessed instead defied all expectation.

  In an instant, the glow from both soulstones faded to the barest whisper of a spark, but the matter itself remain whole.

  Jasside and Draevenus weren’t dead. They had simply gone beyond her reach. Out of bounds. Invisible.

  For the first time in her life, Vashodia didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

  Tassariel, considering herself the lone representative of light, was first to step off their skyship after it docked inside a relatively isolated opening near the midpoint of the monolithic Cloister. A single, unarmed ruvak was witness to their arrival. Tassariel sprang towards him, wrapping the inhuman male in a chokehold before he’d even begun to flee. The body in her arms soon fell limp and unconscious.

  The rest of her companions disembarked right after her. Together, they began treading the interior passages of the impossibly massive vessel.

  Draevenus joined her beside the first portal as the others crowded in close behind. “You remember the plan, right?” he asked.

  She tried not to roll her eyes. “Avoid detection but don’t draw our blades. Spilling blood will undermine our whole purpose in coming.”

  The mierothi sighed, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to patronize. It’s just—”

  “No more apologizing,” she said, flexing her fingers. “All that’s left for us . . . is action.”

  The only response Draevenus gave her was a smile.

  She glanced back over her shoulder as the others moved up to join them. Daye was first among them, with Arivana close behind, one guiding hand on the elbow of Sem Aira, who was bound at her wrists by ropes. Jasside kept several paces behind those three, and though she hadn’t energized yet, Tassariel knew the woman could activate a spell in the span of half a breath. Mevon brought up the rear, head and eyes on a constant swivel.

  “Ready?” Draevenus asked her.

  Tassariel nodded.

  They dashed through to the next hallway, splitting to either side. Draevenus leapt forward from shadow to shadow until almost out of sight, then gestured towards her. She repeated his motions, surging past him with care to keep herself exposed for as little time as possible. Once far enough, she turned to wave him on. The others followed, keeping close enough for hand signs to pass from her or Draevenus, but far enough to retreat without detection should the need arise.

  It was a game of patience played as hastily as they dared. There was a lot of ship to search, and none of them knew exactly what they were looking for.

  The skyship seemed strange in so many ways. She’d been aboard other ruvaki vessels, and while each had different flavors, they all seemed similar in purpose: tight interiors, built for economy of space and function. The Cloister felt nothing like that. Soaring archways lined every hall, full of color and light, if each a little faded, and footsteps echoed down endless, tiled corridors. Whereas on other skyships she’d never been able to escape the feeling of being on a moving construct, here it felt like being on a mountain.

  And undeniably, the Cloister felt old. Ancient. A piece of living history stronger than the pillars of the Valynkar High Council. The dust that filled her lungs with every breath held a stale quality reminiscent of a tomb, if not half so cheerful. Something—perhaps a lingering memory from the time of her possession—told her that Elos himself had seen this very vessel long ago, before humankind had ever stepped foot upon this world.

  Every beat spent inside the infernal thing scraped away at the hope that they would ever make it out again alive.

  From ahead, Draevenus flashed her a hand sign. It was different than she’d expected. Tassariel turned around and motioned for the others to gather close, then trotted towards the miero
thi.

  “What is it?” Jasside asked after everyone had arrived.

  Draevenus motioned over his shoulder. “There’s a staircase, just around the corner. I was thinking we should take it.”

  “Maybe,” Mevon said. “But which way? Up . . . or down?”

  Arivana patted Sem Air on the arm. “Any thoughts?”

  The ruvak shook her head. “I do not know this place. It is as alien to me as I must seem to you.”

  Tassariel caught herself staring at the woman, and nearly flinched when those inhuman eyes grazed past her own. She’d been trying to tell if Sem Aira were lying, she realized. But even watching as closely as she could, nothing about the woman seemed the least bit deceitful.

  “Let’s go up,” Tassariel said.

  “Why up?” Draevenus asked.

  “I don’t know. It seems logical for the ruvaki rulers to take the highest vantage point, doesn’t it? Besides, it’s better than going nowhere.”

  Nods greeted her last words—even from Sem Aira—and they began marching up the wide, spiraling staircase.

  They took on a similar posture as before, but due to the constrained space the gap between them all shortened to a single revolution of the steps. Every footfall resonated with far too much noise in her ears, but after a while she took a small measure of comfort from that. No ruvak had reason to be as quiet as she was being. They wouldn’t even try. If anyone else was actually on this accursed skyship, she was confident her friends would have ample warning of their approach.

  For almost a toll, they trudged onwards and upwards. Though they passed countless landings leading into each level of the Cloister, no one suggested that they exit the staircase—the air from the landings was sour. Stale. Even more lifeless than the one they’d entered on. What they sought would not be found on any such floor.

  Not that we’ve any clue where it will be found. I only hope that we’ll know it when we see it. If not, the ruvak won’t even have to kill us. We’ll wander these endless halls until we die of old age.

  After pausing to catch her breath and rub loose a cramp in her leg, Tassariel looked up to find Draevenus at her side.

  “Are we giving up tactical movements?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure it matters,” Draevenus replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  He planted one foot on the next stair and tilted his head. She followed, keeping pace. Their elbows brushed together every other step, but she didn’t move away from him. Neither did he move away from her.

  “Tell me what you sense,” he said. “What do your instincts say is waiting for us?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, without thinking. “I’m too tired to try feeling anything beyond this stairwell.”

  “As they intend, no doubt. I can’t exactly blame you for not seeing it yourself.”

  “Seeing what?”

  Draevenus sighed. “We’re being watched.”

  Cold flowed to the base of her spine, making her shiver despite the sweat drenching her skin. “Are you sure?”

  “Instincts,” he said, patting his chest but in no boastful manner. “I’ve had more time to hone them. Especially for situations like this.”

  Tassariel didn’t feel inclined to argue that point. “What do you think it means, though? If they know we’re here, yet haven’t tried to stop us . . . ?”

  “They either don’t consider us enough of a threat to warrant to bother rousing a defense, or—”

  “They’re leading us into a trap.”

  “Aye.” He leaned close. “We must continue to be wary, but I don’t see any more need for stealth.”

  “Agreed. What about the others?”

  “I’ll drop back and talk to Mevon. I’ll be surprised if he hasn’t already come to the same conclusion.”

  “Instincts?”

  He nodded. “Instincts.”

  Draevenus slowed his steps, leaving her once more in the lead. As he fell from sight behind her, she couldn’t help but think they were missing something. That there was perhaps a third option to explain the enemy’s reticence.

  That no matter what we do, it won’t make the slightest difference in the end.

  She tried to shake the thought away, but it refused to dislodge from her mind. And before she could announce victory, or concede defeat, something more pressing stole the rest of her attention.

  The stairwell had at last come to an end.

  Mevon stepped out alone into what proved to be a wide-open concourse, sniffing deeply. It smelled different from the other levels. Whereas the emptiness of them seemed the kind born of long neglect, the kind here seemed only temporary. The maze of suspended walkways, terraces, and sheltered alcoves before him was as still as a ruin, but held only a fraction of the dust. Whatever for, it had seen recent use.

  If something is going to happen, it will happen here.

  He advanced another dozen steps, fully isolated and exposed to every corner of the concourse.

  Nothing moved.

  Mevon knew why.

  With a sigh, he gestured behind him, urging his companions to emerge from the stairwell. No use delaying the inevitable. When there was no way to avoid a trap, the best thing to do was force it to spring when you were at your most ready. And if he was being honest with himself, Mevon was itching for some action.

  Justice was in his hands, yet turned perpendicular to his normal grip. Striking with the flat of his blades went against all his training, all his instinct, but that was what they’d all agreed upon. He would need to maintain absolute control.

  Seeing his beloved approach, and knowing what was in store should he fail, he had no trouble summoning the storm. No trouble at all.

  A beat after his companions all joined him, the ruvak did the first predictable thing he’d ever seen them do.

  “Here they come,” he said.

  From every shadowed corner, they emerged. Hundreds in the first breath. Thousands by the time he’d made a full sweep around with his eyes, with more pouring in every beat. He twirled his Andun once, conscious to retain his altered grip, but remained otherwise motionless.

  He felt the three casters behind him energize at last.

  Though they were too slow to raise barriers against the first attacks, Mevon wasn’t. Projectiles of some kind pierced the air in front of him. He flicked out Justice to meet them, sending the metal shards spinning towards the cavernous roof far overhead. Sparks of dark and light snapped on either side as Tassariel and Draevenus began batting more of them from the air with pinpoint applications of sorcerous power.

  Ruvaki troops closed in from all sides, silent but for the stamping of untold feet on the floor. They displayed none of the squawking savagery of those he’d faced before. They were disciplined, focused; two things he considered far more deadly than rage.

  The missiles stopped two beats before they drew within striking range. With less than twenty paces now separating them, Mevon tensed, preparing to lunge forward to meet them.

  But they drew no closer.

  The front ranks slammed to a halt on all sides with unnatural swiftness. Those behind continued forward, crashing into the backs of their compatriots with bone-crunching effect. Their silence was broken in a wave of cries laced with surprise and pain.

  Mevon looked over his shoulder at Jasside. Torrents of power reached out from her raised hands to the shield she’d erected, which let nothing through. Though the ruvak continued crowding around, testing the barrier at every point, they were, at the moment, in a stalemate.

  “They’ve played their hand,” Mevon said. “What now?”

  “Now?” Jasside said. “Well, I suppose we could always ask for directions. Anyone know how to say ‘take me to your leader’ in ruvakish?”

  “It’s not called that,” Sem Aira said, surprising Mevon with the very sound of her voice. “But they’re speaking an odd dialect. Very old-fashioned. I’m having a difficult time understanding them.”

  Mevon grunted. He had
a difficult time taking anything the woman said at her word. “If you can’t translate, then why did we even bring you?”

  “She said difficult, not impossible,” Arivana snapped at him. The queen turned up an eyebrow toward her charge. “Isn’t that right?”

  Sem Aira hesitated, then nodded.

  Mevon wasn’t the least bit reassured.

  He swung back to survey the enemy and was just in time to observe a ripple pass through them, stifling all movement and sound within those thousands in a mere heartbeat. He couldn’t even hear them breathe.

  From a wide, dark doorway directly opposite the one his party had entered from, Mevon witnessed the emergence of six . . . things.

  He couldn’t properly call them figures, for the very air around them was warped, spilling chaotic energy like blood from crossed wounds. Mevon’s whole body ached in a way he’d not felt in years, not since Voren had begun laying waste to the Imperial palace with twisted power not his own. He took a step towards them without even making the decision to do so.

  “Jasside,” he called out in warning.

  “I see them,” she replied.

  “Is it a problem?”

  Jasside paused before answering, and Mevon felt the first twinge of what might be real fear. “I . . . don’t know. These aren’t mere conduits. If they were, I’d put the odds in our favor, but I don’t have the slightest idea what they’re capable of. But I can tell that those we’ve faced before were only borrowers of ruvaki sorcery. These are its true masters.

  “If we weren’t currently averse to shedding blood, it would make for an interesting day.”

  “What do we do?” Tassariel asked.

  “Prep a shield, just beneath mine, then we’ll both add another layer just to be safe. Daye, join Mevon in the front. If the opportunity arises, I may lower a section of the shield to see if I can bait them into striking one of you. Draevenus—”