“I trust her enough. She won’t try anything. And if she does, Arivana can handle it.”
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable letting—”
“Look, we all had our part to play in this. Sem Aira was my wife’s responsibility. If she has faith enough in the woman, then so do I. So should we all.”
Draevenus tapped his fingers along his dagger hilts, musing the man’s word for several beats. “So be it.”
He stepped around the unconscious ruvak until standing over his head, then knelt, pressing his knees into the arms as Daye lowered his weight onto the legs and waist. Draevenus peered up at Arivana. “Ready?”
The queen tugged Sem Aira closer gently, sharing a quick glance with her before nodding.
Draevenus pulled a stone from his pocket. Jasside had conjured it just before she’d taken off with the others. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it smelled strongly of salt, and she’d assured him it would do the trick.
He placed it directly beneath their prisoner’s nose.
The figure jerked beneath him, alternating between coughing, sneezing, wheezing, and squawking out what could only be curses. Draevenus wasn’t worried about the noise; the walls in this place were thick.
Once the tirade had passed, for the most part, Arivana and Sem Aira knelt at the ruvak’s side.
“Go on,” Arivana said.
Sem Aira took a deep breath, then began speaking to the prisoner in their own language.
The exchange went on for some time. Sem Aira did most of the talking at first, but eventually the guard began adding to the conversation. Based on her facial expressions, however, he wasn’t giving the answers she was hoping for.
More than once, Draevenus caught the prisoner’s gaze fall to the bindings on her wrists. The words that came out of his mouth after carried a vitriol that needed no translation.
Knowing the others couldn’t keep the ruvak running in circles forever, he waited until a lull in the conversation, then interjected. “Well? Has he said anything useful yet?”
Sem Aira hesitated a moment, eyes filling with fear, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. He’s being very reticent. All he keeps saying is that it’s too well-guarded and that we’ll never find it.”
“He said both those things?”
“Well, yes. As a single thought, but that is the best translation I can come up with.”
A single thought? Too well-guarded . . . we’ll never find it. Something about that seems contradictory. But knowing the ruvak, it might not be.
“Ask him where it is again,” he said. “But slowly this time. And do it over and over until he either gives you the right answer, or I tell you to stop.”
Sem Aira nodded, turning her gaze towards the guard again.
Draevenus stopped listening. The answer that he spoke didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that did were his eyes. And though they flicked around in seemingly random patterns, each time the question was asked, they inevitably paused for the briefest of moments while staring at the same exact spot on the ceiling.
“That’s enough,” Draevenus said. “Tie him up.”
“But he didn’t answer,” Sem Aira insisted.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, smiling. “He pointed us in just the right direction. That’s good enough to start, and I know the person who can lead us to the finish.”
Jasside concentrated, furious with herself for not thinking of this earlier. She’d known the power the ruvak commanded was peerless when it came to deceiving the senses. The best way they could guard their most precious assets was to ensure intruders had their instincts tied in knots. Logic then dictated that the place they would be found would be the place they never thought to look. A place surrounded in a powerful layer of chaos magic, yet one so subtle that it rebuked all sense directed towards it without letting anyone realize they’d been turned away.
Now, she hovered once more in the very same shaft they’d fallen down earlier, sending out hair-thin tendrils of darkness throughout the shadows inhabiting the Cloister around her. With the information Draevenus had given her, and a remembered lesson from Vashodia about seeing past the bounds set by chaos to reveal the true nature of that which it tried to hide, it was only a matter of time before she found what they were looking for.
As long as they don’t find us first.
Her companions sat on the platform around her, doing their best to keep quiet. She had debated sending them out as a distraction, but decided against it. The ambient darkness in the vessel was weak before the unrelenting torrents of chaos, but she was confident it was enough to mask her actions. Besides, once she found the place, there was a good chance an alarm of some kind would be set off, and she wasn’t even sure she would know about it. When the time came, they would have to move quickly.
A hundred tiny tentacles reached out from each fingertip, probing aimlessly. She didn’t try to guide, leaving them to wander and turn as they willed. She focused not on where they were going, but rather on where they’d been. Try as they might to obfuscate, the ruvak still occupied physical space. If she was right, those subtle flows of chaos that surrounded their destination would unerringly turn away her little, black tendrils without giving them a second thought.
All she had to do was look for the one place none of them ever went.
After almost half a toll of sweat-filled search and careful analysis, she finally found what she was looking for.
Without a word, the others began getting to their feet. Maybe it was the slight acceleration of the platform; maybe it was the determined smile on her face. Whatever it was, the feeling of readiness overtook the air around her as solid, controlled breaths left seven sets of lungs. It was the moment before they all headed into danger unknown, with no hope of ever walking out again, yet none of them faltered in their resolve, or made the slightest mention of retreat. Despite all the battles she’d faced before, this was the first time in her life when she felt she knew what it meant to be amongst heroes.
It was a shame that the moment was ruined by another bout of nausea.
Again? I thought I was over this.
Jasside reached a hand down to try to soothe her writhing stomach, a feeling that had come on out of nowhere, and fought down the acidic bile rising up her throat. All while keeping the platform moving towards their destination.
She turned her attention towards her tasks—what few she had left in this world—as a means of distracting herself from the discomfort. Whether it worked or not, she was glad to feel the nausea fade by the time she’d flown them all as far as the shaft could take them.
“This is it,” she said. “Once I open the way, there’s no holding back. We go in fast, keep close, and don’t let anything stop us until we’re in position. None of us know what to expect, but as long as we continue to trust that we have each other’s backs, I know we can survive anything they might throw at us.”
As far as rousing speeches went, hers certainly lacked the polish and fire of great leaders such as Gilshamed, but it seemed to impart the confidence she hoped to share with her companions. Mevon stepped in front of her, every muscle rippling with readiness as he nodded tightly and gave her a small, secret smile. She saw reflected on his face the depth of the conviction she’d been trying to convey.
She lifted a hand to rearrange the molecules of the wall before them with a brushstroke of dark energy, then guided the platform through.
Yandumar watched the command ship disappear behind white-clad mountains fifty leagues to the north, on its way to Fyrdra, the capital city of the nearest district, to begin emptying it of civilians. When it had gone, he turned back to the palisades. Metal spikes lined the wall before him, pointing outward, a set of steel teeth to ward off threats from the frozen plains. This was the largest and most centrally located fortress along the southern frontier of his empire, guarding the only major pass between the empty lands before him and the inhabited regions behind.
It was where he had chosen to
make his stand.
“Are you sure about this?” Gilshamed asked from his side.
Yandumar grunted. “Are you?”
Gilshamed leaned forward, exhaling deeply as he wrapped gloved hands around a pair of spikes, displaying a depth of exhaustion Yandumar had never seen before in the man.
“I am weary, Yan,” Gilshamed began. “All the ships have been wrenched from the sky, half our troops are slain, and hundreds of my kin will never spread their wings again. The other passes are narrow, and the soldiers you sent to each of them will be able to hold for days, if not longer. The fastest way through is here . . . and the ruvak know it.”
Yandumar clapped the valynkar on the shoulder. “I hear ya, Gil. Now tell me your reasons not to stay.”
Tired as he knew him to be—almost as tired as Yandumar felt himself—it took Gilshamed a moment before he appeared to get the joke. A ghost of a smile painted his friend’s lips. “Even here, at the end of all things, you never change.”
Yandumar shrugged. “Too late now, for better or worse.”
“Worse, I am sure.”
“Ha!”
He turned to survey what troops remained with him. A hundred thousand were still in reserve, but could only travel by foot and were weeks away, while half that many were spread out along the mountain range, backed up by flying patrols of mierothi and valynkar to ensure no ruvaki troops sneaked through. Here, he had the rest. He’d known it might come to this, so he’d held Ilyem and her Hardohl, along with the Imperial Guard—what little remained of both—out of the fighting, to stay fresh and prepare this fortress for siege.
Three thousand men and women.
To guard three thousand paces of ground.
Against three million unrelenting enemy soldiers.
That was the closest estimate, anyway. But at least it was only ground assault they had to deal with. All the sorcerous weapons, on both sides, had long since run out of destructive energy, and there were no casters with strength or time enough to recharge them. The battle here would be one of swords and arrows, of steel and blood and grit. The kind of fight in which he used to excel.
And perhaps I can again . . . one last time.
“Do you remember when we fought to capture my son?”
“I do.”
“Well, old friend, as far as I see it, there are no emperors or councilors here. Only soldiers. Do me one last favor and help me feel like one again.”
Gilshamed nodded.
Yandumar drew his swords, tightening his grip as power flowed into his limbs, just as the foremost ranks of ruvaki troops marched into view below.
Mevon had been ready for opposition of some kind, but not like this. Elite guards, such as those three he’d fought in on the foothills of Sceptre, or sorcerous wards, or even mundane traps and obstacles and mazes to keep them ensnared.
This fog that surrounded them had not been what he’d expected.
Sometimes filled with bright colors, sometimes absent of anything but grey; sometimes slow and wet and cold, sometimes swirling with dryness and heat; sometimes echoing his footsteps for what seemed like leagues, sometimes smothering his very breath.
But always . . . always blinding.
Had he not insisted they travel in a line while holding on to each other, he was sure they would have all drifted apart by now, left to wander the mists alone until their bodies gave way to hunger and thirst. Though he led, he had no idea where they were going. Already, his sense of time had twisted, forestalling any guess as to how long they’d been inside. None of his companions so much as whispered. They must have felt as he did: a certain kind of fear that came when facing the unknown and unknowable, which left you bereft of all but the most basic instincts.
And when even those fail to provide direction, all you have left is stubborn perseverance.
So he marched on, feeling foolish for finding comfort in the grip of his Andun. Something told him it would be of no use.
“There’s . . . something up ahead.”
Mevon jolted to a halt and pivoted until facing behind him. The words had sounded as if they’d come from the other side of a thick, glass window, and he was having trouble locating their source.
“Who said that?” he demanded.
“I did,” Sem Aira said, lifting a hand and pointing. “Look there.”
He turned again and squinted in the indicated direction. After a moment he saw what she must have meant. Something solid, in a place where nothing seemed to stay the same, not even the ground beneath his feet. Something real.
“I see it, too,” Jasside said. She caught his gaze, offering an expression that said, without words, I love you, and lead on, and be careful, all at once. That her face also held that same formless fear wasn’t worth considering.
Mevon glanced quickly over his companions, to make sure they hadn’t lost anybody, then began treading towards what he hoped would be the final stop on their trek.
The fog continued to billow. Judging distance was impossible, and more than once he lost his way entirely. But the place showed up again each time. It was almost as if it wanted to be found, but only by those willing to devote themselves to the journey.
Or maybe I’m just going insane, which isn’t an impossibility. If my father is any indication, I’m headed there eventually.
Just when it seemed like the trip was never going to end, Mevon stumbled forward into a roughly circular area completely free of fog. Looking up and around, he saw that they were surrounded by scores of strange, ephemeral shapes, hanging suspended by nothing he could see.
Each of them reverberated with oceans of chaotic energy. Combined, it felt enough to drown him.
Before he could so much as open his mouth, something closed in around them. He thought it was the fog again at first, but it was stronger, more malevolent, singeing the very air around him until he felt as if he were about to choke. All without coming into contact.
If it can do this without even touching . . .
“Collapse!” he called.
His companions, if they hadn’t been expecting the command, still knew exactly what to do. Mevon stayed still, while Draevenus and the women came to huddle together at his back, reaching hands to him or Daye, who closed in the tight formation from behind.
The assault—for he was now sure that’s exactly what it was—continued, but grew no more potent. After almost a mark of withstanding it, Mevon knew the faceless enemy dared not press their power any closer.
“ENOUGH!”
The chaos withdrew, but only but a hair.
“If you could kill us, you’d have succeeded by now. And if we’d wished you dead, we would not have come aboard this vessel so quietly. We came to talk. So cut the theatrics and show yourselves!”
For a moment, he almost thought they would. But the assault did not diminish. In fact, it couldn’t seem to make up its mind, waxing strong one moment, from one direction, only to wane weak again the next. It was either an attempt to throw them off-balance . . .
. . . or these ruvak aren’t as unified as we thought.
Before he could follow up that thought with any sort of logical response, he heard them: voices, crackling and chittering like a flock of mad birds, echoing from everywhere in the chaotic soup surrounding them.
The rush of sound struck him like a cleaver, cutting through all reason, all sanity. He fell to his knees and held hands over his ears. To no avail. The voices continued pecking away at his mind, his soul, devouring all sense. Justice crashed to the floor without only a muffled thud to mark its fall.
But then . . . something changed. One voice screeched out a note disparate from the others—loudly—bringing many to immediate silence. Within a few beats, another joined this opposing chorus. Then another. And another. And though it didn’t seem to defy the ongoing assaults, it did seem to draw some of their focus away.
It wasn’t long until both discordant melodies sang in equal strength. A moment later, the assaults on body and mind abated, at
least temporarily, followed by the most surprising thing yet.
Someone spoke in his own tongue.
“Speak then, human,” the scratchy ruvaki voice said, echoing in strange harmony with itself. “Speak, and tell us why you have come.”
Mevon looked over his companions, his friends. He met each gaze, and found in all of them the encouragement he needed to go on. It didn’t feel right to go first—talking had never been his strongest skill—but if they knew one thing about the ruvak, it was that they respected strength. There was no doubt in his mind, then, that they respected him.
“We are here,” he said, “to ask you for peace.”
From what seemed a million separate throats, cackling laughter followed his words.
“We are winning this war, in case you could not tell,” said another voice, just as odd as the first. “What need have we of peace?”
“You call this a war? It hasn’t felt like that. Not from my side. It felt like extermination. Like genocide. And with how many of your own soldiers’ lives you threw away for the slightest advantage, it most certainly felt like madness.”
There was a momentary silence, the kind that always preceded an enraged outburst. He was sure they hadn’t expected to be insulted.
He pressed on, not giving them the chance to voice their anger. “I’m sure you consider your cause, and everything done in its name, just. Among my people, there are few who could claim to understand justice as I do. I was born into a life that preached it above all else. All else, that is, but loyalty. But when those two seemingly wholesome things are wrapped in unquestioning and unconscionable violence, then what you end up with isn’t wholesome at all. It is vile. A poison unto all it touches. A rancid stain upon everything it claims to stand for.
“It is everything I used to be.”
He paused again, for breath, ostensibly, but also to gauge his audience. Silent they remained, but it had changed, no longer one waiting in anger, but one steeped in contemplation. He hadn’t been confident when his companions had elected him to engage first, but at least they seemed to be listening.
The Light That Binds Page 41