The Gates of Golorath

by R. M Garino

  Arielle would not be sleeping tonight.

  She bowed her head and followed the others. She had ten minutes to drop her gear and get herself to the Ledge.

  As she approached the carved entrance to House Fel’Mekrin she paused, chancing a glance back at the prisoner on the stockade. He was still watching her, she knew, his face and form indistinct in the distance. His sin’del, however, flared when she cast a glance his way. The problem was, hers responded in kind. He raised his hand as best he could and waved at her.

  Arielle jogged into the cavern.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Prisoner

  Angus Kal’Parev stood upon the Rock. He started his tour at the Gates nine days ago. For the past seven he’d stood in the icy, seeping chill that worked its way by slow degrees into his bones. For seven nights he’d endured the sharp, freezing cold that tore against his skin in an effort to scour and leave sere his soul. For seven days he’d stand upon waking, shackled and forced to hunch, for he’d refused to rest until pulled down by the grips of exhaustion.

  He would not give them the pleasure. No. He would stand until he fell, or until his allocated time was done. He had promised himself this, and he was, after all, a Kal’Parev.

  His thoughts slid through an endless chain of associations, taking leaps that his more ordered intellect avoided. For the first six days he had detached his higher mind, allowing his primal mind to attend to the privations of his flesh and thereby ignoring the pain, as the Magi had trained him to do. His higher mind was therefore free to explore more esoteric paths. He was able to review and fully visualize all nine chains that formed the orotund structure, create a proof to contradict Belg’s Continuum, and opened no less than twenty verses of Ts’an’s Perdition of Perception.

  He knew full well that they could break him if they chose. Anyone could be broken, after all. That was not his point. This was not even an attempt to show how strong he was. Rather, he wanted to expose them for their injustice through the only means they had left him. He wanted to push them, to drive them to great lengths to break him; great public lengths that would show everyone how far they had fallen, how far these arrogant Elc’atar Guards had strayed from the truth in their hubris.

  They demand uniformity, he raged in his mind. They promoted discipline to such a degree that it bred compliance, subservience. That was the exact opposite of what El’Cain had stood for. He had championed individuality. Angus had read the journals, knew entire sections by memory, and held them close to his heart. The expression of creativity. The development of the soul. It was in the embrace of these ideals that El’Cain had died. It was not discipline that enabled him to face the hordes of the Apostate. That had come from the core of who he was, and a love for those he protected. It did not come from any indoctrination he had received.

  On the evening of the seventh day Angus’ ability to resist crumbled. A set of hazel eyes had met his, forcing the two halves of his mind to unify. The agonies and deprivations of the past days sought to drive him down beneath their weight. Only his mulish stubbornness kept him standing now. His thoughts stumbled and tripped over themselves, different ideas careening off each other, while others were subsumed in the maelstrom. He did not have the strength to separate his awareness again.

  And through it all, a singular face stared up at him in his memory, and a pulsing radiance of light drove all the shadows from his mind. She had returned to him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Ledge

  Another Mala’kar, Kolsch, was waiting for her as she stepped into the biting cold of the platform. A thin, towering officer, he stood with his bare arms crossed against his chest in defiance of the elements. His head was shaved bald, bundled tattoos ran up his arms, and piercings of gold and silver decorated each of his pointed ears. In an unusual display, the tuft of a long, braided beard protruded from his chin. His smooth, hollow cheeks only enhanced the elongated effect. Arielle’s throat went dry as she met his glower.

  “Welcome to my Ledge, Rhen’val,” he said as she came to attention before him.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Kolsch’s smile was a predatory, unpleasant thing. Unfolding his arms and tilting his head, he slid up to her, far too close to be polite. His gaze roamed across her form, making a show of moving in slow sweeps from her feet to her crown. He walked around her, his pace measured with a casual, deliberant tread.

  “I hear you made quite a display of yourself,” he said, his voice a near whisper tickling her ear. With him standing behind her, Arielle forced herself to keep her attention focused ahead.

  His lips playing across the side of her neck as he spoke. He ran his hand along the silver ponytail that hung down her back and swayed in the endless breeze. The color of her hair marked her family, and its meaning would not be lost on him. Still, he persisted. She clenched her fists, and willed herself to unlock them.

  “Took a fancy to our captive Kal’Parev, you did,” he said. “Showed the entire parade field your pretty little lights. We saw them all the way up here.”

  “I was not aware—”

  Kolsch pulled her head back by her hair, the movement sharp and unexpected. Her arms rose of their own accord as she fought to regain her balance. His grip, however, was solid, and she could not turn her head a fraction. Her jaw ached from the force with which she clenched her teeth, but she lowered her arms and willed her shoulders to relax.

  “This is not a discussion, bitch,” he said. “You will speak when I give you leave to do so. Is that understood?”

  Arielle did not answer.

  “Try nodding,” Kolsch said. She did so, and it felt as if half her hair was trying to free itself from her scalp. Not a sound escaped her lips.

  “Good girl,” he said. “You're a fast learner. Not like your brother. He was a stubborn one. I had to show him time and time again who is Master of the Ledge. But you’re a smart girl, are you not? Good. So listen, and listen once. None of your pretty, little lights up here. You keep your goodies tucked away good and tight. I see you making eyes at anyone, and I’ll throw you from the heights myself. Do I make myself clear?”

  Arielle inclined her head again. It felt as if she had severed the remainder of her ponytail.

  Kolsch pushed her away from him. Arielle prided herself on the fact that she didn’t lose her balance.

  “You have the center left circuit, harlot,” Kolsch said. “One hour before dawn you’ll be relieved. Stay awake. Stay alert. I find you sleeping, and you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

  Arielle glared at him over her shoulder, her nostrils flaring as she fought back her outrage. Kolsch threw his head back and laughed, turning his back to her as he walked away.

  She noticed the graduates and Blades watching, mirth filling their faces. Arielle squared her shoulders and walked to her assigned position. Let one of them say anything, she told herself, nursing her fury. Just one.

  They stared at her. One waved. One blew her a kiss. But all held their silence as they continued their circuits.

  Arielle stalked through hers, trying to retain what she could of her dignity. Her fists clenched and unclenched. The rage was controlled, but it rolled through her sin’del in a viscous tumult.

  The stars drifted across the sky as the night dragged on.

  The view was different from this vantage. From below, the observer only saw what was behind the empty archway. High above the Gates, however, she could see not only the complex, but also a swirling eddy of light and energy which framed the nighttime landscape beyond. The darkness was thick and unwelcome on the other side of the Gates, plunging down into the ragged landscape of Golan’s Pass. She scanned the scene as she marched west. A sadness crept over her at this point of the circuit, and she pushed it back. This was the backwash of despair from the Gate’s enchantments, and it contained an element of rage she could not place. Ignoring it, she made a quick turn on the balls of her feet, and headed east, scanning the barracks. All lights were extinguished, and the rest of h
er squad were comfortable in their bunks. The cold of the ground paled in comparison to the Ledge as the night wore on. Her constant movement did little to keep her warm.

  The platform was wider than she had expected, having seen it only from the canyon floor. From there, it was a dark bridge above the multicolored granite; the heads and shoulders of those manning it were indistinct specks in the distance. The view from here told a different story. It was deep enough for four soldiers to stand abreast, with a raised wall protecting against the sheer drop to either side. She could see the top of the wall, but little else. Not for the first time in life, she cursed her lack of height.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Disappointment

  The first light of dawn had begun to tint the mountain peaks when a Blade finally approached Arielle.

  She stopped her circuit, fingering the hilt of the sword at her waist, her left foot sliding behind her. He was more than an hour late. The Areth’kon prized punctuality among its many virtues, especially when reporting to an assigned post. Pressing her thumb against the scabbard, Arielle exposed an inch of the blade, ready for what could come. The fabled city of Sa’Doran fell to the Apostate through the treachery of a single Lethen’al. Exhausted as she was, Arielle would not let the Gates fall during her watch. She watched him approach. If he did not reveal his intention before entering the range of her sword, she would strike him down.

  She tightened her grip on the hilt, and her sin’del contracted around her. The Blade stopped a scant few steps outside her range, his thumbs hooked behind the buckle of his belt. His dark hair blew carelessly in the wind, and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “El’Cain sends his regards,” he said with a wave, voicing the correct password that would relieve her of her post. His sword was buckled on the right side.

  Arielle did not move from her position.

  “Have you forgotten the pass phrase, little one?” he said. Now, he was smiling outright.

  Arielle did not respond. Her breathing slowed, and she focused on the movements she would require her body to make.

  As expected, he moved closer, bending to erase his height advantage and get a better look at her face.

  Arielle lunged, grabbed him by the side of his neck and dragged him to his knees. He came to rest across her leg in an unnatural position. The point of her thumb pressed against the hollow of his throat and she grabbed his right wrist with her other hand. She pressed her fingers into the meat just as her grandfather had taught her to aggravate the nerves beneath. The Blade gasped and grimaced against the pain. All traces of humor were gone, washed away in his agony. He moved a fraction, and Arielle increased the pressure on his wrist. His movement stopped.

  “You are relieved, graduate,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Still, Arielle did not reply.

  “Yeh are over an hour late, Laundrin,” a voice called from behind Arielle. She did not turn, but extended her sin’del behind her. “Yeh give the right phrases, but offer no explanation for the delay. What do yeh expect her to do?”

  “Piss off, Kal’Parev!” he called back to the figure behind Arielle. “I don’t talk to mongrels.”

  Arielle’s stomach clenched at the mention of the name, but still she did not turn.

  “’Tis sound advice, yeh stupid Mer’Chien bastard,” the newcomer said with a laugh. “The girl is exhausted, and deserves an explanation. Now have some courtesy and explain yeh self, or we’ll air our differences when she’s done with yeh.”

  The color of Laundrin’s face deepened to a rich purple. Arielle added a bit more pressure to help convince him.

  “Kolsch told me to wait!” Laundrin said. “He’s fecking watching right now! So let go and get yourself off this Ledge to where he’s waiting!”

  Still, Arielle did not reply.

  “What more do you want from me?” Laundrin yelled, exasperated by Arielle’s silence. She watched him, taking in the substance and texture of his sin’del. Underlying the frustration, there was an undercurrent of indignation, and yes, hostility as well. Arielle adjusted the pressure on his wrist and pushed him away. He landed sprawled on his back, with nothing bruised save his ego.

  “Thank you,” Arielle said.

  She watched him as he stood. He cast her a venomous glance and stalked past her to begin his circuit, rubbing his sore wrist. Arielle watched him until he was beyond striking distance.

  A quiet chuckle reminded her of Kal’Parev’s presence. He fell into step beside her. She was expecting the graduate from the rock, but it was not he. They were similar, clearly related by the cast of face and form, although this one was smaller and slighter. The sides of his long white hair were tied away from his face, revealing high cheekbones and bright blue eyes, as well as the yellow and brown of healing bruises. Arielle felt a vast disappointment well within her.

  He threw his head back and laughed a deep, hearty chuckle from the depths of his belly. Arielle blushed, realizing that she had not thought to hide her feelings. As his laughter continued, she could not help but smile. There was something about him that bespoke good humor in copious amounts.

  “No, darlin’,” he said, “I’m not Angus, but folk do say we look alike. I’m Thomlin, the dear rouge’s more respectable cousin.”

  He stopped walking, and held out his hand, a mischievous light dancing in his energy field. Arielle stopped to consider a moment before accepting the offer. Thomlin clasped his left hand over hers and gave a slight bow.

  “By the honor of House Kal’Parev, we are well met,” he said. The words had a ritualistic tenor, and Arielle responded in kind as she was brought up to do.

  “By the honor of House Rhen’val, we are indeed well met,” she said, resting her left hand over his and bowing as well.

  He did not let go, but rather quirked an eyebrow at her. She frowned in response, not understanding his implied question. He threw back his head and laughed again, letting her go.

  “Yeh must be tired, darling,” he said. “I gave yeh both my name and my House.”

  Arielle grimaced at the slight she had offered and averted her gaze. By giving her House but not her name, she was claiming a higher status than him. She could, by right do so, but it would be bad form while she was still a graduate. Opening one eye, she glanced back and was relieved to see him still smiling.

  “My apologies, Thomlin. I am Arielle.”

  “As I thought ye would be. A pleasure, my dear,” he said with an inclination of his head. Arielle fell into step beside him, chastising herself for her lapse of courtesy.

  “I can see why my cousin is so taken with you,” he said. He perused the night, but he was smiling nevertheless.

  Arielle stumbled at the sudden change of topic. “What?”

  “I can see why my cousin is so taken with you.”

  “What makes you think he’s taken with me?”

  Thomlin rocked his head from side to side as he considered his answer. “Well, for one, it was obvious to everyone that ye made an impression on each other.”

  Arielle felt herself blush again. No one would be quick to forget her arrival at the Gates.

  “And then there was the vapid expression on his face when I passed him on my way up here. Honestly, it’s as if he never—”

  “Why is he in the stockade?” Arielle said. A cousin was an excellent source to clarify her question on a criminal’s honor.

  Thomlin’s smile took an embarrassed cast. “Well,” he said, searching the Ledge for an answer. “Really, it’s the same reason I’m stuck on the wall for a fortnight.”

  “And that would be . . .” Arielle prompted when he did not elaborate.

  Thomlin sighed, and shrugged. “We pulled a prank in an Elc’atar’s quarters.”

  “So why are you on the Ledge, and he in the stockade?”

  “Well, Angus isn’t really allowed up here anymore, as per Kolsch’s orders from first night. So, they had to find something else to do with the poor dumb bastard that he is.”


  Arielle had difficulty believing what she was hearing. They had intentionally provoked an Elc’atar. No one with any sense would do such a thing.

  “It was just a lark, really,” Thomlin said, seeing her expression. “We had no intention of sending him to the infirmary. Well, I didn’t, at least. But, to be fair to us, Bowler is a frightful dick, and he deserved what he got and then some. And, Angus did heal the more serious fractures to his skull.”

  Arielle was not sure if it was her fatigue that made the tale so strange, or if it was simply the fact that someone would behave in such an audacious fashion.

  “Yeh shocked, I know,” Thomlin said. “Most everyone was, to be honest. Not that we’re angels, mind yeh, but we’re usually better than this. We almost never get caught.”

  The admission made Arielle miss a step and stumble.

  “I chalk it up to a bad bought of conscience, myself,” he said. “That, and we had a fair amount of Bowler’s blood coating us from trying to piece him back together. Not our finest hour, if you ask me.”

  “But when he gets out of the infirmary, won’t he be mad?”

  “Oh, he was howling with rage,” Thomlin said, throwing back his head. “Literally! The man is a bit of a lunatic, if yeh ask me. Not at all right in the head. Probably less so after his accident, now that I think of it.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing terribly original, I’m afraid,” Thomlin said twirling a finger to indicate the bruises on his face. “Bowler set upon my squad in Siege class, and beat us soundly and thoroughly in front of four combined cohorts. Spent two days in the infirmary ourselves, as no one had the decency to heal us at all. But, at least we all had adjoining rooms. That was a plus. As soon as we got out, whoosh! I’m on the Ledge. Bowler beat Angus while he was still chained on the rock. That’s why he looks so ghastly.”